"It could happen." Flippant. But it is the first time he thinks that it can't.
Which makes it all that much sharper in contrast. That Cath is beautiful.
Long, lean, always in shape, very flexible, lines relaxed in his car. The hair that's slipped free from her pony tail, blowing at her temples, across her ears and the cool, pale stretch of her neck, ends not quite long enough to brush her shoulder. The dark, warm color of her eyes and how she doesn't look away for long.
An irritably annoyed wave of uncertainty. Not at her, or the things he can read in her smile, the curl of implication in her words. That she doesn't have to see anything. Not The Stairs. Not Hawaii. She'd be just as glad as any other time, for him to pull the car over, drag her close, and not leave the ring of his arms, his bed, his house until that leave was over.
It's not at that. That's clear.
It's that it's suddenly there. The phantom knowledge of the softness of her skin, the brush of her hair, falling around her face, on him. The way she laughs, low in shoulder when picked up. The soft gasps she makes. The way she kept him as challenged there, as ever with following him out to The Stairs. The point when she loses control and can't help how loud or vocal she gets.
It's not just that. But it is, too. She's one of the oldest things to stay in his life. Definitely to stay this long. Someone he trusts to help, bend rules, meet in the middle, enjoy everything while demanding almost nothing. And three feet way, she suddenly feels like something else ripped from him now. So close she isn't there. At all.
Except that she is. There. Soft, smiling, amenable to everything, normal.
While he's doing everything not to eye the elephant in the corner of his head. The one all but battering the walls at every edge of those other thoughts, while he's turning on to Kalanianaole Highway, saying, "The islands definitely have some unmissable sights."
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-01-25 06:26 pm (UTC)Which makes it all that much sharper in contrast. That Cath is beautiful.
Long, lean, always in shape, very flexible, lines relaxed in his car. The hair that's slipped free from her pony tail, blowing at her temples, across her ears and the cool, pale stretch of her neck, ends not quite long enough to brush her shoulder. The dark, warm color of her eyes and how she doesn't look away for long.
An irritably annoyed wave of uncertainty. Not at her, or the things he can read in her smile, the curl of implication in her words. That she doesn't have to see anything. Not The Stairs. Not Hawaii. She'd be just as glad as any other time, for him to pull the car over, drag her close, and not leave the ring of his arms, his bed, his house until that leave was over.
It's not at that. That's clear.
It's that it's suddenly there. The phantom knowledge of the softness of her skin, the brush of her hair, falling around her face, on him. The way she laughs, low in shoulder when picked up. The soft gasps she makes. The way she kept him as challenged there, as ever with following him out to The Stairs. The point when she loses control and can't help how loud or vocal she gets.
It's not just that. But it is, too. She's one of the oldest things to stay in his life. Definitely to stay this long. Someone he trusts to help, bend rules, meet in the middle, enjoy everything while demanding almost nothing. And three feet way, she suddenly feels like something else ripped from him now. So close she isn't there. At all.
Except that she is. There. Soft, smiling, amenable to everything, normal.
While he's doing everything not to eye the elephant in the corner of his head. The one all but battering the walls at every edge of those other thoughts, while he's turning on to Kalanianaole Highway, saying, "The islands definitely have some unmissable sights."