Science was marvelous. Peisinoê had been fascinated with understanding how the world worked since she was a toddler, how to take them apart, put them together, how to make them better. Down to the chemicals that made up their blood. But there was no equation, no formula, for how his joy - so clear and open that even she couldn't misunderstand - transformed him, seeming to radiate how and seeping into her bones as well. It wasn't magic, or maybe it was, but it gave her the same sort of freeing rush as when she first slipped back into her scales after a long week of being on feet. "I don't think you're boring, and I tend to make people uncomfortable so maybe you are a bit odd, but I think it's my sort of oddness." It was terribly cheesy, but she meant it, and she had to force down the unusual compulsion to mimic him and touch his hair like he so often did.
The laugh that she gave him at his statement was not an unkind one, "I don't think anyone other than my sister has ever thought that about me." But she believed him, none of her family's doubts regarding deceptive surface dwellers peeking up or skepticism embedded in her psyche because of her own ineptitude to gauge mood or expression. It was...A nice change, to believe someone when they said something kind to her, to let her feel the glow of warmth it brought out of her without being afraid it was going to burn her. "Undersea races, especially Mermaids, we tend to be honest. I know on the surface it's common to dance around things, play games or be coy but." Peisinoê shrugged, "Not for us. I think it makes people feel awkward? But if I like you, and you being close makes me happy, why shouldn't I tell you?" It was a hypothetical question, clearly, as he couldn't dissect his culture's methods of social interaction, any more than she could. But it was a bit of a warning too, maybe.
She took a moment to gather herself while in the kitchen, stop from acting like a giddy teenager because a cute boy smiled at her. It was hard not to, especially since she was feeling what she expected was commonly known to surface dwellers as butterflies in her stomach. The urge to hold his hand, the comfort of knowing he wouldn't reject her or roll his eyes if she tried, or even if she shared more of where she came from. Peisinoê knew from listening to the other women at the Clinic talk - and television as well, the few times she watched it - that letting a potential romantic partner see her with her hair out of sorts and no makeup was definitely supposed to take a few dates. Definitely being seen in her PJs. But he didn't look at her like he was disappointed, and she didn't feel as squeamish or self conscious and she was supposed to. "It was a show that ran in the late '80s. Set in the Future, this guy in a space station and his robots watch C tier movies and mock them." Well, when you put it like that it made it seem much less interesting than it did to her. She stepped towards him and handed him the glass, thinking of a young Cohen watching Star Trek with his mom, pretty eyes full of wonder and excitement at the company more than the show, "I'm glad to hear it's only happy memories. I would love to hear more about her if you want to tell me."
It took her long moment to turn from him from where she stood hardly a few inches from him even after he agreed to go outside. Between his eyes and his smile part of her mind saw no reason to go anywhere else but be right there, soaking up his joy like the sun. "Yes, outside, sorry. You're just - distracting." Ugh, that was the worst. He was probably used to that with a face like his. Sitting outside with him sounded better than staring at him like a creeper so she finally she cleared her throat, pivoting with some grace to be desired - ugh, feet - and leading him through the living room (past a mismatched blanket nest, oops) so she could slide open the back door and into the sunshine. The bench was covered, but at this time of the day the sun hit it just right so when she sat down warmth greeted her, and she made an unintentional happy noise at the feeling even as she took a sip of her juice before setting it down on one of the small tables that bracketed the bench.