I know how you feel about him. [she hasn't let go of his face, her fingertips curling along the edge of his beard now, tenderly as she stares into his eyes as he looks at her. there's something more there, the way he feels about her, and she knows it. it's not just possessiveness, but love and adoration; all the things she feels for him, too. she wants his happiness like she wants her own. the city, for all its faults (and it has so many that she loathes), has given her this: this freedom to allow her to be with him in a way she's never been with anyone.] And I know how you feel about me.
[leaning in, she takes his bottom lip in her teeth, much like he'd done with hers, but far more tenderly, before soothing it with the tip of her tongue and another, deeper, kiss. he may take her here, against the fridge, but she wants him to know how she feels.]
He's not you. [her murmur becomes a whisper.] No one is.
no subject
[leaning in, she takes his bottom lip in her teeth, much like he'd done with hers, but far more tenderly, before soothing it with the tip of her tongue and another, deeper, kiss. he may take her here, against the fridge, but she wants him to know how she feels.]
He's not you. [her murmur becomes a whisper.] No one is.