[As soon as he nods she's moving, throwing her arms around him with the book still clutched firmly in one hand. Tucks her face in against his shoulder and breathes in slowly, breathes him in, and when she breathes out again it's shaky. When she speaks (still holding him, face still tucked close), her voice is tight.]
Thank you. It's beautiful.
[And it's clear that so much care has gone into it, it must have taken forever. Which means she's been wrong about at least one assumption she'd made about his behavior and the mask. And she's not crying, okay, she's just misting up a little. Right into the shoulder of his jumpsuit.]
[After the way she's tiptoed around him he's not expecting her to basically fling herself around him and then stay there, though he wastes no time in pulling her close, awkward with his legs in the way but that doesn't matter as soon as he hears how she sounds. With that his hand comes up to the back of her head and he swallows. Probably too close. Damn.]
Prob'ly shoulda made you something with - stories. Instead.
[Not that he's trying to write off her thanks, it's just. He's nervous - not sure why she's so close and so shaky and not sure what to do about it, let alone what she's okay with right now - and the worry he's been dwelling over is the first one out.]
But, uh... [Nope, asking if she's alright is abandoned as he concentrates on not pulling her into his lap or nuzzling against her hair. It's harder than it really should be, and he tilts his head back to look at the ceiling just so he won't be tempted. Stupid question, anyway.] Good. That y'think so.
[And because she's sort of laughing and Definitely Not Crying (honestly, she's out of the danger zone - especially with him being so him about it and immediately finding fault where none exists - but there's a lingering waver to her voice anyway and that comes out half-hiccuped and weird. She makes a face against his shoulder, turns her head to rest it there a moment, and clarifies.]
I've had books of stories all my life. I love them, but I've never had anything like this.
[She told him to shut up but his head flops back down and he attempts to send her a look over it anyway, only to abort the entire thing halfway through, about the time she scowls against his shoulder. Oh. That's no good and even though she sounds fine with her next sentence one half-hiccup is enough to kickstart a panicked need to fix it.
Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]
[She sighs too, just as soon as his fingers go to her hair, but it's as much relieved as it is frustrated with herself. She tips her head back though - slowly, to make it clear she's not trying to get away from his touch - and gives him a little smile. She really isn't crying, just a little damp-eyes and pink-cheeked.]
I'm not upset. It's fine, it's - it's nice.
[A pause, a beat where she manages not to frown and just breathes carefully instead, a little more aware of how sudden that was, how erratic she must seem.]
Do you want me to move? [and her smile hooks at the corner there, a little cheeky, much more like her usual self.] 'cause I don't want to, so if that's what you need you're gonna hafta tell me.
[Maybe not crying, but he bites the inside of his cheek and frowns as he scrutinizes her damp eyes anyway. If she's not upset then he really wants to know what it is. On the other hand she's edging back to normal and he doesn't want to shove her right back to - whatever the hell it is. Was.
At first he looks bewildered when she says need, but then he gets it and remembers that shit in the Gardens and gets flustered all at the same time, light color to his cheeks.]
It's fine.
[Well, it was, but now he's thinking of kissing all over again. He turns his head to look across the room and focuses on Lodewijk like that'll help.]
[No, don't ask "can I ask" because he might just say yes instead of answering and who knows how he'll take it if you smack him right now]
When did you start this? The book.
[Heather you've been edgy enough for long enough that you at least owe him an explanation for the sudden gear shift, okay. So she stays tucked close - looks at his ear, absently thinks hello, kitty and then has a brief oh fuck moment before she's completely reassured she didn't say that out loud, and shrugs.]
I guess what I really wanna ask you is when you started wearing the mask.
[The first question is easy enough to answer and he's about to speak when her second question makes him forget that he's supposed to be looking across the room. He frowns at her as best as he can manage and raises a brow, wondering how the hell one of those can be a replacement for the other, and just as abruptly turns his attention back to Lodewijk.
When he started wearing the mask - it's not a question he wants to answer because it was spectacularly stupid. Late enough that he knew better than to fuck with them, late enough that she was back and that should've been good enough, right. She's either going to (rightly) throttle him for being a moron or say she's disappointed or start crying for real. Nothing good. His arm around her tenses and if she weren't tucked into his shoulder he'd be tucking into himself. But she asked and he owes her any answer she wants about the mask.]
