[ He's set the mug down just in time, it seems. Tseng registers the warmth against his side, her tucking herself in beside him. People exist around him in one of two ways: professional deference or measured distance—both of which Tseng maintains by design. Aerith should fit into one of those categories, too. But as much as there was ever a clear space between them, it has eroded long before this moment. Against all logic, he doesn't mind its current reshaping, either.
His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?
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Date: 2025-03-05 01:10 am (UTC)His arm is too still against the couch, and he knows what she's waiting for—the nudge of her shoulder is hardly subtle about it. Tseng moves his arm to resting it along the back of the couch. Then he lets it drop, fingers grazing the curve of her shoulder. With the predictable script playing out on screen, the movie is more or less white noise already. He can feel the barely there trace of cocoa on his skin. Or this is just Tseng choosing to let the moment linger beyond the actual kiss—like under the mistletoe. He lets a pause settle between them, as though ensuring he doesn't answer too quickly somehow. ]
It's not so bad. [ But he shifts. Tseng reaches for the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch he's leaning against. It's called practical because he can't call it a decoration, but he never uses it. Without looking at her, he shakes it out with one hand, then drapes it over Aerith's legs. His arm returns around her after, settling more fully this time. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. ] Warm enough?