[ she's aware of them, the numerous scars on his body that are normally hidden beneath his clothing, symbols of the hardships he'd endured. clorinde has not had the desire to learn more of it back home, to push for more than what wriothesley has given her—admittedly, not much, but that's never bothered her. even now, as she smooths her touch over another scar, as she leans in to press her lips to it in tender exploration, she only finds herself wondering if anyone else has touched him in this way. if he has allowed anyone else to be close enough to do so. ]
Of course. [ light and easy, just like the fingers that reach up to slip into his hair, brushing back his bangs and scratching lightly along his scalp. ] But you know that's not what I asked.
[ there's another question there, hidden between the lines. trust is a luxury they rarely can afford, the price at times too steep. she can count on one hand the people that she'd willingly pay that price for, one of whom sits before her. she wonders if he could say the same. ]
no subject
Of course. [ light and easy, just like the fingers that reach up to slip into his hair, brushing back his bangs and scratching lightly along his scalp. ] But you know that's not what I asked.
[ there's another question there, hidden between the lines. trust is a luxury they rarely can afford, the price at times too steep. she can count on one hand the people that she'd willingly pay that price for, one of whom sits before her. she wonders if he could say the same. ]