There's a part of Gleb that wants to ask just what she means by that. It's probably simple enough, though. She'd have been making her way back through ice alone, and now she isn't; there isn't much of a choice there. He finds something heartening about her words even so. Around Anya, he's never quite sure what to say or do, struggling to balance on the edge of something he's never dealt with before. It isn't quite the war it used to be — there's long since been a victor in that battle, and he neither could nor would take that back if given the chance — but it's still a complicated thing to say the least, and nearly impossible to get right. Every once in a while, he catches himself feeling like there might just be something there after all, like the moment on New Year's that he's convinced himself he must have imagined. Other times seem to prove that there's no way that could be the case, which perhaps is for the best. He's given in to that dream enough. He doesn't need the dangers of letting it go any further.
Right now, though, even with the disparity of her in her sparkling dress and him in something simple and sturdy, everything feels simple, peaceful, right. He can't shake that heavy uncertainty, but despite the chill in the air, he looks over at her, her words sinking in, and feels nothing but warmth. If this is all he ever gets — the friendship he once offered her that day in his office, a handful of quiet moment to savor — then he'll count himself lucky. This place has left him, at times, as conflicted as Anya does herself, knowing that he should have gone back to Russia to meet his fate, being here a chance he should never have gotten, even in a world he doesn't much care for. It is lucky, though, to be alive when he should be dead, and luckier still to be able to walk by her side, his eyes tracing the movement as she tucks that piece of hair back away from her face.
"I wouldn't have the first idea what to do at a party like that, I don't think," he admits, a little thoughtful, but still smiling gently down at her all the same. "That sort of thing, it is not for me." He won't add that there's a part of him that's comforted by the notion of it being too much for her, too. "I would guess that even what they have here that is most like what we remember is really nothing much like it at all. We've missed a lot of time."
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Right now, though, even with the disparity of her in her sparkling dress and him in something simple and sturdy, everything feels simple, peaceful, right. He can't shake that heavy uncertainty, but despite the chill in the air, he looks over at her, her words sinking in, and feels nothing but warmth. If this is all he ever gets — the friendship he once offered her that day in his office, a handful of quiet moment to savor — then he'll count himself lucky. This place has left him, at times, as conflicted as Anya does herself, knowing that he should have gone back to Russia to meet his fate, being here a chance he should never have gotten, even in a world he doesn't much care for. It is lucky, though, to be alive when he should be dead, and luckier still to be able to walk by her side, his eyes tracing the movement as she tucks that piece of hair back away from her face.
"I wouldn't have the first idea what to do at a party like that, I don't think," he admits, a little thoughtful, but still smiling gently down at her all the same. "That sort of thing, it is not for me." He won't add that there's a part of him that's comforted by the notion of it being too much for her, too. "I would guess that even what they have here that is most like what we remember is really nothing much like it at all. We've missed a lot of time."