( they may still be getting to know one another, tentatively and very, very cautiously stepping over boundary lines into one another's personal space bubbles, but it's so much more comfortable than it had been when she'd first arrived, and as he likes to think with most everything else in this place … progress for the sake of it is better than nothing at all.
he's also come to enjoy her company more than he'd previously realized he would in the first place, but. he thinks that might just go without saying at this point.
she hesitates with her words and he gets the feeling that whatever she's about to say has a weight to it she's unwilling — or perhaps afraid — to let go of; it makes him want to reach out to her, to take hold of her hand and reassure her that he's there to listen to anything she might have to say, regardless of what it might be, no matter how much she might think he doesn't want to hear it.
or how much she doesn't want to say it? two sides of the same coin, on that one.
so he waits for her to finish, or to at least get to what he thinks might be the end of her stumbling over her own words, the beats of her heart, and if he's quiet for a moment before he tries to give his own reply, it's because he's yet again trying to pick through his words and choose the correct ones.
it's not as though he's ever done anything like this before, and there are a myriad things that begin to roll around in his head all at once, thoughts knocking into one another and sending others whirling, spiraling in all sorts of directions.
he's just a little bit dizzy. i don't know much about humans and intimacy.
but that kiss was nice, brief as it was.
i wouldn't mind doing it again.
but—
he swallows thickly, and the only thing that comes out of him at first is: ) You … like me?
no subject
he's also come to enjoy her company more than he'd previously realized he would in the first place, but. he thinks that might just go without saying at this point.
she hesitates with her words and he gets the feeling that whatever she's about to say has a weight to it she's unwilling — or perhaps afraid — to let go of; it makes him want to reach out to her, to take hold of her hand and reassure her that he's there to listen to anything she might have to say, regardless of what it might be, no matter how much she might think he doesn't want to hear it.
or how much she doesn't want to say it? two sides of the same coin, on that one.
so he waits for her to finish, or to at least get to what he thinks might be the end of her stumbling over her own words, the beats of her heart, and if he's quiet for a moment before he tries to give his own reply, it's because he's yet again trying to pick through his words and choose the correct ones.
it's not as though he's ever done anything like this before, and there are a myriad things that begin to roll around in his head all at once, thoughts knocking into one another and sending others whirling, spiraling in all sorts of directions.
he's just a little bit dizzy. i don't know much about humans and intimacy.
but that kiss was nice, brief as it was.
i wouldn't mind doing it again.
but—
he swallows thickly, and the only thing that comes out of him at first is: ) You … like me?