Yeah, [ and much like his simple hey, the word comes out breathlessly, impossibly honest and raw and real, the smile on her face threatening to break some known record of illumination before it's interrupted. not by a frown or a sigh, but by the tug of her teeth against the inside of her lip, and then by her lower lip caught between them, a pause in her statement punctuated by that toying, tempting (and yet entirely unintentional, just this once) motion of her mouth. ]
I really do like you.
[ she couldn't take that back if she wanted to — but she does not. she likes him. likes him, likes him; the way she remembers girls giddily whispering in their twin beds inside the dormitory rooms at st agnes, something far beyond friendship or companionship or even simple lust. this isn't just the fact that she likes the way his mouth or his hands (or the rest of him) feel against her body, this isn't about the fact that he's so goddamn handsome he makes her want to tug him into a closet every time she sees his face, this isn't about anything physical at all.
it's about the way that she feels safe when he holds her. it's about the swell of happiness she feels when he smiles at her, the pride in his eyes when she talks about her class work, the gentle way he tucks her hair behind her ears when they're in his office or in a booth at a restaurant. it's about the fact that she wants to see him, every minute of every day, and that she doesn't mind sacrificing some of her own time to make it happen.
she really, really likes him. and she can't pretend like she doesn't. not to his face. ]
no subject
I really do like you.
[ she couldn't take that back if she wanted to — but she does not. she likes him. likes him, likes him; the way she remembers girls giddily whispering in their twin beds inside the dormitory rooms at st agnes, something far beyond friendship or companionship or even simple lust. this isn't just the fact that she likes the way his mouth or his hands (or the rest of him) feel against her body, this isn't about the fact that he's so goddamn handsome he makes her want to tug him into a closet every time she sees his face, this isn't about anything physical at all.
it's about the way that she feels safe when he holds her. it's about the swell of happiness she feels when he smiles at her, the pride in his eyes when she talks about her class work, the gentle way he tucks her hair behind her ears when they're in his office or in a booth at a restaurant. it's about the fact that she wants to see him, every minute of every day, and that she doesn't mind sacrificing some of her own time to make it happen.
she really, really likes him. and she can't pretend like she doesn't. not to his face. ]