After Japan left. Again. [And quickly, spilled out and messy - ] I know it was fuckin' dumb. I just -
[Missed everyone. Wanted to see them again. That thought doesn't make it to the air, though.]
[Not okay, because it isn't, at all. It was fuckin' dumb, yes. But also -]
understandable, I guess. I mean if you knew what they did by then, and you'd just lost somebody from home... I get it, I think.
[She doesn't, not really. And his answer doesn't give her the information she'd been hoping for but it's something, right. He's talking about it. To her. It's a start.]
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it wasn't an asshole move. 'cause it really was. But -
[she's thinking a lot of people put theirs on under a lot less strain than he did, but ti's not really a constructive thing to say. Hey, you're a dumbass, but at least you're not the biggest dumbass? No.]
It's gone now. And if you try to get it back, I'm here to kick the dumb out of you.
[Goddamnit he's actually blushing even as he glares a hole in the floor. It's not hard to admit he's made a mistake, but admitting that he knew he was making a mistake as he was doing it is something else. And he wants to look at her, kind of a thanks for being there and threatening to kick his ass, but at the same time he can't bring himself to. Just thumbs over her shoulder with the arm around her since he can't really pull her tighter without it getting weird.
So he mutters "thanks" at the floor and shoves down the urge to point out it was stolen from him and frowns as he wonders what "asshole move" is supposed to mean. Mouths it without realizing.]
[It's probably a little creepy that she's using his inability to look at her as an opportunity to pretty much stare at him. It's just that eye contact has been uncomfortable for so long, and she's been aware that he kinda looks like hell but it's only now that she's seeing just how much of the strain is showing in his face. And given how much of himself he usually hold back, the implications of what he must actually be feeling are pretty horrible.
It's kind of funny when it's that phrase, out of everything, that seems to puzzle him. And right now any funny is welcome relief. So she shake her head and shifts, because her positioning is kind of uncomfortable - just sits next to him, leaning on him, setting the book in her lap - and tries to explain without sounding like a moron.]
It's just... uh, something you'd have to be kind of an asshole to do. [There's not as much apology in there as there could be because hey, it's true.] I mean come on, you're like seven feet tall and super strong. The danger factor around you going nuts is a little higher than for most of the other jerks around here.
[His arm doesn't leave when she shifts. Instead of being wrapped around her shoulders it slips to wrap around her waist as he lets her lean and resists the urge to tug her just that much closer. While she explains he still keeps staring at the floor, no recognition happening and if anything when he finally darts a look over he looks even more confused. He's stronger than a lot of people and that makes him an asshole?]
... what.
[About zero of that is computing. Being able to beat up people is not what makes him a danger to others.]
[Wow, Heather, you're doing the best job at explaining this. Meanwhile, another thing that shouldn't be comforting but kind of is? That flat what. She blows her bangs up out of her face and takes a beat.]
Not just you. Just... the more damage you can do, the more of a responsibility you have to make sure you don't. But I know I'm not exactly impartial here.
[She's not even sure where she's going with it anymore, just painfully aware that no matter how she tries to frame it her objections to the mask are always going to be personal. Is she kind of disappointed he knew the risks and still did something that could put people in danger? Yes. Is she way more focused on the fact that she's still confused about where they stand? Hell yes.]
Sorry. It's done, it's not - not important anymore.
[Damn, it'd be nice to smoke and think this over. Or just smoke. It's been a bit and half of that time has been stressful, but then he'd either have to smoke in her face or scoot away and neither of those are gonna fly. So he chews on his lip and blinks down as she explains, halfway stuck in his own head turning it over.]
Guess so. [Back to the present. He looks at her for a quiet moment, swipes at his hair with his other hand and sighs.] Mm, no. It is. Didn't, uh, think of anyone here, first time -
[And it was a day or two between the first and the second time and in that time he really should've fessed up, trusted someone to handle it before it got away from him. Shouldn't have trusted that he could handle it. His eyes slide to the side, guilty, because they wouldn't be in this mess if he'd gone to her in the first place.]
Fucked it up after that. [Another sigh, then he looks down at her without trying to hide the worry at the edges of his expression.] Shoulda said somethin'. Before I tried it again.
[Softly, though, because of that look on his face. Things she wishes she could fix and is finally starting to understand she can't, because for the most part they're nothing to do with her.]
