#|ha!|

(x)

     He was sweet on any given day. The hesitance to touch her was something she wouldn’t hold against him, or anyone—a corpse was far from desirable to the touch, and a man with a heart like his deserved a life devoted to his.

     So the admission only catches her off-guard for a moment, sweet as he normally is, before the reminders of his inebriation settle in. “Yer drunk,” she chides with a chuckle, examining the gloves on her hand idly. “Ye donnae ken what ye say.”

Loose lips sink ships his mother used to say, but what of loose tongues? What happened then? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Not when he caught sight of the vampire who’d slowly invaded more and more of his thoughts.

Without thinking things through, he acted on impulse, snatching a small glove clad hand in his and lifting it to his lips before she could pull away. 

Stupid. This was stupid. A part of his brain was screaming at him to stop, to let her go. She didn’t want this. She made it clear she didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want him to touch her. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? He couldn’t force his affections on her, especially not like this. 

Stopstopstopstopstop.

The word repeated itself over and over again, bleeding together, yet still he couldn’t bring himself to do what was right. Couldn’t bring himself to drop her hand---so small in his own, cold even through the glove---and step away. Instead, he locked eyes with her, watched her through his half-lidded gaze as he bent his head and brushed his lips against her fingertips, the kiss featherlight.

Slowly, he lowered their hands, loosening his hold on her in case she wanted to pull away.