"Yeah, I bet you can." They'd undergone an endless battery of endurance tests, sleep deprivation, hiking for hours. You never know when The Minerva will be out of commission, students; you'll have to be able to stay on your feet and make your way back to the Academy even if all other options are exhausted.
It was perhaps an odd way of utilising it, that she could stand perfectly in perfect heels for hours without flagging, but when needs must.
Luther shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the back of his chair (a precautionary measure; the shirt by itself would be easier to launder if he spilled), and he takes a seat. Chivalry might've meant staying on his feet too, but the chairs are at a level that mean he can look at her more evenly, without tilting his head too far to look downward, and it gives his neck a bit of a break.
And when he tries the first bite of each flavour, a deeply appreciative look crosses his face that could only be described as blissful. He licks the back of his spoon, savouring it. "God, that's good," Luther says. It's not the same flavour as the plain chocolate he'd always had before, so it doesn't quite rocket him back to the Academy days — it's new, and that's almost more terrifying and exciting. He'd never have tried this place or even known about it, if Allison hadn't thought of it first and taken him with her.
(And wasn't that just emblematic of the whole thing.)
He digs in and considers how he really should've gotten more than the three scoops, all things considered, but it would take too long to get back in line. "You have the best ideas," he pronounces, and just for a second, it's like there's an echo of familiarity: the pair of them as teenagers, slipping away with schemes, Allison usually the instigator with some sort of plan, with Luther faithfully by her side to execute.
All of this. This entire night. He's a thousand miles away from home, but he feels home in a way he hasn't for two years.
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It was perhaps an odd way of utilising it, that she could stand perfectly in perfect heels for hours without flagging, but when needs must.
Luther shrugs out of his jacket and slings it over the back of his chair (a precautionary measure; the shirt by itself would be easier to launder if he spilled), and he takes a seat. Chivalry might've meant staying on his feet too, but the chairs are at a level that mean he can look at her more evenly, without tilting his head too far to look downward, and it gives his neck a bit of a break.
And when he tries the first bite of each flavour, a deeply appreciative look crosses his face that could only be described as blissful. He licks the back of his spoon, savouring it. "God, that's good," Luther says. It's not the same flavour as the plain chocolate he'd always had before, so it doesn't quite rocket him back to the Academy days — it's new, and that's almost more terrifying and exciting. He'd never have tried this place or even known about it, if Allison hadn't thought of it first and taken him with her.
(And wasn't that just emblematic of the whole thing.)
He digs in and considers how he really should've gotten more than the three scoops, all things considered, but it would take too long to get back in line. "You have the best ideas," he pronounces, and just for a second, it's like there's an echo of familiarity: the pair of them as teenagers, slipping away with schemes, Allison usually the instigator with some sort of plan, with Luther faithfully by her side to execute.
All of this. This entire night. He's a thousand miles away from home, but he feels home in a way he hasn't for two years.