[Solas, on the contrary, had found himself retreating to sleep more than perhaps he normally would, outside of working. There was a lot on his mind, conflicting emotions and desires that he was having an unnaturally long time sorting through. He'd made a misstep, one that had undoubtedly harmed someone he'd come to respect as an equal.
He was leaving the house with books tucked under his arms, a satchel across his chest and a far off expression on his face. He wasn't paying attention, and he'd almost bumped right into the very woman he'd both been avoiding and wanting to see again. There's a fleeting expression of sadness that blips onto his features for a moment but then it's gone again as the fingers of the hand next to his satchel flex a little.]
No. Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. [He finds it hard to look at her, but manages. It's partially relief and partially disappointment he feels when he sees that she's looking elsewhere, obviously purposefully.]
no subject
He was leaving the house with books tucked under his arms, a satchel across his chest and a far off expression on his face. He wasn't paying attention, and he'd almost bumped right into the very woman he'd both been avoiding and wanting to see again. There's a fleeting expression of sadness that blips onto his features for a moment but then it's gone again as the fingers of the hand next to his satchel flex a little.]
No. Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. [He finds it hard to look at her, but manages. It's partially relief and partially disappointment he feels when he sees that she's looking elsewhere, obviously purposefully.]
Perhaps it is I that owe you.