Chapter 239: But I Was First
It can't be, he thought. Her behavior... it had been a little strange, yes. But it was still within an acceptable range. The only thing that had been a little... intimate... was when she had wiped the jam from his lips. But she had been raised by him and her, had never had any contact with any other man. It was only natural that she didn't know the proper distance to keep. Yes, he thought, that has to be it.
And so he sat and he ate, and he was a master of his own emotions, a master of a thousand years. And she, she watched him, and her own mind, it was a maelstrom of a pure and an unadulterated thought. She had been the one to sit beside him, the one to choose the restaurant, the one to serve him. And yet... the moment she had appeared, it had all been for naught. The man, with a natural and an almost-unconscious gesture, he had just given her the steak, the steak that she, herself, had chosen for him.
And as she ate, a new and a strange memory, a memory of the night before, now came to her own, now slightly-flustered, mind. The moonlight, and the wine, and the kiss... his lips on hers, his scent... "Ahem," she cleared her throat, a new and a different kind of a blush now creeping up her own, pale and a delicate, neck. The memory... it was a thing that was a very and a very difficult thing to suppress. And for some reason... it was a little... hot.
And he, he had seen it. "What's wrong?" he asked with a small and a knowing smile, a smile that only she could understand. "Not to your liking? Or are you thinking of something else?"
He was teasing her.
She glared at him, but her own glare, it was now a thing that was a far and a more gentle thing than her own, usual, cool and a detached gaze. "No," she said, her own voice now a little... tight. "Just... eat your food." And she pushed a plate of a sweet and a decadent dessert towards him, a silent and an almost-unconscious offering.
The fork in her other's hand... it was now a tight and a clutched thing, and her own, now brittle and a fragile, composure now began to crack. She had seen it all, the blush on her teacher's face, the fond and a teasing smile on his, the unspoken and an effortless intimacy that was a thing that was a thousand years in the making, a thing that she could never, ever, hope to breach. She was an outsider, a guest, a stranger in their own, private and a secluded, world.
And then, he had taken a small, red berry from the top of the dessert and, with a natural and an almost-unconscious gesture, he had held it to her lips. "Try this," he said. "It looks sweet."
And she... she had hesitated for a moment, and then... she had leaned in and had taken it, and her own lips... they had brushed against his own fingertips.
And in that moment, all three of them... they had frozen.
And the girl, she could not take it anymore.
With a scrape of her chair, a sound that was a sharp and a grating thing in the quiet of the restaurant, she was on her feet. "I... I have to go," she said, her own voice now a choked and a trembling sound. "I forgot... Frieren hasn't eaten yet. I have to go and... feed her." And she turned and she fled, and she was so afraid that the tears that were now welling up in her own, now burning, eyes would fall, would betray her.
Why, she thought, why does it hurt so much?
She... he looked at her own, now fleeing, form, and a frown now came to his own face. What was that about? He was not an elf, with a thousand years of an emotional detachment. He had lived too long, had seen too much, had felt too much, to be so... blind. But... when had it started? He did not know.
I have to talk to her, he thought, and a new and a terrible sense of a great and a heavy responsibility now settled upon him.
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