The waltz is nice, and Remus is kind for taking the proverbial punches -- from left footed women -- gently. But when their steps change and they both relax, Tonks smiles even more brightly.
It's the complementary style -- something at once seemingly practiced and yet completely natural and unforced -- that she likes between them so much. It's a funny thing, then, that they sometimes take a minute to get to that point. They each, in their own way, try too hard sometimes. If Tonks thought about it, she would suppose that it's similar to thinking about how one breathes. Or eats. The naturalness becomes weird upon too much thought.
But Tonks is not thinking too much. Or about trying, either too much or not enough. She's living in the moment and truly enjoying herself. She honestly wouldn't be able to say when the last time she did that was. And even as she makes moves up on the fly, she pays attention to Remus and his movements as well.
The motion to stop isn't pity in the slightest. It's a slight step back into her own awkwardness, a dance she's less sure of. There is often a point in their interactions where Tonks feels she goes too far. While it may (unbeknownst to her) be Remus remembering himself and putting kind but distant space back between them (for her safety, a statement at which she would snort unladylike toward), she wonders if it's her. Too brash. Too bold. Too much. She doesn't know how to tone herself down.
But now? Now, the awkward dance and curious thoughts of too-much are quieted by the quite welcome feeling of his arm linking with hers. She leans in, bumping shoulders lightly as they walk back to the table.
"You should tell me about a hidden talent of yours." She says as they sit back down, eyebrows lifting. It was apropos of nothing but her curiosity and the fact that she asks what pops in her head.
Sorry!! Got caught up with a phone call!
It's the complementary style -- something at once seemingly practiced and yet completely natural and unforced -- that she likes between them so much. It's a funny thing, then, that they sometimes take a minute to get to that point. They each, in their own way, try too hard sometimes. If Tonks thought about it, she would suppose that it's similar to thinking about how one breathes. Or eats. The naturalness becomes weird upon too much thought.
But Tonks is not thinking too much. Or about trying, either too much or not enough. She's living in the moment and truly enjoying herself. She honestly wouldn't be able to say when the last time she did that was. And even as she makes moves up on the fly, she pays attention to Remus and his movements as well.
The motion to stop isn't pity in the slightest. It's a slight step back into her own awkwardness, a dance she's less sure of. There is often a point in their interactions where Tonks feels she goes too far. While it may (unbeknownst to her) be Remus remembering himself and putting kind but distant space back between them (for her safety, a statement at which she would snort unladylike toward), she wonders if it's her. Too brash. Too bold. Too much. She doesn't know how to tone herself down.
But now? Now, the awkward dance and curious thoughts of too-much are quieted by the quite welcome feeling of his arm linking with hers. She leans in, bumping shoulders lightly as they walk back to the table.
"You should tell me about a hidden talent of yours." She says as they sit back down, eyebrows lifting. It was apropos of nothing but her curiosity and the fact that she asks what pops in her head.