For a variety of — no, for a few reasons, not terribly varied, it’s been weeks since she remembers kissing him quite like this, and it isn’t that in that time she forgot what it’s like to do that, just...
Even if he weren’t bouncing between thoughts borderline incoherently, she might be having trouble entirely focusing on what he’s saying immediately after— and when she nearly spills off his lap, clutching the blankets and his arm like a startled Small Yngvi with a yelp, she laughs, clinging until they’re righted. Clinging after, until she has to relinquish her grip to take the cases.
“I bet,” she says, grasping onto a handhold that allows her to swing up to her favourite topic to return to with little to no warning, “that she would be significantly more impressed with us if we had a flying boat—”
What, is she wrong. A bit of fidgeting and: “Oh,” delighted, “it’s a puzzle,” before setting one box aside for the other, determining that that one can wait. “Stephen,” when the sewing case opens with significantly more ease, “these are beautiful,”
she’s not beating the boring couple allegations. (She’s still riding the high of his favourite watch.)
“I was a little worried it’d be— I don’t know,” clutching her new sewing kit to her chest, looking back at him, “not as boring a gift as Wysteria thought, but you know, oh, a thing I was just going to get myself, anyway, ho hum—” a bigger worry than the one she might’ve stumbled into but slips past, now, about competing with his absent ex. It’s not that she’s above that kind of fretting, it’s just very difficult to look at him right now and not feel very sure about the things that he’s saying to her. What hard work she’s done, to take the man she loves at face value.
no subject
Even if he weren’t bouncing between thoughts borderline incoherently, she might be having trouble entirely focusing on what he’s saying immediately after— and when she nearly spills off his lap, clutching the blankets and his arm like a startled Small Yngvi with a yelp, she laughs, clinging until they’re righted. Clinging after, until she has to relinquish her grip to take the cases.
“I bet,” she says, grasping onto a handhold that allows her to swing up to her favourite topic to return to with little to no warning, “that she would be significantly more impressed with us if we had a flying boat—”
What, is she wrong. A bit of fidgeting and: “Oh,” delighted, “it’s a puzzle,” before setting one box aside for the other, determining that that one can wait. “Stephen,” when the sewing case opens with significantly more ease, “these are beautiful,”
she’s not beating the boring couple allegations. (She’s still riding the high of his favourite watch.)
“I was a little worried it’d be— I don’t know,” clutching her new sewing kit to her chest, looking back at him, “not as boring a gift as Wysteria thought, but you know, oh, a thing I was just going to get myself, anyway, ho hum—” a bigger worry than the one she might’ve stumbled into but slips past, now, about competing with his absent ex. It’s not that she’s above that kind of fretting, it’s just very difficult to look at him right now and not feel very sure about the things that he’s saying to her. What hard work she’s done, to take the man she loves at face value.
(It’s only funny because it’s true.)