( he understands belatedly, that he forgot to put his glove back on before touching her. a simple mistake, from one not yet used to the permanent fixture of his gloves. but — he hesitates now to put them on, curling his fingers into his hand, and rubbing them against the fat part of his palm still comprised of flesh. imagining he can feel the heat of her skin through his fingers and press it all over, though he cannot.

paul is instead at the mercy of her hands, when she chooses to give them. he can be patient, and doesn't mind waiting — his head tilts as she plucks his flower, before he reaches to do the same to hers. kismet. acknowledgement. )

I know you.

( he's all smiles now, in a way he hasn't been for weeks, a wilted flower tilting up towards the sun, eating for the first time. a little flustered by her attention, the apples of his cheeks slightly pink. )

I didn't bring an offering, unless you'll trade in words or actions. In that case, I have a lot to offer. ( thoughtfully, he hums, letting his wrist brush her chin when he drops his hand, turning to send a meaningful look to the tabernacle. ) Or I'll pay you with an idea. Faerie's choice.