I'm still worried about you, you know. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not hurt and kinda mad at you, but mostly I'm just worried.
[She wets her lips, tries to find a way to say what's in her head without sounding like and after-school special and comes up with nothing. Hell with it, she'll say it anyway.]
I want you to come to me if something's wrong. If you feel like you need to talk about something, or whatever. I know this is all different and weird now but it doesn't make me care about you any less. I still want to help.
[Worry overlaid with guilt all over again and he can't tell if the way she's speaking, careful and gentle, is making this harder or easier. Part of him thanks it'd be easier if she was more angry with him - open, caring sincerity in discussions is hard to handle and especially to sustain without him either closing up or them getting awkward. But it's also reassuring, that she can say she's mad and doesn't make to pull away.]
An' what if what's wrong is - y'know.
[Them. He squeezes her for a second rather than saying it aloud, not quite a hug, before he levels a look that's a little more solemn.]
You don't come, either. When something's wrong.
[And he doesn't only mean that she doesn't come to him. Last time he knows of that she had a problem, she left - didn't come to anyone at all - almost died. It's in the back of his mind, lurking, but probably shows on his face anyway. The more important thing is that he suddenly wonders if she's been waiting on him to say something similar to her, when to him it's a given.]
[She leans a little closer at that squeeze, moves the arm closest to him behind his back for the extra contact. And she's about to try to lighten the mood with a joke that would doubtless not be funny when he continues and it dies on her lips, replaced by an expression that's halfway guilty and mostly sheepish. Yeah, he has a point. A quiet sigh as she tilts her head towards him.]
Yeah, I know. I'm just used to people getting hurt when they try to help me. That's not some teen poetry bullshit either, I mean physically hurt. But I'll remember. In case there's a next time.
[That's why it's had been so much easier to ask him for help way back, what feels like a very long time ago now. When he'd been just some guy - cute guy, sure, and funny - but just some guy she knew. Now he's so much more than that, and even if it makes her a hypocrite she's not willing to risk him. But if it means taking whatever the hell this is and maybe building something out of it, then... sure. She can try.]
[He doesn't look very impressed with her explanation. Most of the people here are used to getting hurt, and most of the people she knows would be willing to get hurt for her. Well, at least the ones that he knows of - Asato, Alex, himself, but there are probably more. More than that, though, is the fact that it doesn't have to be anything dangerous for them to want to help out.
Or at least that's the case with him.]
Doesn't hafta be that kind of wrong.
[Which comes out slightly snappish, annoyed, though his posture doesn't change.]
Edited (accidentally half a sentence) 2013-01-10 10:24 (UTC)
Help, I need to clean my guns but I'm out of hydrogen peroxide and I don't want to go to medbay to get more?
[A dry answer to his snappishness but it's followed closely by a sigh, because she's meant to be the healthy one here, right. She'll lead by example, if in a very roundabout way and with her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, fingers tracing the pattern of the wood.]
So what if my problem was that a while back this guy I was into asked me to spend the night with him and it was pretty much the happiest and safest I'd felt in months but then everything got weird and now I can't tell if he asked me 'cause he wanted me to or if he only did it because his creepy-ass mask made him think it was a good idea?
[That sure was an avalanche of words, and her breath on finishing is audible.]
[His eyes snap to the ceiling, not quite a roll but more of a why me as he gets ready to comment on her setting fire to the kitchens or, maybe more similar to what he meant, her crashing by his room at ass-o-clock. Or hell, going to Medbay to fetch her sleeping pills or tampons or goddamned whatever.
Of course, none of that actually happens. Instead he spends the first part watching her finger trace patterns, then his stomach flips and he looks like he's about to blush all over again and this is what people are talking about when they mean butterflies, huh, then a tiny frown flickers and he blinks up at her, and finally - ] Uh. [ - a lot more makes sense and he kind of looks like he's high and just solved Wheatley's rubik's cube for a second.]
Shoulda asked before now.
[Not what he meant to say but the practical part of his brain kick-started back first, and answered her question. As soon as he hears it he splutters and gives his head a shake, no, moron, why did you say that, scrubs at his face with his free hand and doesn't bring it back down from his eye because oh god no wonder she hasn't wanted to be around him.]
