[ and, for a second, that's all she says, her mouth otherwise occupied in letting out a shaky exhale, one that's (only somewhat successfully) attempted to be muffled by a sweatshirt-sleeve-clad hand. she just says okay, and resists the urge to explain all the hesitation and anxiety and nervous, self-destructive thoughts that are rattling in her brain.
because, no matter how okay it is, no matter how gently he tells her that he can afford this and he wants to do this and that he wants to bring her along, the sad truth is daisy can't repay him. not in funds, not in favors, not in anything she knows as valuable or worthwhile or important.
sure, she can keep him company. she can make him feel good. she can ease his stress after a long day, make him smile when he's frustrated; she can let him burn off steam when he needs something real under his hands, something pliant and obedient and wanting.
but those things aren't the same. and that's not what he's doing, either. he's not paying her for her company. he's doing this to be nice, and she doesn't know how to repay that. not really. ]
I really wish I could see you right now.
[ not the other way around. she doesn't necessarily think he needs to see her. but she can't really fight down the desire to tuck herself into his space, to find that solid reassurance, familiar now in other contexts. she wants to be held, to be cradled: she wants to feel the way his arms wrap around her when she sits in his lap, strong and steady and sure, the way his chin tucks into her hair, letting her face find purchase against his chest.
she just wants to be with him, and she isn't, and the realization aches like an open wound. ]
no subject
[ and, for a second, that's all she says, her mouth otherwise occupied in letting out a shaky exhale, one that's (only somewhat successfully) attempted to be muffled by a sweatshirt-sleeve-clad hand. she just says okay, and resists the urge to explain all the hesitation and anxiety and nervous, self-destructive thoughts that are rattling in her brain.
because, no matter how okay it is, no matter how gently he tells her that he can afford this and he wants to do this and that he wants to bring her along, the sad truth is daisy can't repay him. not in funds, not in favors, not in anything she knows as valuable or worthwhile or important.
sure, she can keep him company. she can make him feel good. she can ease his stress after a long day, make him smile when he's frustrated; she can let him burn off steam when he needs something real under his hands, something pliant and obedient and wanting.
but those things aren't the same. and that's not what he's doing, either. he's not paying her for her company. he's doing this to be nice, and she doesn't know how to repay that. not really. ]
I really wish I could see you right now.
[ not the other way around. she doesn't necessarily think he needs to see her. but she can't really fight down the desire to tuck herself into his space, to find that solid reassurance, familiar now in other contexts. she wants to be held, to be cradled: she wants to feel the way his arms wrap around her when she sits in his lap, strong and steady and sure, the way his chin tucks into her hair, letting her face find purchase against his chest.
she just wants to be with him, and she isn't, and the realization aches like an open wound. ]