Hearing that it was over the top doesn't surprise him at all. Gleb smiles a
little for it, small and wry, as he sticks his hands into the pockets of
his jacket, mostly to avoid the temptation to reach out and brush aside
that stray piece of hair of hers. He'd be overstepping, he's sure. For all
he knows -- for all that it's any of his business -- she was just in the
company of someone else, some man with whom it would be fitting for her to
spend a holiday like this is apparently meant to be in the company of, and
despite the tension he thinks he'd seen in her shoulders a moment ago, he's
only just caught her after they parted ways. It's an oddly unsettling
thought, and yet, if it makes her happy, he knows he could learn to live
with it. Somehow her well-being and her happiness have come to be the
things that matter to him the most. Certainly his own safety doesn't, and
when it comes to her, he knows he doesn't have the right to anything more.
Maybe, had things been different, had someone else been sent to Paris in
his stead or had he never met her at all, he would have found another woman
someday. Even if that had been the case, though, he doubts he would ever
have felt quite like this. It's overwhelming, damn near torturous; he
couldn't get rid of it if he tried, and he would never try. He knows how
that ends. The best thing to do instead is come to terms with loving her,
and with the fact that she can never know that he does, if she hasn't
guessed already.
He as good as told her what would have been waiting for him back in Russia,
but he never told her why he did what he did. A part of him hopes he never
has to. It's better that he carry that on his own.
"It didn't seem like something I would enjoy very much," he admits, though
there's no judgment in his voice. That she went is something he sees no
reason to be bothered by. She belongs in a world like that. The fall of her
dress alone, the way she wears it so naturally, seems to prove as much.
That was always going to be the case, long before he actually knew it
would. "I came out to get coffee. I didn't know you would be here."
He regrets the words quickly, wondering if it sounds as if he wishes he
hadn't run into her, not wanting to drive her off. Instead, he adds, "You
must have had a good time to only be coming back now."
no subject
Hearing that it was over the top doesn't surprise him at all. Gleb smiles a little for it, small and wry, as he sticks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, mostly to avoid the temptation to reach out and brush aside that stray piece of hair of hers. He'd be overstepping, he's sure. For all he knows -- for all that it's any of his business -- she was just in the company of someone else, some man with whom it would be fitting for her to spend a holiday like this is apparently meant to be in the company of, and despite the tension he thinks he'd seen in her shoulders a moment ago, he's only just caught her after they parted ways. It's an oddly unsettling thought, and yet, if it makes her happy, he knows he could learn to live with it. Somehow her well-being and her happiness have come to be the things that matter to him the most. Certainly his own safety doesn't, and when it comes to her, he knows he doesn't have the right to anything more.
Maybe, had things been different, had someone else been sent to Paris in his stead or had he never met her at all, he would have found another woman someday. Even if that had been the case, though, he doubts he would ever have felt quite like this. It's overwhelming, damn near torturous; he couldn't get rid of it if he tried, and he would never try. He knows how that ends. The best thing to do instead is come to terms with loving her, and with the fact that she can never know that he does, if she hasn't guessed already.
He as good as told her what would have been waiting for him back in Russia, but he never told her why he did what he did. A part of him hopes he never has to. It's better that he carry that on his own.
"It didn't seem like something I would enjoy very much," he admits, though there's no judgment in his voice. That she went is something he sees no reason to be bothered by. She belongs in a world like that. The fall of her dress alone, the way she wears it so naturally, seems to prove as much. That was always going to be the case, long before he actually knew it would. "I came out to get coffee. I didn't know you would be here."
He regrets the words quickly, wondering if it sounds as if he wishes he hadn't run into her, not wanting to drive her off. Instead, he adds, "You must have had a good time to only be coming back now."