[Clever, tuning herself out just as he had. If she were able to fully manage it, he might even adjust his tactics accordingly-- but he's seen her hand where she's seen his: he knows she cares too much beneath where years of necessity have hardened her heart.
In that, he supposes, fingers lifting to thumb the latches holding his mask in place, they're alike.
The air hisses as locks disengage over the faceplate's broadest points, and when he draws it back there's the strangely jarring softness of vulnerable flesh. High cheekbones and bright, almond-shaped eyes under curls of unkempt, dark hair. He looks young. Younger than the image painted by his armor or his station, and he watches her impassively for a few beats longer, waiting until she dares to meet his stare.]
You could be more without them.
[The only correction worth sharing in that moment, whether she bothers to heed it or not.]
no subject
In that, he supposes, fingers lifting to thumb the latches holding his mask in place, they're alike.
The air hisses as locks disengage over the faceplate's broadest points, and when he draws it back there's the strangely jarring softness of vulnerable flesh. High cheekbones and bright, almond-shaped eyes under curls of unkempt, dark hair. He looks young. Younger than the image painted by his armor or his station, and he watches her impassively for a few beats longer, waiting until she dares to meet his stare.]
You could be more without them.
[The only correction worth sharing in that moment, whether she bothers to heed it or not.]