Re: Wandering: Hannah/Fiach
His hands they did not wander more, no, they stayed where they belonged behind his back as he turned to the side. His hands were as gentle as they were strong, healing as much as they could bruise, and he knew that hands could lead to things that could not be taken back, good or bad. So they strayed a moment, her freezing had not gone unnoticed and he thought, perhaps once, a man's hands hurt her when they were meant to protect. So his folded and remained.
"It is nice to talk about real things," he agreed. She wasn't wrong. People wanted the light and pleasant, they didn't want to be in the eye of a storm, especially if that storm was a person and all the mess they wrought. He looked down at her instead of the ceiling. "Real things can lead to more moments, perhaps. Perhaps we have to walk through all the death and gone and missing to get more, and maybe one day the moments will outnumber it all."
He didn't say anything about being right. He didn't nod in agreement or beam because she agreed, he just kept his eyes on her a little longer. A touch of understanding. That quiet and that lull, dark eyes regarded cornflower blue and there was the very faintest nod of his head, finally. "I hope for that too, my lady." Hands remaining. "Even dead things deserve the what they were denied, don't you think?"
None of this was too much for a first meeting and he faced her fully, hands locked in front of him now, as if allowing her to see them, no hidden surprises. "When did you die?"