Even that small movement has her heart flickering in mild panic, the one hand tensing on his back. Is he leaving her, already? Is he rejecting her, finally? But he stops, and she freezes, uncertain of what to say or what she said that would cause this now. Her eye skims his face for some clue as to what he's thinking, but she's not an empath the same way he is; proximity isn't enough for her to sense even a fraction of his heart.
The confusion (anxiety fear trepidation) is plain on her face, spiking at movement once more. At contact she freezes for surprise—everything seems to happen so fast, so slow, it's hard to keep herself in the present—but the breath rushes out of her, the tension in her back and her shoulders easing, when she kisses back.
He really is there with her, isn't he? This isn't a dream.
But, she thinks, shifting on pins-and-needles legs and curling her fingers in his hair, that's no guarantee she won't wake up to an empty room, with no sign he'd ever been here in the first place.
no subject
The confusion (anxiety fear trepidation) is plain on her face, spiking at movement once more. At contact she freezes for surprise—everything seems to happen so fast, so slow, it's hard to keep herself in the present—but the breath rushes out of her, the tension in her back and her shoulders easing, when she kisses back.
He really is there with her, isn't he? This isn't a dream.
But, she thinks, shifting on pins-and-needles legs and curling her fingers in his hair, that's no guarantee she won't wake up to an empty room, with no sign he'd ever been here in the first place.
No guarantee at all.