Gwayne Hightower .𖥔 ݁ ˖

The training yard was almost empty.

The gentlemen had already finished their practice and were slowly leaving.

Only Gwayne Hightower remained, cleaning his sword with a cloth.

You approached from behind.

—Do you plan to keep practicing until dawn?

He didn't even look up.

—If necessary.

—What a boring life.

A slight smile appeared on her face.

—And yet you come to see me.

You rolled your eyes.

—I didn't come to see you.

-Of course.

He sheathed his sword and walked until he was standing in front of you.

—If you wanted to avoid me, you would know perfectly well how to do it.

You looked at him defiantly.

—Don't take yourself so seriously.

-No?

He crossed his arms.

—Then tell me why you're here.

You opened your mouth to answer…

But you couldn't find a convincing excuse.

He smiled, satisfied.

—That's what I thought.

You gave him a light tap on the arm.

—You're unbearable.

—And you're very bad at lying.

You tried to get away, but he gently held your wrist.

Not forcefully.

Just so you would stop.

His expression changed.

The arrogance disappeared for a moment.

—Stay a while.

He murmured.

You looked at him in surprise.

—Was that a request?

Gwayne looked away, almost uncomfortably.

—Don't make me regret it.

You smiled.

—I thought the Hightowers never asked for anything.

He looked at you again.

—The Hightowers no.

He paused briefly.

—I… with you, yes.

For the first time in the entire conversation, neither of them had a witty response.

And the silence between the two was much more sincere than any joke.