[ There is obvious gravity at his side, suddenly; the priesthood had given him a canny sense for revelations close to the surface of a conversation. Godfrey is taking a drink from his glass when it makes him abruptly aware of the silence in the room, as Gale sets his own cup down and turns to face him fully.
Godfrey turns to him, wine glass in hand, in the weighty sliver of silence which precedes. Their conversations hadn't exactly been perpetually light in nature, but this is a gravity he's not yet felt from Gale; not quite the anticipatory and impossible weight that news of the orb bore, but something heavy, something enduring, lingering still in the air. Something which must surely have all of Godfrey's attention, and all of Godfrey's attention it shall have.
It begins to fall into place around him as Gale speaks, and he becomes aware of the look in his eyes - the soft, longing fondness. That same distant and foolish part of him conspires to lock that away, too - to press it into his mind until nothing could take the memory of being seen through those eyes. The notion that he may not need to steal it like some sort of starving animal dawns on him slowly, becomes a sunrise less and less avoidable as Gale continues, voice low and brimming with softness.
For him.
Godfrey swallows his wine, and exhales. He stares in unguarded surprise, his clear cerulean eyes darting between Gale's face and his hand, tender and carefully placed at his wrist. As though the dream might be broken and scattered if he looked away. Time stretches between the two of them. ]
Ah-- oh.
[ His throat tightens, and a sudden and terrible awareness of himself hurries through him. Without looking away, Godfrey's hand drops out of Gale's sight, hurriedly trying to find satisfactory purchase for his own glass. He places it on the rocky edge of a flat stone and the glass topples, and the remains of his glass soaks dark into the earth - this draws his attention from Gale with a thin, displeased noise, as he looks to ensure that none of the cushions have been ruined.
He looks back to Gale, tight with self-consciousness. He's still there, somehow.
Hurriedly, Godfrey looks down to Gale's hand, warm against his wrist. Unavoidable. He takes it in both of his own. ]
I- I hope that-- [ His throat conspires to choke him. He looks to Gale's hand in his own, brushes his thumb over his smooth knuckles, and tries to center himself. ] You have honoured me. I hope that you will forgive my... lack of grace. And that you have not mistaken it for reticence. I did not--
[ A slight tightening of his broad hands around Gale's. ]
no subject
Godfrey turns to him, wine glass in hand, in the weighty sliver of silence which precedes. Their conversations hadn't exactly been perpetually light in nature, but this is a gravity he's not yet felt from Gale; not quite the anticipatory and impossible weight that news of the orb bore, but something heavy, something enduring, lingering still in the air. Something which must surely have all of Godfrey's attention, and all of Godfrey's attention it shall have.
It begins to fall into place around him as Gale speaks, and he becomes aware of the look in his eyes - the soft, longing fondness. That same distant and foolish part of him conspires to lock that away, too - to press it into his mind until nothing could take the memory of being seen through those eyes. The notion that he may not need to steal it like some sort of starving animal dawns on him slowly, becomes a sunrise less and less avoidable as Gale continues, voice low and brimming with softness.
For him.
Godfrey swallows his wine, and exhales. He stares in unguarded surprise, his clear cerulean eyes darting between Gale's face and his hand, tender and carefully placed at his wrist. As though the dream might be broken and scattered if he looked away. Time stretches between the two of them. ]
Ah-- oh.
[ His throat tightens, and a sudden and terrible awareness of himself hurries through him. Without looking away, Godfrey's hand drops out of Gale's sight, hurriedly trying to find satisfactory purchase for his own glass. He places it on the rocky edge of a flat stone and the glass topples, and the remains of his glass soaks dark into the earth - this draws his attention from Gale with a thin, displeased noise, as he looks to ensure that none of the cushions have been ruined.
He looks back to Gale, tight with self-consciousness. He's still there, somehow.
Hurriedly, Godfrey looks down to Gale's hand, warm against his wrist. Unavoidable. He takes it in both of his own. ]
I- I hope that-- [ His throat conspires to choke him. He looks to Gale's hand in his own, brushes his thumb over his smooth knuckles, and tries to center himself. ] You have honoured me. I hope that you will forgive my... lack of grace. And that you have not mistaken it for reticence. I did not--
[ A slight tightening of his broad hands around Gale's. ]
I did not think this could happen again.