It was hard not to have overheated a little, Endymion thought plaintively, when there had been vines wrapped forcefully around him in the middle of July. But now that he had free movement and use of his own limbs again, he did attempt to wrestle his way out of his jacket where he was sitting as Thistle, meanwhile, the paragon of assistance, waved a floppy handkerchief at him.
“You’re too kind, honestly,” he answered to her smirk. “A real help.” (She had saved him, so he couldn’t actually complain – but he pulled a mock-pout anyway.) To help himself instead, he tugged his top shirt button open, loosening his collar from his neck; he wasn’t yet ready to give standing up another try. He did feel a little pink and flushed and stupid for it now that he was free, so he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and let his attention linger more sincerely on her instead. “How have you been? Are you – sorry, is it still Miss Potts?”
He couldn’t recall her marrying, but that didn’t mean much at all: she wasn’t quite in society, and he’d been mostly out of the country for years. And it had been a long time ago that they had known each other.
“You’re too kind, honestly,” he answered to her smirk. “A real help.” (She had saved him, so he couldn’t actually complain – but he pulled a mock-pout anyway.) To help himself instead, he tugged his top shirt button open, loosening his collar from his neck; he wasn’t yet ready to give standing up another try. He did feel a little pink and flushed and stupid for it now that he was free, so he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and let his attention linger more sincerely on her instead. “How have you been? Are you – sorry, is it still Miss Potts?”
He couldn’t recall her marrying, but that didn’t mean much at all: she wasn’t quite in society, and he’d been mostly out of the country for years. And it had been a long time ago that they had known each other.
