[ The contact runs through him like a current; nostalgic in the way that none of his other friendly encounters during the night had been. It's the stickiness of her lipgloss, and the soft smell of perfume under the haze of alcohol that hovers around them both. It gets his heart racing in his chest, hot with longing for everything that he used to have and misses so much. Everything that he wants to have again so, so badly. ]
Are you magic? That's exactly what I was thinking. [ His voice hushed down to an uncharacteristic whisper, as if awed by the intimate gesture. His tongue sweeps out to take in the sweetness over his bottom lip. ] I was thinking that you are beautiful...
[ He misses the connection; the trust and understanding, and he wants it to be here again. Their not lovers by any stretch of the imagination, and so much of what they know about each other is still superficial, but this is the closest thing he has. And when he's drunk like this, he's willing to make it into whatever he wants it to be. ]
You're beautiful, strong, talented and creative. [ Normally he'd offer such compliments with a dramatic flourish, but instead he says them quietly, laying them at her feet like offerings. (Beneath the magic and the alcohol, knowing that something's not right and trying to compensate for it. ] I... [ love you, he wants to say. Except he doesn't. Even though he wants to say that to someone and have it be true, and hear it said back to him. Seven of the loneliest months of his life, and still all he can do is cling to friendships, hoping that they don't break or drift away.
But he is clinging to them, taking an mile for every inch he gets, always willing to push boundaries and test limits. Maybe that's why he's the one to move their mouths together again, devouring the warmth and softness and the way that sticky lipgloss smears across his lips with one hand threading to her hair to press firmly against her nape, the other still steady at her waist. It's probably not right when his head is still swimming of imagines of Misa and Isabella both, but he holds on and thinks about how much he doesn't want this connection to disappear all the same. ]
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Are you magic? That's exactly what I was thinking. [ His voice hushed down to an uncharacteristic whisper, as if awed by the intimate gesture. His tongue sweeps out to take in the sweetness over his bottom lip. ] I was thinking that you are beautiful...
[ He misses the connection; the trust and understanding, and he wants it to be here again. Their not lovers by any stretch of the imagination, and so much of what they know about each other is still superficial, but this is the closest thing he has. And when he's drunk like this, he's willing to make it into whatever he wants it to be. ]
You're beautiful, strong, talented and creative. [ Normally he'd offer such compliments with a dramatic flourish, but instead he says them quietly, laying them at her feet like offerings. (Beneath the magic and the alcohol, knowing that something's not right and trying to compensate for it. ] I... [ love you, he wants to say. Except he doesn't. Even though he wants to say that to someone and have it be true, and hear it said back to him. Seven of the loneliest months of his life, and still all he can do is cling to friendships, hoping that they don't break or drift away.
But he is clinging to them, taking an mile for every inch he gets, always willing to push boundaries and test limits. Maybe that's why he's the one to move their mouths together again, devouring the warmth and softness and the way that sticky lipgloss smears across his lips with one hand threading to her hair to press firmly against her nape, the other still steady at her waist. It's probably not right when his head is still swimming of imagines of Misa and Isabella both, but he holds on and thinks about how much he doesn't want this connection to disappear all the same. ]