[The moments between his admission and her response are not long, objectively speaking. Seconds, brief, fleeting-- but they feel so long, so long, and he feels as though his heart may burst, as though his lungs are on fire, as if he's spinning in an endless void until he can gauge her response. Has she realized, in the short time she was gone, that she spoke foolishly, rashly? That her feelings for him are something different? The kiss had come as a surprise for both of them; did she regret that he had done it? Should he?
It's hard to breathe, and hard to hear her response with his heartbeat thundering in his head.
How do people do this? He has never really understood love, but he knows it exists. He knows it's deeply felt, treasured, longed for. But this-- it's a horrible feeling, this ache that resonates throughout every fiber of his being, and yet, does not have a real source. There is no wound to heal, no illness to cure. It's-- it's all--
... it's all in his head, and that is a difficult place to be.
Her expression changes, from panic into something else, mouth open. Surprised, perhaps. It seems this was something she was not expecting, but he cannot tell whether that is a good surprise or a bad surprise. Color flushes through his face, spreading out from his nose across his whole face, all the way to his ears.
Oh, Goddess, it was hard enough to say it the first time, and now-- she wants him to confirm?]
I... [He swallows, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.] Is that okay?
[For a brief flash of an instant, mortification takes over his expression; did he really just ask permission for that?? And then...and then he just looks nervous again, red-faced, unsure of what more to say.]
no subject
It's hard to breathe, and hard to hear her response with his heartbeat thundering in his head.
How do people do this? He has never really understood love, but he knows it exists. He knows it's deeply felt, treasured, longed for. But this-- it's a horrible feeling, this ache that resonates throughout every fiber of his being, and yet, does not have a real source. There is no wound to heal, no illness to cure. It's-- it's all--
... it's all in his head, and that is a difficult place to be.
Her expression changes, from panic into something else, mouth open. Surprised, perhaps. It seems this was something she was not expecting, but he cannot tell whether that is a good surprise or a bad surprise. Color flushes through his face, spreading out from his nose across his whole face, all the way to his ears.
Oh, Goddess, it was hard enough to say it the first time, and now-- she wants him to confirm?]
I... [He swallows, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck.] Is that okay?
[For a brief flash of an instant, mortification takes over his expression; did he really just ask permission for that?? And then...and then he just looks nervous again, red-faced, unsure of what more to say.]