He looks to
the dying sky, and then to her. The soft golden
color of Twilight glows against her snowy hair,
and is soft and inviting on her brown skin. The
glimmer of the falling sun in her crimson eyes
is astonishing. She is beautiful whenever he
looks at her, but something about the warm gleam
of sunset is simply ravishing on her, and he
longs to reach out and touch her to see if she
is truly as soft and warm as she looks.
She is seated next to
him at their small table in the SandSea, legs
crossed and a glass of white wine glimmering on
the table in front of her that she has yet to
touch. He has already downed three and is moving
on to his forth. These light wines never
bothered him much. He still feels just as sober
as when he walked into the tavern. He watches
her stare passively at the setting sun,
untroubled by the loud bustle of Rabanastre. She
is perfectly still save the gentle, minute rise
and fall of her chest as she breathes. He is
amazed at her ability to keep such countenance.
When she glances over
at him after a moment, he smiles flirtatiously
and raises his wine glass to her, swallowing the
rest of it in one go. She nods indifferently and
returns her attention to the coming evening. He
wishes she would acknowledge him more, perhaps
grace him with the slightest of smiles rather
than a nod or a raised brow. At times he wonders
if she regards him as little more than a
nuisance.
Setting his glass down
on the table, he leans back and stretches,
stifling a yawn.
He finds himself unable
to keep his eyes from drifting over the soft
copper glow of her shoulders. He often ponders
if she comprehends how lovely she is. How can
she not? Just looking at her, she is the vision
of loveliness itself! And he sees the jealousy
in women’s eyes when she walks through the
bazaar at his side. Those were the times he
wished to slide an arm around her waist or
shoulders, to rest his fingers on her soft hips
or give her arm a gentle squeeze. And when he
hears the hushed whispers of folk on the streets
or in shops or taverns, murmuring about her
‘coldness’, he urges to turn around and ask them
if they are blind and cannot see the warm glow
of her brown skin. But more so, he wishes to
touch that skin and see if it warms his fingers
when the rains come and the two sit in the
cockpit of the Strahl, watching the
thunderstorms rage just outside the windshield
as he switches the ship into auto-pilot. And now
as he stands from their table, he decides that
it might be a risk worth taking.
Moving
to stand beside her chair, he places his hands
on her shoulders, and quietly whispers they
should be on their way. Leaving one hand to
relish in the warmth of her body, he uses the
other to toss a few gil on the table before
offering that hand to help her from her seat.
Hesitantly, she places her clawed hand in his as
she stands. He smiles as they exit the
restaurant patio, his hands still tingling with
her body heat and the feel of her skin as she
takes the lead back to the Aerodrome. He stuffs
them in his pockets and casts a quick glance at
the last sliver of the sun that is slipping
behind the royal palace. He is in no hurry to
get back tonight.