[Well. She's already awkward just putting it out there and as soon as he tells her she should have asked sooner her cheeks stain red. This is exactly why she hasn't, you butt. And then he's scrambling all over his own words and she'd laugh at that except he says it was after and suddenly her heart's beating so hard she's sure he must be able to hear it throwing itself against the walls of her chest.
But she can't really tell what he's getting at there, so she shifts and it turns her body in towards his as she reaches tentatively up to pull his hand away from his face.]
[Fuck, not even he knows what he's trying to say, everything's a start-stop of letting everything out a clumsy rush of words and keeping it in until he's finished thinking it over, can actually arrange his thoughts into some semblance of order. Not anything that would usually be a question but she really deserves some answers and making her wait on them seems cruel. His fingers curl around her hand and he lets her pull it away, despite how much he wants to bury his face and groan.]
You thought it was - [Thought it was the mask the entire time.] No. I thought - [I'd changed too much and you didn't like me anymore but he bites down on that, because, hell, that could still be the case.]
Didn't realize, [is what he finally settles with, sighs it out and can't seem to meet her eyes until he rolls a shoulder and lifts his chin, thumbing across her knuckles. Takes a breath.] Sorry...
[She doesn't really care whether he's sorry - sorry's nice, sure, but what she wants is clarity. And that's always going to be a stumbling block with them and their multiple-lifetimes-worth of issues but this, at least, she can ask for. So she does, with their hands cupped warm together and her eyes on his, no effort to hide her need for a straight answer.]
It was your choice. You wanted it?
[Blunt, yeah, but that's kind of his style even if feelings really really aren't. And she needs this, needs to know.]
[Still a little vague - it could be any number of things, her feeling happy and safe or her spending the night or whatever it was they had going before everything went to hell - and even though there's a flicker of confusion he doesn't ask her to specify. The answer's the same regardless of what it is.]
Want.
[His blush rockets up to eleven when he realizes how forward that is. He clears his throat, fixes it.]
[Want is good. Want is great. Wanted is.. less good, and that trips her for a second, but it's still miles better than the mask just seeing her as another thing to hoard and figuring out a way to make her add herself to the collection willingly. And between the two of them the blush factor in the room is probably enough to power one of the engines, but hell with it. Might as well get it out of the way while she's already tripping over her words, each one so weighted with hope and more than a month's wort of confused emotions that they clunk.]
I still want it. And if you do too, I wanna try.
[To get back to where they were, to figure out what they're even doing - or to not figure it out and make it work anyway.]
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Thank you. It's beautiful.
[And it's clear that so much care has gone into it, it must have taken forever. Which means she's been wrong about at least one assumption she'd made about his behavior and the mask. And she's not crying, okay, she's just misting up a little. Right into the shoulder of his jumpsuit.]
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Prob'ly shoulda made you something with - stories. Instead.
[Not that he's trying to write off her thanks, it's just. He's nervous - not sure why she's so close and so shaky and not sure what to do about it, let alone what she's okay with right now - and the worry he's been dwelling over is the first one out.]
But, uh... [Nope, asking if she's alright is abandoned as he concentrates on not pulling her into his lap or nuzzling against her hair. It's harder than it really should be, and he tilts his head back to look at the ceiling just so he won't be tempted. Stupid question, anyway.] Good. That y'think so.
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[And because she's sort of laughing and Definitely Not Crying (honestly, she's out of the danger zone - especially with him being so him about it and immediately finding fault where none exists - but there's a lingering waver to her voice anyway and that comes out half-hiccuped and weird. She makes a face against his shoulder, turns her head to rest it there a moment, and clarifies.]
I've had books of stories all my life. I love them, but I've never had anything like this.
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Which. Kind of also kills his ability to translate thoughts into words, regardless of language. He sighs and he's not sure which one of them it's directed to, decides fuck it and pulls her closer, starts stroking his fingers through her hair.]
Like this. Is it - okay?
[No, he has no idea what "it" refers to. The gift or her not-crying or the hug or herself or them or, hell, maybe all of it. Whatever one she wants to answer.]
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I'm not upset. It's fine, it's - it's nice.
[A pause, a beat where she manages not to frown and just breathes carefully instead, a little more aware of how sudden that was, how erratic she must seem.]
Do you want me to move? [and her smile hooks at the corner there, a little cheeky, much more like her usual self.] 'cause I don't want to, so if that's what you need you're gonna hafta tell me.
