"Well?" Her voice sliced through the quiet room, crisp and devoid of any warmth. It held the ingrained authority of her noble upbringing, layered with the sharp impatience of youth. "Are you going to stand there gawking like a fool all day, Lloyd?" She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Or did you actually interrupt my cultivation for a reason?"
The familiar wave of nineteen-year-old Lloyd's anxiety washed over him – the urge to shrink back, stammer an apology, mumble an excuse about needing a book or checking the time, and make a hasty retreat to the comforting neutrality of the hallway sofa. He felt the heat rise in his neck, the sudden dryness in his mouth. Old habits died hard, especially when reinforced by years of awkwardness and a distinct lack of positive interaction.
But the eighty-year-old pragmatist, the scientist who'd faced down academic ridicule, the man who'd lived long enough to know that avoidance solved nothing, pushed back. No. Different approach this time. Change the script. He needed to establish a new dynamic, or he'd be stuck in the same rut that likely contributed to his early grave last time. This wasn't just about romance; it was about survival, alliance, and not spending the rest of his potentially short second life sleeping on upholstery.
He consciously relaxed his shoulders, forcing down the nervous tension. He met her icy stare head-on, holding it steady. And then, dredging up a confidence he hadn't possessed at nineteen but had cultivated over decades on another world, he let a slow, easy smile spread across his face. It felt strange, like wearing someone else's expression, yet also liberating.
He tilted his head, mirroring her earlier gesture, but deliberately infusing it with playful curiosity rather than suspicion. "Actually," he began, his voice smooth, consciously pitched lower, warmer than his usual hesitant tones. The sound seemed alien coming from his own throat, but he pressed on. "I wasn't just gawking like a fool."
He let the smile widen slightly, allowing a hint of mischief into his eyes. "I was admiring the view."
Rosa blinked. Just a flicker of surprise in those guarded eyes, quickly suppressed, but it was there. Her carefully constructed wall of indifference had been momentarily breached by the unexpected maneuver. She recovered quickly, suspicion flooding back into her expression like a tide reclaiming the shore.
"The… view?" she repeated, her voice flat, skeptical. She deliberately looked away from him, scanning the opulent room with exaggerated slowness. "The view of what, exactly? The ridiculously overpriced vase my aunt sent? The drapes that clash horribly with the carpet? Or perhaps," she finished, her gaze snapping back to him, sharp and challenging, "the wardrobe you seem so fascinated with?"
Lloyd chuckled softly, a genuine sound this time, surprising them both. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. Her defensiveness was predictable, almost comforting in its familiarity. It was the change in his own reaction that felt significant.
He took a deliberate step further into the room, closing the distance between them slightly. Not encroaching on her personal space, not yet, but moving out of the liminal doorway zone. Establishing presence.
"No," he said, his smile softening, becoming less playful and more sincere. He kept his gaze locked with hers, refusing to be intimidated by her frosty glare. "The view of you, Rosa."
He paused, letting the simple statement hang in the air for a pregnant beat, watching her reaction. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Was that a faint blush creeping up her neck, or just a trick of the light? Hard to tell. She pressed her lips together, annoyance warring with… something else? Confusion?
He decided to press his advantage, however slight it might be. "You're incredibly beautiful when you're concentrating, you know," he continued, his voice maintaining its calm, warm tone. He leaned casually against the bedpost nearest him, adopting an air of relaxed confidence he definitely didn't feel bubbling beneath the surface. "All focused and powerful." He tilted his head again, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Although, I have to admit," he added, his tone dropping to a near conspiratorial whisper, "you're even more striking when you're scowling at me like I've just tracked mud all over your pristine existence."
He held his breath, bracing for the explosion. The indignant retort. The demand that he leave immediately and perhaps consider setting himself on fire in the hallway. He had thrown down a gauntlet, disrupting the established order of awkward silence and mutual avoidance. Now, he waited to see if she would pick it up, or simply freeze him out completely. This was new territory, uncharted and potentially perilous. But infinitely more interesting than the sofa.