Rambles I (Patreon)

She's always been difficult to read, even to him. He knows her thoughtful half-smile and her sly smile reserved for the times when he's being particularly stupid. Knows that she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's trying too hard to solve a problem and that she furrows her brows when she can't solve it as fast as she'd hoped. But he never knows what she's thinking about.

He knows that when she is stressed, she likes to practise her swordsmanship. She's always graceful, but stress makes her steps shorter than usual and her grip becomes a little bit too loose to overcompensate for the tightness of her spine. She still beats him with ease, she always does, but those times, he holds on for a minute longer. He never tells her to relax her shoulders. Perhaps he should.

She never asks him to practise with her anymore.  She smiles less, too. He has never known how to read her too well, but now he feels like he doesn't know her at all. He tries to convince himself that she would tell him if he could help, but he knows that she never will. He remembers when they were seventeen: she had still been just out of reach, but things were easier then. She is far away now. He fears that she is going somewhere he can't follow her to. He knows that he will still try, always two steps behind. He will never ask her to wait for him, and he will never try to catch up to her. 

Perhaps one day he will. When he does, perhaps he could ask her if she was alright. Perhaps she would answer him. But not now, never now. He stays behind. He's a coward and a fool, after all. And if he's being honest, he's a little bit afraid of her.