[ She can huff and roll her eyes at him all she likes; it's obvious Matt likes it when she does, if the way his smile broadens is any indication.
He likes to see her happy, so sue him. ]
Good. [ It's really too bad they're so far apart. He wants to be able to reach in and run his fingers through his hair, to settle her collar, to thumb her cheek. Any excuse to touch her, really. He's not picky. ] That makes it easier for me to forgive myself for the literally countless times I think about you every day.
[ He's spent this whole weekend thinking of things to tell her, little asides that have him half-turning as if she's already beside him, anecdotes to send her over text, jokes he wants to tell her later just to see her laugh in that way that makes her nose scrunch up adorably. He's been thinking of how she'd look if she came with him, out sunning herself at the pool, dressed up in the hotel bar, lounging naked in his bed.
[ she wouldn't mind. for as many times as he's moved to touch her, daisy's equally drawn to him. there have been more moments than she can count where she's wanted to peer up and gauge his reaction to something, or to reach over and lace her hands in his, or to come climb into his lap in his office chair or on her bed after too long a stint trying to distract herself by working.
it's funny how what should be productivity — time apart, time left to herself, time she had well before he came along — now feels like wasted time. she's still getting her work done, but there's no motivation to finish it. she can be lazy, she can take naps, she can waste hours of her day watching netflix or scrolling through news articles instead of focusing and getting things done in order to do something she wants to do more. (like him.) ]
It's already been two days.
[ more than that, really. an afternoon lost to travel, plus two full conference days — she won't see him again until the day after tomorrow now, late in the evening when his plane touches down. ]
What'd you do to me, Mr Robertson? [ a soft laugh, self-deprecating and almost bashful at the same time. ] You've left me pining for you like one of your poets.
[ The thing is, right, Matt remember this feeling. He's been in love before. He knows the warning signs, and he's ignoring them completely, because it's fucking nice to feel this way again, and he's already in too deep. What's he going to do now, ignore her in an effort to get her to move on from him?
He may be pretty stupid, sometimes, but he's not stupid enough to ghost someone like Daisy, thanks.
His smile softening at her when she confesses to pining, he winks at her through the camera. ] That's Doctor Robertson, thank you. [ He didn't spend all that goddamn money on getting a PhD to not have people address him by his hard-won title.
Actually, that's a lie. Most of the time he feels vaguely uncomfortable when people refer to him as doctor, though exposure therapy has made it so that he's stopped flinching when his students say that to him. It's a pretty good warning signal, honestly, if he can hear someone asking Sharon if Doctor Robertson is in, it usually means someone is going to show up to his office and ask him for an extension.
Sliding down the headboard of his hotel bed, he props the laptop up a little more comfortably on his middle and fits an arm behind his head so he can still see. ]
[ it's a concession, but a teasing one. the words come weaved into laughter and teasing smiles, reflected in the glint of amusement in her eyes visible even through the compression of her laptop camera. ]
It's been okay. [ not great, not terrible. nothing to write home about. she shrugs a little, mostly for effect. ] I was going to go into the library, but it's been gross all day, so I just worked from my room.
[ the library's coding lab is dark and filled with obnoxiously large workstations, each outfitted with multiple monitors and the sort of nerd chic accoutrements that cost more than any reasonable person would spend: keyboards that clack just so, mice that fit comfortably in the palm of a hand for hours, chairs that seem to fit to the user while still breathable. it's somewhere that offers daisy a taste at what many of her fellows have bought for themselves, top of the line gear. ]
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no subject
He likes to see her happy, so sue him. ]
Good. [ It's really too bad they're so far apart. He wants to be able to reach in and run his fingers through his hair, to settle her collar, to thumb her cheek. Any excuse to touch her, really. He's not picky. ] That makes it easier for me to forgive myself for the literally countless times I think about you every day.
[ He's spent this whole weekend thinking of things to tell her, little asides that have him half-turning as if she's already beside him, anecdotes to send her over text, jokes he wants to tell her later just to see her laugh in that way that makes her nose scrunch up adorably. He's been thinking of how she'd look if she came with him, out sunning herself at the pool, dressed up in the hotel bar, lounging naked in his bed.
Two days seems like a long time. ]
Just two days.
no subject
it's funny how what should be productivity — time apart, time left to herself, time she had well before he came along — now feels like wasted time. she's still getting her work done, but there's no motivation to finish it. she can be lazy, she can take naps, she can waste hours of her day watching netflix or scrolling through news articles instead of focusing and getting things done in order to do something she wants to do more. (like him.) ]
It's already been two days.
[ more than that, really. an afternoon lost to travel, plus two full conference days — she won't see him again until the day after tomorrow now, late in the evening when his plane touches down. ]
What'd you do to me, Mr Robertson? [ a soft laugh, self-deprecating and almost bashful at the same time. ] You've left me pining for you like one of your poets.
no subject
He may be pretty stupid, sometimes, but he's not stupid enough to ghost someone like Daisy, thanks.
His smile softening at her when she confesses to pining, he winks at her through the camera. ] That's Doctor Robertson, thank you. [ He didn't spend all that goddamn money on getting a PhD to not have people address him by his hard-won title.
Actually, that's a lie. Most of the time he feels vaguely uncomfortable when people refer to him as doctor, though exposure therapy has made it so that he's stopped flinching when his students say that to him. It's a pretty good warning signal, honestly, if he can hear someone asking Sharon if Doctor Robertson is in, it usually means someone is going to show up to his office and ask him for an extension.
Sliding down the headboard of his hotel bed, he props the laptop up a little more comfortably on his middle and fits an arm behind his head so he can still see. ]
Tell me about your day?
no subject
[ it's a concession, but a teasing one. the words come weaved into laughter and teasing smiles, reflected in the glint of amusement in her eyes visible even through the compression of her laptop camera. ]
It's been okay. [ not great, not terrible. nothing to write home about. she shrugs a little, mostly for effect. ] I was going to go into the library, but it's been gross all day, so I just worked from my room.
[ the library's coding lab is dark and filled with obnoxiously large workstations, each outfitted with multiple monitors and the sort of nerd chic accoutrements that cost more than any reasonable person would spend: keyboards that clack just so, mice that fit comfortably in the palm of a hand for hours, chairs that seem to fit to the user while still breathable. it's somewhere that offers daisy a taste at what many of her fellows have bought for themselves, top of the line gear. ]
I think the rain's finally letting up, though.