FIC: pheres dysseu, hands

[xihe]

 “I find her admirable,” Quanin says.

The season’s have shifted since you came to visit, and already the air is heavy with cold and the promise of snow. The cloaks you brought were for the fall, cotton and just weighty enough to keep the chill off: they’re not made for the way the wind is biting now, chafing at every inch of exposed skin. The walk back to her hive is a long one, and you’re finding yourself ill-prepared for it.

But you can’t regret it. Quanin holds herself like a sapling, tall and brittle, and every slight - every mis-step - is like a gust of wind. She can’t bend. She only breaks. But perhaps it’s the presence of her garden around her, or perhaps it’s the conversation, but each step seems to come easier than the next.

You’re not sure that Quanin can truly relax. But if this is the closest she gets, then you’ll be content. Under the waning moonlight, there’s something kin to peace on her face, and there’s a levity to her that you haven’t seen before. She’s speaking softly, but without hesitation.

She seems happy.

And in the space between words, she just took a hold of your hand.

It’s a little thing. A thumb curved over your knuckles, fingers twining around your palm. It’s not worth the way you stumble over your words. It’s not worth acknowledging.

But Quanin doesn’t touch you.

She hasn’t stopped talking, but you can feel the tension in her fingers, creeping up her arm like a vine, like she’s only just realised what she’s done. You would never presume to know her. But oh, it’s impossible not to, when you’ve been near so long: each break in her composure is an epiphany, a letter, for anyone willing to read it. (And isn’t it a shame that no one’s ever tried?)

If you wait, she’ll pull away. Avert her eyes. Smooth the incident over, as calmly as she does anything else. It’s such a little thing: there’s no need to acknowledge it at all, and just like that, that ghost of peace you saw will be gone.

You fold your hand over hers instead, and almost imperceptibly, she relaxes.

(Later, you won’t remember the conversation, no matter how hard you try. But you do recall the fact she doesn’t let go of your hand for the entire walk.)