[ It's not all about Fjord, he reminds himself of that as he keeps his eyes off Molly (I know you've looked at me) and on the road, saying something about getting dinner started once they're back at the house. It's not about how Fjord's brain keeps melting when he thinks about the press of Molly against him and the way it felt to kiss him, shaking off those memories like the guilty, sullied things they are. It's definitely not about how, for a split-second (or thirty) he may have enjoyed the way it felt to have ... everything he did in his arms. ]
You're disgusting. Stop. None of it was real.
[ Muttering under his breath, he gets back to roasting them some goose and adding some grapes to the finished platter. He knocks on the master bedroom's door, not knowing if it's okay to waltz right in as he usually would. ]
no subject
You're disgusting. Stop. None of it was real.
[ Muttering under his breath, he gets back to roasting them some goose and adding some grapes to the finished platter. He knocks on the master bedroom's door, not knowing if it's okay to waltz right in as he usually would. ]
Molly? Hey, ah. I've got you something to eat.