[ He relaxes and, for a moment, so does she. The tension slips out of her and it's like this was all one long, hilarious joke, that this all came together for him to tease her and bring a flush to her cheeks. It's not that simple, of course, it's not like this is just going to stop or that things are going to just disappear; this is going to be something that weighs on her mind, that follows her from now into the future, and she's going to have to give it some serious thought and consideration.
The fact that Gilgamesh is so relaxed does soothe her and she lifts her hand, brushing it over the ring again, the blood red gemstone and the markers of who they would be, joined together. Her throat feels dry and she nods her head, her eyes lifting to look at him. Of course he would be so lax and dreamy. He's so content and it makes her a little uneasy, as if this was something he had actually expected. ]
You should find someone that will make you happy. I can't promise that will ever be me, Gilgamesh.
[ It's not like there are people that he couldn't turn to. It's only when she feels her fingers still stroking over the ring that she snaps out of it and she shakes her head, gripping at the metal band before she lifts herself up and leans forward. ]
Do you want it back? I didn't agree to your proposal so it doesn't really feel right to keep something like this.
[ She's hesitant. It's beautiful, after all, and she does rather want to keep it. ]
[Another truth, another lie. He's happy with what he's accomplished with Hermione tonight; he's not happy with himself. He's happy with a maybe; he's not happy with someone else's no. He's happy she's here; he's not happy she is too, and not as he remembers.
Gilgamesh pushes as he pleases, but he'd be a fool to push much further here. The die's been cast and it shall fall wherever it may. She knows his answer before she ever thinks to ask again. And most importantly...]
Keep it.
[...she'll hold that box. She'll never stop holding that box in her heart, never stop wishing for what she knows she'll never have with him or anyone else. Hermione is a pretty girl, a talented magus, but a woman doomed. Women like Hermione do not fall in love. They obsess over their duties, and in so doing, forget to attend themselves. Their stations arrest them and never let go, and they live in self-imposed cages to their dying breath.
She will die cold and alone, just as never wished for herself, and in that much, Gilgamesh feels the smallest pang of sympathy.
The arms that open to Hermione are warm and friendly in contrast, enveloping and gracious.]
Let me hold you, just for a while. Hair or fur, [teasingly] I will look after you just the same.
It makes her smile. All of this is a bit strange, a little unsettling, but there's something about him that makes her breathe out and relax. He's promised to teach her, to take care of her, an exchange of power and friendship -- and she's debating how much she can trust herself to be around him without wanting to give in to the urge to have companionship with him.
No one has ever made her feel like she was worth marriage before, after all. Even she and Ron had been complicated, strange, and it twists inside of her and makes her pause, wondering, before she nods her head. It's easy to tuck the ring into her pocket, deep into the depths sewn into her dress, before she raises an eyebrow and looks at him. ]
Thank you, Gilgamesh.
[ The idea of being in his arms, though... She pauses, careful, eyes up and down. It's been a long time since she's curled up with anyone, a long time since she let herself be embraced, especially for something as simple as just companionship. She and Harry fell asleep together once, her eyes damp from her own sadness, and since then it's been a rare occurrence. She breathes out, careful, before she moves forward.
Slowly, ever so slowly, careful and trusting, she lets herself slip into his arms.
He's warm. He's there, and he promises to look after her. Had given her a ring to show it. Had promised her friendship, companionship, had been teaching her... And it was. Easy. Nice. ]
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no subject
The fact that Gilgamesh is so relaxed does soothe her and she lifts her hand, brushing it over the ring again, the blood red gemstone and the markers of who they would be, joined together. Her throat feels dry and she nods her head, her eyes lifting to look at him. Of course he would be so lax and dreamy. He's so content and it makes her a little uneasy, as if this was something he had actually expected. ]
You should find someone that will make you happy. I can't promise that will ever be me, Gilgamesh.
[ It's not like there are people that he couldn't turn to. It's only when she feels her fingers still stroking over the ring that she snaps out of it and she shakes her head, gripping at the metal band before she lifts herself up and leans forward. ]
Do you want it back? I didn't agree to your proposal so it doesn't really feel right to keep something like this.
[ She's hesitant. It's beautiful, after all, and she does rather want to keep it. ]
no subject
[Another truth, another lie. He's happy with what he's accomplished with Hermione tonight; he's not happy with himself. He's happy with a maybe; he's not happy with someone else's no. He's happy she's here; he's not happy she is too, and not as he remembers.
Gilgamesh pushes as he pleases, but he'd be a fool to push much further here. The die's been cast and it shall fall wherever it may. She knows his answer before she ever thinks to ask again. And most importantly...]
Keep it.
[...she'll hold that box. She'll never stop holding that box in her heart, never stop wishing for what she knows she'll never have with him or anyone else. Hermione is a pretty girl, a talented magus, but a woman doomed. Women like Hermione do not fall in love. They obsess over their duties, and in so doing, forget to attend themselves. Their stations arrest them and never let go, and they live in self-imposed cages to their dying breath.
She will die cold and alone, just as never wished for herself, and in that much, Gilgamesh feels the smallest pang of sympathy.
The arms that open to Hermione are warm and friendly in contrast, enveloping and gracious.]
Let me hold you, just for a while. Hair or fur, [teasingly] I will look after you just the same.
no subject
It makes her smile. All of this is a bit strange, a little unsettling, but there's something about him that makes her breathe out and relax. He's promised to teach her, to take care of her, an exchange of power and friendship -- and she's debating how much she can trust herself to be around him without wanting to give in to the urge to have companionship with him.
No one has ever made her feel like she was worth marriage before, after all. Even she and Ron had been complicated, strange, and it twists inside of her and makes her pause, wondering, before she nods her head. It's easy to tuck the ring into her pocket, deep into the depths sewn into her dress, before she raises an eyebrow and looks at him. ]
Thank you, Gilgamesh.
[ The idea of being in his arms, though... She pauses, careful, eyes up and down. It's been a long time since she's curled up with anyone, a long time since she let herself be embraced, especially for something as simple as just companionship. She and Harry fell asleep together once, her eyes damp from her own sadness, and since then it's been a rare occurrence. She breathes out, careful, before she moves forward.
Slowly, ever so slowly, careful and trusting, she lets herself slip into his arms.
He's warm. He's there, and he promises to look after her. Had given her a ring to show it. Had promised her friendship, companionship, had been teaching her... And it was. Easy. Nice. ]
Just for a little while.