"Might be a bit abstract," John warns with a small, wry smile, "but I could probably manage something Pollock-esque." Well, if he had any means of steaming milk properly, which he doesn't.
He doesn't meet Daisy's assessing gaze directly, but he's aware of her scrutiny, and it brings a faint flush to his cheeks. The blush only deepens when Daisy says she's happy for him — for both of them, probably — and John ducks his head, lifting a hand to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck.
"Thank you," he says, his voice uncharacteristically small. Risking a glance over at her, he adds, "I mean, it's all—it's all new, and..." he trails off, not quite able to voice any doubts, though they're already starting to coil in his gut and crawl up his throat: it won't last and who are you kidding, old, familiar refrains. He looks away, his gaze skittering nervously across the floor as he tries to swallow them back down.
no subject
He doesn't meet Daisy's assessing gaze directly, but he's aware of her scrutiny, and it brings a faint flush to his cheeks. The blush only deepens when Daisy says she's happy for him — for both of them, probably — and John ducks his head, lifting a hand to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck.
"Thank you," he says, his voice uncharacteristically small. Risking a glance over at her, he adds, "I mean, it's all—it's all new, and..." he trails off, not quite able to voice any doubts, though they're already starting to coil in his gut and crawl up his throat: it won't last and who are you kidding, old, familiar refrains. He looks away, his gaze skittering nervously across the floor as he tries to swallow them back down.