Gasping struck Bragi as an odd reaction to a grin, and he would spend a long time trying to figure out what that meant. For now, he just decided it was much better than no gasp. When the gasp alerted him that she'd noticed, Bragi looked up into nothing with that grin as though he had stopped writing for a moment to think about his goddess and swoon internally. Then he went back to the paper. The lovely paper. The one that stopped him from looking at his goddess and swooning internally.
He frowned soberly at the words while she readjusted herself again. It did not look comfortable. Bragi really wished she would let him get her down. He just didn't wish it quite hard enough to take action into his own hands, because he'd somehow managed to draw out the metaphor. Bragi had been burned by the rope of his net a few times.
Lips pursed and slightly off center, Bragi considered her advice. He beamed. “That's brilliant,” Bragi said. It was the worst advice he had ever heard.
“I can give her a copy of the first and last drafts” Bragi continued. “The first draft will show everything that came immediately when I first thought of her. The raw form of instinctual love. Then once she's taken that in I can give her the final draft to show how much my love grew while I was thinking about her and trying to refine the letter.” He smiled at her. “You're a genius.” An evil genius.
Then Bragi's expression went sober again. “Well that's what I'd do if this were a love letter. Right now it's more of an apology.” He looked up at the apple maiden out of the corner of his eye. “I think she's mad at me right now. Frustrated. I'm hoping this will make it up to her.”