#v6.

there's a firm set to his mouth  —  a near-imperceptible press of his lips,  like he wants to frown but is consciously,  pointedly deciding not to  —  that she recognizes.    a micro expression she can only pinpoint because she's seen it reflected in the mirror,  to date,  an uncountable number of times.    she never noticed it when she was younger,  if she's being honest.    she'd catch sight of herself  (in the gleam of polished medical equipment,  against sleek metal or muddied glass while navigating unknown city streets  -  rendered,  most clearly,  on the surface of the bedroom half-length vanity she keeps meticulously clean)  and not think twice of it.    the subtly pinched brows,  lips pulled in,  it was the way her face sat,  she believed,  and never wondered at the reason she labored to examine it any further.

a hushed    "jason"    settles in the shared silence.    it's a quiet night for gotham  —  flickering streetlights and muted club music from a block over their only backdrop.    she pauses,  caught between it's okay and i'm sorry / caught between the creeping urge to ask what do you see when you look at me and wishing  (selfishly,  clinging to the memory of years bygone)  that this unspoken non-secret of hers had remained outside his bounds forever.     

❝   might  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you  something,   ser  jaime ?    ❞        she   has   heard   tales   &    tattles   from   the   mouths   of   many ,     yet   juvenile   heart   only   seeks   the   truth .     he ,    armed   &   twice   her   stature                but   she   stands   unafraid ,      a   quick   glance   thrown   towards   the   blade   at  his   side . 

* 🌸 » stacks several starbursts on her head to see how many he can get up there until they fall over. « from @arkhamdecay

it’s a natural thing to secure her stance,   even hunched over her most - recent school library read as she is; breaths steadied,   body locked,   and only her right arm left isolated from the shoulder - down to leave her free to turn the page.    her eyes flit upwards   —   from her book to jason’s face   —   head kept set,   the still - rising tower of starbursts undisturbed.

they’re not gonna fall—   if she says that,   in the same matter - of - fact voice that just sprang up into the forefront of her mind   /   clear and aimfully concise, reminiscent of her mother’s   /   he might think she’s trying to-   to show off,   flaunt her background—    something.    she’s sure he wouldn’t take exception to it   —   she has a sense for these things,   and jason’s not that type of person,   she knows   —   but he might still think it,   and-   and sakura has learned   /   from many places,   countless different,   uniquely exacting people   /   that there’s merit in…    maybe not explicitly keeping oneself stooped low and small, never that,   but certainly belying just how high up the proverbial mountain you’re truly able to go.

they don’t take breaks often.     (not planned ones,  at least:  there’s times when a trail goes cold;  days when there’s strangers’ injuries to mend and errands to run to scrape together coin;  mornings after nights of free-flowing drinks;  circumstances that leave them little other choice.)     it’s partially the trade,  moving out of necessity,  chasing the hunt,  and in part attributed to sheer habit.     she’s never dug too deeply into geralt’s past,  but it’s not a difficult conclusion to come to:  he’s like her,  and she’s rarely found a reason to stick around some place for too long.     maybe it’s the weather,  a welcome pivot from the past weeks’ persistent thunderstorms,  that makes today different.     

she’s laid out on the grass,  eyes closed soaking up the warm late morning sun,  when she feels fingers,  and then something,  in her hair.     she cracks open an eye to find them watching her.     “  you know,  ”     a smile in her voice,    “  there doesn’t have to be a reason,  if you just want to touch me.  ”     a short lifetime ago,  she lived surrounded by friends who touched her just like this;  with no motive,  just to feel the warmth of skin.     to feel close;  tethered.     it’s almost nostalgic.     she sits up and plants her hands amidst the flowers.     “  i studied hanakotoba when i was about five.     i wasn’t as good at it as some of the other girls,  i didn’t have the creative sense for it  —  i scored a lot better in the theoretical portions  —  but it was my favorite class.  ”  

❝     mate ,    I  appreciate  th’  concern                          bu’   I’m   tellin’   ya ,   I  can   do   this !                       is  it   somethin’   on   me   face   tha’   says   I   can’t  play    basketball ?      ❞