ROEFLAME — break the air to feel the fall.
Feelings were only fun when you were watching from the outside, Roeflame had come to unfortunately find.
The butterflies, the questioning, the way her breath hitched every time she caught his gaze on her- it was maddening.
If the tabby had to choose the biggest difficulty, it would be the lack of knowing. Did his lingering stares, constant company, and late night conversations mean he felt the same, or that he pitied her?
Oh stars, what if it was both? Mortifying.
When the silver-kissed molly wakes that morning, it is with a new conviction in her heart. She would make the first move, be direct and smooth-talking, and find out for sure what their friendship meant- it was better than the alternative anyways, which was brooding over the entire forest’s predicament.
That was the way to go, right?
She had no skills in romance, her only experience a frost-laced tragedy, and even after getting to say her final goodbye to Snowpath, Roeflame still couldn’t confess her feelings. Water under the bridge, she tells herself. The timing may not be right, may even be awful- but when was it ever the “good” time? Something was always bound to be happening, and she was simply gathering necessary information, Roeflame tells herself.
After seeking out some well-trusted advice earlier in the day, Roeflame’s plan would finally be set in motion well after sun-high, when there’s finally a pause in the day to rest calloused paws on the outskirts of their temporary home and she catches the night-pelted tom approaching her out of the side of her eye.
Purposefully, she’d be looking away by the time Burnstorm settled beside her, feigning ignorance to whoever her new companion could be.
A faux sigh to build her confidence.
"You know, I never realized tall, dark, and handsome was my type until… oh, hey." Her head doesn’t turn to look at Burnstorm until the end, and when it does her last words are accompanied with a light smile and tip of her head. There is a storm of flush brewing against her cheekbones, but the bold warrior retains her cool demeanor. Was she nailing this, or what?
// please wait for @BURNSTORM !
Feelings were only fun when you were watching from the outside, Roeflame had come to unfortunately find.
The butterflies, the questioning, the way her breath hitched every time she caught his gaze on her- it was maddening.
If the tabby had to choose the biggest difficulty, it would be the lack of knowing. Did his lingering stares, constant company, and late night conversations mean he felt the same, or that he pitied her?
Oh stars, what if it was both? Mortifying.
When the silver-kissed molly wakes that morning, it is with a new conviction in her heart. She would make the first move, be direct and smooth-talking, and find out for sure what their friendship meant- it was better than the alternative anyways, which was brooding over the entire forest’s predicament.
That was the way to go, right?
She had no skills in romance, her only experience a frost-laced tragedy, and even after getting to say her final goodbye to Snowpath, Roeflame still couldn’t confess her feelings. Water under the bridge, she tells herself. The timing may not be right, may even be awful- but when was it ever the “good” time? Something was always bound to be happening, and she was simply gathering necessary information, Roeflame tells herself.
After seeking out some well-trusted advice earlier in the day, Roeflame’s plan would finally be set in motion well after sun-high, when there’s finally a pause in the day to rest calloused paws on the outskirts of their temporary home and she catches the night-pelted tom approaching her out of the side of her eye.
Purposefully, she’d be looking away by the time Burnstorm settled beside her, feigning ignorance to whoever her new companion could be.
A faux sigh to build her confidence.
"You know, I never realized tall, dark, and handsome was my type until… oh, hey." Her head doesn’t turn to look at Burnstorm until the end, and when it does her last words are accompanied with a light smile and tip of her head. There is a storm of flush brewing against her cheekbones, but the bold warrior retains her cool demeanor. Was she nailing this, or what?
// please wait for @BURNSTORM !
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