silence engulfs him, her, everything around them. it feels as though something shifts with the world all at once, the noise and the excitement fading and fading until they're in their own little bubble. a small corner away from the rest of the population, just them and this weird something lying between. it's almost unsettling in a way she doesn't comprehend. usually silence is welcome, comforting even... and yet, with him, with her, it's odd. she wants to fill the air with words and sentences and meaning. nothing comes and she stands there, at a loss of what to say, what to do.

and then, he's scoffing out a remark about this being a festival and she's fighting to keep the eye roll at bay. it comes despite her attempts to stay civil, calm, tranquil. purple eyes roll and she's unable to stop herself. "obviously," she murmurs, polite tone wavering slightly with annoyance. it's difficult to maintain that polite air and he's difficult and god, she doesn't understand why he keeps coming around. is there some magnetic pull? is there something more? she doesn't get it, doesn't want to entertain thoughts of such a nature any further. "i didn't think you would come to such a thing." it's honest and her head tilts as if expecting an explanation. he doesn't owe her one and with the understanding that she probably won't get one, she falls silent.

his eyes avoid her own and it almost strikes her as odd. this is the man who stared into her soul in a clearing, who analyzed her eyes with his own for far too long to not feel comfortable staring at them again. she wants to ask about it, wants to poke and prod until she's satisfied with the answer. the chance never comes, however, as his frown distracts her and her eyes follow his to land on her hands, on the flower that digs sharp thorns into soft skin.

it falls away and she's gasping, wrist instinctively struggling at the sudden contact. ah, but his touch is gentle, perhaps even kind, and any resistance dies in her bones. "not an idiot," she murmurs as if he doesn't know what he's talking about. the examination of her hand feels uncomfortable, as if he's looking at more than just the cuts and pricks of red. she doesn't like it and yet, she's almost sorry when it ends. the spreading of medicinal balm is quick, efficient, and the touch is gone.

his expression calms, perhaps with satisfaction that she's no longer injured, and it's a strange sight to see. soothing, pleasant, and she doesn't like the effect it has on her. her gaze averts away from him, drifting toward the crowds as they pass with faceless people and silent moving mouths. it's still just him and her in this small booth, tucked away in some corner of the world that she can't recognize. is it normal to feel the world continue on around you and to not even care because it doesn't compare to this? an odd feeling, an unsettling realization, and she's shoving it away for later.

"what?" an eyebrow quirks up and she can't help but lean in, curious and confused all at once. he's giving her back the flower she offered him? "why?" faye can't help but question him, question the intention. it's probably nothing, not relating in the slightest to her earlier sentiments when offering the flora to him in the first place. perhaps he doesn't even want it and simply just wants to return it back to her possession. either way, her hand is tentative as it rises, joining his at the stalk of the rose. she bites at the skin of her bottom lip as their hands brush together and then she's stilling her actions, eyes lifting from pale petals to his eyes. "i was giving it to you," she whispers as if there's a fragile thing between them and if she speaks too harshly, too heavily, it'll crumble into ruins. "why would you give it back?" faye doesn't understand, even as she tries to weigh the possibilities in her mind. her thoughts settle on one and it brings about an avoidance of his eyes, a heat she doesn't recognize rising to the skin of her cheeks. she's foolish and misunderstanding the situation... that's all.

sorry for the wait bby ;u;
@ken