“Aww…” George brushed chestnut hair from his forehead. “The ever-stoic Bailey with a puppy? I think my heart might melt.”
Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]
He looked away, as he did when he smiled excessively, "I'm not ever-stoic," he insisted. Just by the inflection of his voice, George could tell he was smiling.
“Well, clearly not any more,” he continued to tease, leaning forward.
Bailey plucked a hair off his arm, "I should change into nightclothes," he commented briskly. "I'll be right back,"
George sighed and nodded. “Go ahead.”
Bailey stood up kind of stiffly, and retreated to his room.
George’s face fell. He must have overstepped somehow— he should’ve known better than to tease.
Bailey shut the door behind him, then started pacing with his hands firmly on his hips. This is how he processed thoughts, while pacing, with a stern look on his face.
He sighed, leaning forward to rest his face in his hands. Of course. Leave it to him to mess everything up.
Bailey came to a silent conclusion, and dressed into nightclothes. Gave himself a brief glance in the mirror—minding the slight warp—and returned to the living room.
He lifted his head when he heard Bailey coming back, turning to face him.
"You're fine," Bailey spoke, rubbed his hands like he was washing them. "I'm not upset, if you were concerned.. about, that,"
A relieved smile flickered briefly over his features. “If not, then what are you upset about?”
"Nothing. I simply needed.. space to, think," he replied candidly.
“To think,” he echoed with a nod. About what?
Bailey sat back down, hands on his knees.
George angled his body towards him, trying to think of something to say.
"What time is it?" He murmured.
“Almost nine,” he replied, running a hand through his hair.
"Is it too late for a snack?" He asked.
“It’s never too late for a snack. What would you like?”
"Are there cherries left?" The soldier asked, "And do you have a ribbon I can tie my hair up with? It keeps poking my eyes,"
“I’ll get you both,” George offered, rising. “Stay here.”
He nodded a little, and rest his chin on the meat of his palm.
He slipped away, first to the kitchen, where he poured a mound of the red fruit into a small bowl, then quickly to his room to fetch a ribbon. When he returned, he handed the cherries to Bailey but kept hold of the ribbon. “Let me help you with your hair?”
He set the bowl on his lap, "That'd be nice," he accepted the offer.
George came around the back of the couch. His hands hovered in the air for a moment, hesitation crossing his face, before he carefully began to brush Bailey’s hair back into a ponytail.
He shut his eyes, finding the fingers on his scalp very soothing.
He took his time, unsure why his heart seemed to be thundering so loudly. His movements careful, he pushed the last of the hair back and tied it up, but his fingers trailed over Bailey’s scalp a few moments longer.
"You're slow," Bailey spoke, just a light teasing comment.