bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze
if you must drink of me, take of me what you please
This isn’t the heat of earlier, but it is something equally dangerous, and he holds it with care. He watches as she switches from disbelief to annoyance to playful glances, her emotions brightening her eyes. When she bops his nose, he just grins, eyes dancing beneath the purple-black hair that hangs down over his angled brow. “Fifth then,” he says under his breath, “but first in some categories.” He winks, a quick motion, his entire angular face swept clean of the rage he had experienced but moments before.
She leans up and he can’t help himself.
His arms finally come down around her waist and he picks her up, swinging her around. When he drops her back down, he hugs her close, giving her a tender kiss, lips resting lightly against hers. He doesn’t deepen it, recognizes that the time for that has passed, and he can feel her mind wandering already—beginning to pull away to her family, to the center of her gravity. With a smile, he brings his hands up to cradle her face gently, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before he steps back, watching with a smile.
“I think I am, Wallace.”
A date was an entirely foreign concept to him. It just wasn’t something he had ever had interest in pursuing, even in his youth, but he could see the appeal with her. He could see just how much he would enjoy picking her up from her home, taking her to plays and dinners—letting her see the world.
The thought puts a mischievous spark in his eye, a wolfish hint in his grin as he watches her for a second longer. “I’ll see you soon, Wallace,” he promises, voice still low. “Try to stay out of trouble.” Then, without another word, he turns on his heel, hands in his pocked as he walks away whistling, leaving his jacket in one of her hands and a piece of folded paper with a date and address tucked in the other.
woolf
I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste
