[ He's aware enough of her nudging him out, but Tseng isn't sure if she's just taking control or if he’s letting her. It doesn’t matter, he realizes. Despite himself, he finds the hesitation he'd felt a moment before is lessening.
When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?
no subject
When he steps back into the living room, it's only natural that his gaze drifts toward the window again—toward the decorations draped around the frame, lights twinkling softly against the glass. Tseng steps up to see the street below and wonders what it looks like from down there. The contrast between the warm lights and the cold night, as unfamiliar as it is to have in his own apartment, must look festive. He turns away, dismissing the thought without concluding how he feels about it.
Tseng starts flipping through the TV channels. If he were honest with himself, he's only half paying attention. The sounds of Aerith moving about in the kitchen drift toward him. It should be distracting; instead, it settles into the space. His thumb slows when he lands on one of the predictable holiday films. It's not his first choice, not even his tenth. Being handed the mug, his fingers brush Aerith's. The cup is warm in his hand—the cocoa smells warm and sweet. Tseng stares down at the drink for a beat too long without taking a sip. He offers her an agreeably dry look. ]
It's good for not watching.[ Tseng sits down. He doesn't pat beside him, simply putting his hand on the seat cushion instead. He may be a useless tour guide here, but he won't make himself a terrible host on top of it. A glance up at Aerith, and he shifts slightly toward one end of the couch to make more room for her: ] Do you want to sit?