[ he tells her he misses her, and the bed suddenly spills out around her, too much space even with pillows and electronics sprawled out around. she's drowning in it. he misses her, and in that moment, all she wants is to be right where he's at, to trade the warmth of his sweatshirt for the heat of his skin, to press her cheek against his chest and hear his heartbeat thumping underneath instead of just the low echo of his breathing through the phone.
she wants, and the sharpness of that wanting is an ache she doesn't know what to do with; in its wake, she blows out a breath, fingertips curling into the sleeve of the sweater, her voice a little tight when she finally pipes back up again. ]
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she wants, and the sharpness of that wanting is an ache she doesn't know what to do with; in its wake, she blows out a breath, fingertips curling into the sleeve of the sweater, her voice a little tight when she finally pipes back up again. ]
I wish I could have come with you.
[ and that's selfish, and she knows it. ]