Tess huffs annoyed, and he bites back the grin that threatens to crawl into his face.
He observes her for a minute as she threads the needle on fabric, on the soft cotton of one of her well-loved t-shirts, the one that got patched up before, and the small motions in which it sinks and pulls. It feels foreign as she stabs the light blue cotton.
A thoughtful hum thrums in his chest.
Not even the colors she used to prefer and wear before; back then, in their QZ days, she’d cringed as she wore a washed down sweater, plum colored that turned periwinkle with time—for she should be intimidating, perceived as threatening and those colors were too soft.
In then out, then repeat, and Joel’s mind recalls that it’s better to use those skills for mending up their clothes, and ideally, not on living things. Not on his skin or hers, not watching her wince as she pulled the stitches neatly and swallowed down the pain. Not by choice.
He blinks and yawns into his fist, and Tess proudly ends her task at hand, one of her fingers tracing her handiwork. For the furrow of her brow, he can sense that she’s not proud of it, although she was already annoyed, so maybe it’s both.
That wouldn’t change, though. That volatile switch in her.
“Stop starin’,” She goes, glaring sidelong as his grin finally leaves his lips, “What’s so damn funny, old man?”
Joel heaves himself from the ground, squeezing one of her shoulders as she tips her head back and locks eyes with him, silently demanding.
“I like lookin’ at ya when you’re doin’ stuff.” He admits, shrugging one shoulder, and Tess downright snickers.
“I’m stuck here on this couch until my leg heals.” She grumbles about, as if this is the first time he’s being informed and if his heart hadn’t stopped when she’d been thrown out of her horse and fallen on a tilted piece of land, fucking up her ankle and hip. “And you aren’t helping me, jackass.”
“I like it when you get focused,” He tries anyway, rubbing his calloused thumb on the back of her bare neck even when she pouts her lip out, again desiring to grin at her annoyance, as if it were only his fault, “Your eyebrows get really close, and your eyes narrow, and sometimes you bite your tongue.”
“You’re so gross,” Tess mocks, though her cheeks darken and he feels the heat of her body on his palm. “Creep.”
Joel looms over her, kissing the side of her head as she groans; he knows she’s still in pain, and that gets her in a bad temper. “I’ve got an attention to detail, that ‘s all.”
Tess rolls her eyes, the red brand on her cheeks stark on pale skin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too sappy here.”
“Don’t go around falling off horses then.” He warns playfully. That’s what he intends on the delivery, yet it feels more like a scold.
The chuckle is airless, more like a snort, and Tess abruptly surprises him as she tugs, hard, at the collar of his shirt, green and unbuttoned on the first two buttons, and pulls him down, “Don’t tell me what to do.”
She kisses him, and the contradiction dies on his tongue, alongside the lecture and the worry and the need to ask if she needs more, if she wants more, and what he can do to soothe her, and if he’s of any use.
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
ellievsbear
origamiaround
blakekathryn
