P a n g a e a
in the morning, i thought of you
i look out the window, i thought of you
Every time he glanced her way, she could feel that attention like a tickle against her skin. Something sweet, soft, lovely, and perfect. It's a whisper against her soul, a promise, a potential flutter of emotion. A question she must ask of Tomorrow. What it may mean, what it may not. Because, as much as she tries to ignore stolen looks, soft touches, the very essence of this man, he draws her in like a moth to the flame and threatening to burn her with another reproach. She handles it with care now. That first night had been electricity, and fire, before they had together dowsed that flame before it could consume and thus destroy them. And while the mutual understanding, the mutual awareness of wrong place, and wrong time made that act the opposite of painful . . . she doubts she'd be able to let him tell her no again.
Because there's something. It's in the way he smiles, the way he holds her at night, the way she settles into his side like she'd done it all her life. It was as easy as breathing as if she'd been born for this purpose, to exist alongside him. And the effortless method they'd formed in joining together, in working around each other - sharing space . . . She also fears Tomorrow what it may bring. When they finally come from the mountains, would this . . . this cautious intimacy crash around her. Would the last bit of familiarity be swallowed up by the public eye watching how the medic treats his patient? Would she sleep alone again, missing his warmth until the wee hours of the morning?
She carefully bottled all of that up, hiding it from her face, from her heart. As long as she pretended everything was expected, as long as he kept himself convinced that all was fine. They were managing. They were ignoring the sparks. They were keeping things the way they needed to. And yet, she couldn't help but wonder - for how long, really? For how long could they hide, could they deny, could they pretend they were just medic and patient? Just friends. Just . . . simple. For how long?
She approached him, her muzzle against his shoulder to announce her presence, and as he turned towards her, she could see him already setting up to offer a protest. The glimmer of his smile, the way he relaxes with her familiarity, makes her stomach do somersaults. The low rumbling chuckle is like a melody she can't get enough of. He was driving her crazy.
But she'd keep the distance he wished for them to achieve, as much of it as she was willing to tolerate at least. Her ears perk when he mentions he's mostly finished before stating he was looking to see how much of the herbs and fruit jars they could carry, mentioning that he didn't want to overburden her. "Just because I'm walking wounded doesn't mean I can't help." She can't deny herself the slight playful pout in response to his own playfully teasing, "Not my fault." She huffed in good nature, unintentionally leaning into his shoulder bump before catching herself after a few seconds and straightening as if nothing had happened, "I don't usually get fruit in the middle of winter, and these ones are perfect!" She added.
She pulled back slightly, removing the temptation from her grasp before she could give in again, this time likely on purpose. Because no matter how hard they walked on the thin ice, it was one crack from releasing that energy again, from bubbling over, from pulling her back into his embrace before she could catch herself. One wrong step and she'd fall back into him, and there's no telling what would happen then.
"Speech"
Thoughts
@Gareth
Notes: She's like, don't start. Just let me help you.
would you think about me
i thought about you
everything around me gets
coloted by you with familiar scent
