He only caught a split-second of that smile of hers before he was face to the ground. Her laugh rang in his ears instead, and Endymion half-groaned, half-smiled where he was. It would have been petulant to expect her to be – concerned about him, wouldn’t it? She had already done one good deed he didn’t deserve, by getting him free: there was no reason to expect any more grace from her.
Although, Endymion supposed, as he found her hands – unexpectedly – on his shoulders, maybe his own lack of grace had at least avoided the awkwardness there might have been between them. The laughter had cleared it, perhaps. She was still laughing now, he was sure – he shifted over on his shoulder and rolled over onto his back, looking up at her with mud smeared on his face. (He remembered seeing her with traces of dirt under her fingernails and inkstains all up her hands – small things, but they had been marks against her. He could look back on them more fondly now. Like the way she was trying, and failing, to sound sincerely concerned.)
“Fantastic,” he offered, more resignedly than his last response. “I’m – fantastic.” So much for smoothness, then. He inhaled deeply to catch his breath again, and shook a hand through the curls at his forehead in case any soil had gotten in his hair. (Priorities.) “I think I might need to take it – slow,” Endymion decided lightly, even taking his time in sitting upright to try and avoid any dizziness or a sudden rush of blood through his limbs. It felt – presumptuous to demand a hand up, though it might have helped him. At any rate, his mouth twitched when he glanced at her again. “But I’m glad that I could entertain you.”
Although, Endymion supposed, as he found her hands – unexpectedly – on his shoulders, maybe his own lack of grace had at least avoided the awkwardness there might have been between them. The laughter had cleared it, perhaps. She was still laughing now, he was sure – he shifted over on his shoulder and rolled over onto his back, looking up at her with mud smeared on his face. (He remembered seeing her with traces of dirt under her fingernails and inkstains all up her hands – small things, but they had been marks against her. He could look back on them more fondly now. Like the way she was trying, and failing, to sound sincerely concerned.)
“Fantastic,” he offered, more resignedly than his last response. “I’m – fantastic.” So much for smoothness, then. He inhaled deeply to catch his breath again, and shook a hand through the curls at his forehead in case any soil had gotten in his hair. (Priorities.) “I think I might need to take it – slow,” Endymion decided lightly, even taking his time in sitting upright to try and avoid any dizziness or a sudden rush of blood through his limbs. It felt – presumptuous to demand a hand up, though it might have helped him. At any rate, his mouth twitched when he glanced at her again. “But I’m glad that I could entertain you.”
