[Some weird part of him wants to flail over her apology and shut it down, no, don't be sorry, he's the one that should be, right. But other than a fleeting moment of looking completely open - his worries and reservations and that intense wanting all tangled up and laid right out for her observation - a slip - he doesn't react to her apology. Shuts it down once he realizes what is happening and focuses on the next part, that next step. Giving it away.
He breathes in and nods, shoots his hand out to grip the bike and in an effort to change the mood he shifts his focus there, too.]
Could ride it. Up.
[By that he means ride them up. Back home he can manage groceries and passengers with one hand clasped on an umbrella through rush hour traffic in the dripping rain, he's sure he can give them both a lift in a deserted ship.]
no subject
He breathes in and nods, shoots his hand out to grip the bike and in an effort to change the mood he shifts his focus there, too.]
Could ride it. Up.
[By that he means ride them up. Back home he can manage groceries and passengers with one hand clasped on an umbrella through rush hour traffic in the dripping rain, he's sure he can give them both a lift in a deserted ship.]