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At first he looks bewildered when she says need, but then he gets it and remembers that shit in the Gardens and gets flustered all at the same time, light color to his cheeks.]
It's fine.
[Well, it was, but now he's thinking of kissing all over again. He turns his head to look across the room and focuses on Lodewijk like that'll help.]
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[No, don't ask "can I ask" because he might just say yes instead of answering and who knows how he'll take it if you smack him right now]
When did you start this? The book.
[Heather you've been edgy enough for long enough that you at least owe him an explanation for the sudden gear shift, okay. So she stays tucked close - looks at his ear, absently thinks hello, kitty and then has a brief oh fuck moment before she's completely reassured she didn't say that out loud, and shrugs.]
I guess what I really wanna ask you is when you started wearing the mask.
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When he started wearing the mask - it's not a question he wants to answer because it was spectacularly stupid. Late enough that he knew better than to fuck with them, late enough that she was back and that should've been good enough, right. She's either going to (rightly) throttle him for being a moron or say she's disappointed or start crying for real. Nothing good. His arm around her tenses and if she weren't tucked into his shoulder he'd be tucking into himself. But she asked and he owes her any answer she wants about the mask.]
After Japan left. Again. [And quickly, spilled out and messy - ] I know it was fuckin' dumb. I just -
[Missed everyone. Wanted to see them again. That thought doesn't make it to the air, though.]
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[Not okay, because it isn't, at all. It was fuckin' dumb, yes. But also -]
understandable, I guess. I mean if you knew what they did by then, and you'd just lost somebody from home... I get it, I think.
[She doesn't, not really. And his answer doesn't give her the information she'd been hoping for but it's something, right. He's talking about it. To her. It's a start.]
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it wasn't an asshole move. 'cause it really was. But -
[she's thinking a lot of people put theirs on under a lot less strain than he did, but ti's not really a constructive thing to say. Hey, you're a dumbass, but at least you're not the biggest dumbass? No.]
It's gone now. And if you try to get it back, I'm here to kick the dumb out of you.
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[Goddamnit he's actually blushing even as he glares a hole in the floor. It's not hard to admit he's made a mistake, but admitting that he knew he was making a mistake as he was doing it is something else. And he wants to look at her, kind of a thanks for being there and threatening to kick his ass, but at the same time he can't bring himself to. Just thumbs over her shoulder with the arm around her since he can't really pull her tighter without it getting weird.
So he mutters "thanks" at the floor and shoves down the urge to point out it was stolen from him and frowns as he wonders what "asshole move" is supposed to mean. Mouths it without realizing.]
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It's kind of funny when it's that phrase, out of everything, that seems to puzzle him. And right now any funny is welcome relief. So she shake her head and shifts, because her positioning is kind of uncomfortable - just sits next to him, leaning on him, setting the book in her lap - and tries to explain without sounding like a moron.]
It's just... uh, something you'd have to be kind of an asshole to do. [There's not as much apology in there as there could be because hey, it's true.] I mean come on, you're like seven feet tall and super strong. The danger factor around you going nuts is a little higher than for most of the other jerks around here.
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... what.
[About zero of that is computing. Being able to beat up people is not what makes him a danger to others.]
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Not just you. Just... the more damage you can do, the more of a responsibility you have to make sure you don't. But I know I'm not exactly impartial here.
[She's not even sure where she's going with it anymore, just painfully aware that no matter how she tries to frame it her objections to the mask are always going to be personal. Is she kind of disappointed he knew the risks and still did something that could put people in danger? Yes. Is she way more focused on the fact that she's still confused about where they stand? Hell yes.]
Sorry. It's done, it's not - not important anymore.
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Guess so. [Back to the present. He looks at her for a quiet moment, swipes at his hair with his other hand and sighs.] Mm, no. It is. Didn't, uh, think of anyone here, first time -
[And it was a day or two between the first and the second time and in that time he really should've fessed up, trusted someone to handle it before it got away from him. Shouldn't have trusted that he could handle it. His eyes slide to the side, guilty, because they wouldn't be in this mess if he'd gone to her in the first place.]
Fucked it up after that. [Another sigh, then he looks down at her without trying to hide the worry at the edges of his expression.] Shoulda said somethin'. Before I tried it again.
