Her own shyness mirrors his own and there is something about it that bolsters his confidence. Something that tells him it will be okay—that he can do this. He straightens a little, tries to look more ready than he feels, and blooms brilliantly as she turns all of her attention toward him. Her wide grin sparks something in his heart, something clean, pure, and entirely child-like in wonder, and his answering smile is honest.
(Perhaps not as wide or as brilliant as her own—but it is there. It is his own. It is true.)
“Basilica,” he repeats it. Says it more times in his own head as he commits it to memory. Tries to remember each and every syllable so that when he is back home in Tephra, curled around his family, he can repeat it to himself like kindling that will keep the flames of his own heart warm.
He hesitates at giving her his own name, but not for long. Just long enough to twitch a shoulder, flick his tail behind him. “Aureus,” he says finally, finding his voice and then catching her gaze. Does she know that he has only introduced himself twice now? That each time, it gets both easier and harder?
Can she tell how inexperienced he is at making friends?
(Will that make her like him less?)
He doesn’t know the answers to it just yet. Doesn’t know whether she will find the soft spots of his heart only to destroy it, find him pathetic, or even just find him not worth any thoughts at all.
The uncertainty trips through him and causes him to avert his eyes for a moment.
He looks at the ground beneath him, kicking slightly with his sapphire hooves.
“Do you come here a lot?” he asks without looking back up. “I haven’t been here before.”
