[ It isn't his intention to make her feel awkward about the attempt— if anything, he's flabbergasted that she tried in the first place, with her ill-colored string and her clumsy attempt at doing something that she's clearly not accustomed to. It reminds him a bit of his subordinate back in his world, her hands folded over her chest, apologizing for something that'd barely inconvenienced him at all.
As always, he's glad for Oona's stubbornness, for that pout that suggests that she could do better, just you watch. His attachment to his coat is purely sentimental— the final relics of his old life— but that matters less for now than it probably should.
Instead of asking for his coat back, he closes his eyes and offers Oona his hand. ]
That doesn't matter. [ He'll fix those holes up on his own, later, without removing the initial effort. His index crooks once, twice. ] Let me see your hand.
no subject
As always, he's glad for Oona's stubbornness, for that pout that suggests that she could do better, just you watch. His attachment to his coat is purely sentimental— the final relics of his old life— but that matters less for now than it probably should.
Instead of asking for his coat back, he closes his eyes and offers Oona his hand. ]
That doesn't matter. [ He'll fix those holes up on his own, later, without removing the initial effort. His index crooks once, twice. ] Let me see your hand.
[ Did she prick herself? Does she need band-aids?
More pressing issues. ]