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[Softly, though, because of that look on his face. Things she wishes she could fix and is finally starting to understand she can't, because for the most part they're nothing to do with her.]
I'm still worried about you, you know. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not hurt and kinda mad at you, but mostly I'm just worried.
[She wets her lips, tries to find a way to say what's in her head without sounding like and after-school special and comes up with nothing. Hell with it, she'll say it anyway.]
I want you to come to me if something's wrong. If you feel like you need to talk about something, or whatever. I know this is all different and weird now but it doesn't make me care about you any less. I still want to help.
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An' what if what's wrong is - y'know.
[Them. He squeezes her for a second rather than saying it aloud, not quite a hug, before he levels a look that's a little more solemn.]
You don't come, either. When something's wrong.
[And he doesn't only mean that she doesn't come to him. Last time he knows of that she had a problem, she left - didn't come to anyone at all - almost died. It's in the back of his mind, lurking, but probably shows on his face anyway. The more important thing is that he suddenly wonders if she's been waiting on him to say something similar to her, when to him it's a given.]
Uh. Y'know you can, right.
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[She leans a little closer at that squeeze, moves the arm closest to him behind his back for the extra contact. And she's about to try to lighten the mood with a joke that would doubtless not be funny when he continues and it dies on her lips, replaced by an expression that's halfway guilty and mostly sheepish. Yeah, he has a point. A quiet sigh as she tilts her head towards him.]
Yeah, I know. I'm just used to people getting hurt when they try to help me. That's not some teen poetry bullshit either, I mean physically hurt. But I'll remember. In case there's a next time.
[That's why it's had been so much easier to ask him for help way back, what feels like a very long time ago now. When he'd been just some guy - cute guy, sure, and funny - but just some guy she knew. Now he's so much more than that, and even if it makes her a hypocrite she's not willing to risk him. But if it means taking whatever the hell this is and maybe building something out of it, then... sure. She can try.]
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Or at least that's the case with him.]
Doesn't hafta be that kind of wrong.
[Which comes out slightly snappish, annoyed, though his posture doesn't change.]
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[A dry answer to his snappishness but it's followed closely by a sigh, because she's meant to be the healthy one here, right. She'll lead by example, if in a very roundabout way and with her eyes fixed on the book in her lap, fingers tracing the pattern of the wood.]
So what if my problem was that a while back this guy I was into asked me to spend the night with him and it was pretty much the happiest and safest I'd felt in months but then everything got weird and now I can't tell if he asked me 'cause he wanted me to or if he only did it because his creepy-ass mask made him think it was a good idea?
[That sure was an avalanche of words, and her breath on finishing is audible.]
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Of course, none of that actually happens. Instead he spends the first part watching her finger trace patterns, then his stomach flips and he looks like he's about to blush all over again and this is what people are talking about when they mean butterflies, huh, then a tiny frown flickers and he blinks up at her, and finally - ] Uh. [ - a lot more makes sense and he kind of looks like he's high and just solved Wheatley's rubik's cube for a second.]
Shoulda asked before now.
[Not what he meant to say but the practical part of his brain kick-started back first, and answered her question. As soon as he hears it he splutters and gives his head a shake, no, moron, why did you say that, scrubs at his face with his free hand and doesn't bring it back down from his eye because oh god no wonder she hasn't wanted to be around him.]
I mean uh - no. Put it on after that. You've - ?
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But she can't really tell what he's getting at there, so she shifts and it turns her body in towards his as she reaches tentatively up to pull his hand away from his face.]
I've what?
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You thought it was - [Thought it was the mask the entire time.] No. I thought - [I'd changed too much and you didn't like me anymore but he bites down on that, because, hell, that could still be the case.]
Didn't realize, [is what he finally settles with, sighs it out and can't seem to meet her eyes until he rolls a shoulder and lifts his chin, thumbing across her knuckles. Takes a breath.] Sorry...
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It was your choice. You wanted it?
[Blunt, yeah, but that's kind of his style even if feelings really really aren't. And she needs this, needs to know.]
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Want.
[His blush rockets up to eleven when he realizes how forward that is. He clears his throat, fixes it.]
Uh - wanted, yeah.
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I still want it. And if you do too, I wanna try.
[To get back to where they were, to figure out what they're even doing - or to not figure it out and make it work anyway.]
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