[ There's something reverent in the way that she moves now, careful not to disturb this fragile thing between them. A balance of two points, and all of Messer's hesitation burned away at where they intersect. Dealing death, skirting its outline time after time... Messer's prevalence of strength and skill have carried him on the wind, up until now. In this moment, he's pushed a measure of that trust into Kaname's slim hands, the fingers still captured in his own as her lips caress over the divots of his knuckles. Weight for weight.
In return, she's given him understanding to the questions he'd never thought he had long enough to ask. Something ticks in his throat, at his pulse points, floods his chest with a feeling not unlike adrenaline, even if it's softer at the corners. With a quiet grunt, Messer shifts on his elbow again, taking more care now that Kaname is fit against it. It's not the same reckless move he'd tried earlier, but a kinder version of it — pushing himself up onto his side to better wind his arm around her. Holding her is easier when he faces her, using the movement to free his hand from hers, if only to ghost his knuckles across her cheek, over the tracks her tears have made in the dust.
Messer goes forehead to forehead with her, having nothing else to say to the questions they've both had, that have slept too long under other circumstances. Right now, with one hand at the small of her back and the other gliding through the hair behind her ear, there isn't anything else for him. ]
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In return, she's given him understanding to the questions he'd never thought he had long enough to ask. Something ticks in his throat, at his pulse points, floods his chest with a feeling not unlike adrenaline, even if it's softer at the corners. With a quiet grunt, Messer shifts on his elbow again, taking more care now that Kaname is fit against it. It's not the same reckless move he'd tried earlier, but a kinder version of it — pushing himself up onto his side to better wind his arm around her. Holding her is easier when he faces her, using the movement to free his hand from hers, if only to ghost his knuckles across her cheek, over the tracks her tears have made in the dust.
Messer goes forehead to forehead with her, having nothing else to say to the questions they've both had, that have slept too long under other circumstances. Right now, with one hand at the small of her back and the other gliding through the hair behind her ear, there isn't anything else for him. ]