feelers-for-jeans-and-atshirt:
It only took a short time for the flow of the language to pull Summer in, and she sat forward, hands clasped, smiling and laughing. “Darlin’, if you are not yet famous, you’ll be so very soon. This is amazing,” she told Tom, while the play-within-a-play passed onscreen.
Tom grinned, shaking his head, “Not many people come to watch Shakespeare, I can see, but thank you! I really don’t deserve half as much attention that I’m blessed with..”
[be sure and tell me if I do something you-as-mun don’t want, okay. the muse is being willful.]
“Oh, now, /that’s/ a — ” Summer cut herself off, staring at the screen, then swallowed hard. She picked back up in a whisper. “Gods all bless, Tom. You’ve /really/ got to stop selling yourself short.” She looked at him, face a bit flushed. “Excuse me, I — ” She scrambled up from the pillows, avoiding his eyes after that one glance.