[Laura watches and waits, and she wonders if the short silence after she asks means that he is looking for a way to say I know what you're asking, and the answer is no. Something is grating against itself inside her ribcage, broken stones grinding together in a place where things aren't supposed to be made of stone. It is the feeling that the world might be too much to tolerate, that she would be better off in this room alone, claws out. And part of it lasts, even past I like you, but for the moment, it is survivable.
She knows what all this is, friendship and fancying--she's picked this sense of the word up from listening to others speak, that is a crush--and more than that, she knows what Matthias' flushed throat means. He smells truthful, in a way she can't begin to explain and might not be more than magical thinking; she wants to believe him, and the wool and soap and sweat of him is something that already means earnest, kind, safe, gentle. It is true because it comes from him.
There is something rising inside her, threatening to burst free of the flesh holding it inside her. Her brow knits.]
I do not want to forget.
[This means, she thinks, that she can reach for his hand again.
No--it means something more than that. Laura scoots closer, lifting the edge of the blanket so it can be brought around his shoulders as well. It is too much, knowing this, but it is bearable. Even trying to respond feels like too much--but survivably so. He already said it. She is only agreeing.]
That is how I feel, too.
[Now, she thinks, and slides her fingers in between his, her gaze falling down to his hand.]
no subject
She knows what all this is, friendship and fancying--she's picked this sense of the word up from listening to others speak, that is a crush--and more than that, she knows what Matthias' flushed throat means. He smells truthful, in a way she can't begin to explain and might not be more than magical thinking; she wants to believe him, and the wool and soap and sweat of him is something that already means earnest, kind, safe, gentle. It is true because it comes from him.
There is something rising inside her, threatening to burst free of the flesh holding it inside her. Her brow knits.]
I do not want to forget.
[This means, she thinks, that she can reach for his hand again.
No--it means something more than that. Laura scoots closer, lifting the edge of the blanket so it can be brought around his shoulders as well. It is too much, knowing this, but it is bearable. Even trying to respond feels like too much--but survivably so. He already said it. She is only agreeing.]
That is how I feel, too.
[Now, she thinks, and slides her fingers in between his, her gaze falling down to his hand.]