[A faint, pleased hum at the color in his cheeks—he can always use more in her opinion, as well as more opportunities to take rather than just give. Even so, she accepts his offering, quickly lapping the koala into her mouth before snapping up the rest, more or less avoiding his fingers.]
[The embarrassment spikes, bright and sudden, bracketed by something very like heat, that he tries his absolute best to squash down before she can get a read on it. If she wanted more color in his cheeks, that was definitely a god way to do it]
[He accepts them, with another little flush of heat; probably he is also not entirely successful at avoiding fingers, given that koalas are much smaller]
[A preemptive apology is probably fine, right? Which is to say, he's offering her a chunk from the Giant Cone, ice cream and chocolate and cone all in one]
[She's not sure why an apology is necessary, but isn't going to complain about him feeding her chocolate; it feels pleasantly, selfishly indulgent, a satisfaction that she doesn't try to keep from their link either. (Attempts to be a little more careful when she takes it, at least, surely he doesn't wanna get slobbered over)
And turnabout is fair play, and cone sharing is caring, and she makes sure the sensors on her fingers are on before feeding him a chunk herself--gently, even if shoving the whole thing in his face would also be fun, she wants him to enjoy it]
[There's something very appealing, about her getting to feel indulgent, for once - something appealing about the fact that he did that, a small rush of pleasure and then a tinge of embarrassment, right on its heels. (Something very appealing about the little accidental brush of contact though he tries very hard to shove that down somewhere no one will see)]
[He does a better job, this time, of keeping clear of her fingers - it's a larger piece, and easier to avoid - but his lips brush her fingertips a little, all the same]
[Since she likes getting offered chocolate, he picks some of the koalas out for her, to offer those up, as well]
[A rush of heat, stronger than before, as she accepts the chocolate - as she catches his finger - as something sparks, bright and wanting, and he fumbles to tamp it down before she can see]
[His cheeks are burning; his eyes skitter out toward the rooftops of the other building, almost desperately, trying to find something else to concentrate on]
[Though the hopefully-muffled-enough feelings leaking from her end are guilty, it's different from before--genuinely embarrassed in a way that's probably too intense for the relatively mild sin of touching a lip or scraping a fingertip.
She ducks her head a little, a flush up her own cheeks; takes a moment before she can gather words to respond]
[Disappointment, there and gone in a flash, that he does not quite manage to hide]
[Guilt rushes in to follow it, and shame alongside, low and insidious. He ducks his head and keeps his gaze firmly on the cityscape, even as he breaks off another chunk of cone to use as a spoon, if only to give his hands something to do]
[Alarm, chagrin, of course, of course-- She summons up something like a smile, nudges into his side again]
--Dude, seriously, you're fine.
[And she pushes this through the link as well: reassurance, apology, appreciation he'd be here with her in the first place--though she can't keep the ooze of guilt and anxiety from tagging along as well, her embarrassment darkened to anxiety]
Nothing's wrong, I just-- Getting mouthy's the puppy's job, you didn't ask for the worst dessert buddy, so--sorry for being gross, you don't gotta suffer in silence or nothing to be polite, that's all...
[The guilt doesn't go; it's tangled up in disappointment that he can't quite shake, in the almost-painful spike of regret as she stumbles through the explanation. Self-reproach comes hot on its heels, a quiet little ache that feels ingrained enough to be set dressing, to be a backdrop. It's been there so long it's familiar as breathing.]
[He shoves it down, as best he's able - tucks it carefully aside. And if he can't quite quash the part of him that's greedy, that's selfish, that wants too much when he has so much already, he can ignore it and hope she doesn't see]
...you ain't gross, dude.
[He musters up everything he can pull together to send back her way - warmth, and earnest affection, and gratitude for all of this - for her, and the rooftop, and the parfait, and for every single moment since they've gotten here and how stupidly happy it's made him. Somewhere under that, coiled around his feet like a serpent, is an implicit apology: it's not her fault, he's working on it, he'll do better, he's trying,]
[And she of course is nothing like natto. But that is nothing new, so there's nothing about the tight, heavy ball in her gut to stop her from pulling up a more convincing smile, or from echoing back his feelings--trust, fondness, thanks.
She cuts herself off before saying anything more, however; maybe she and her big mouth have ruined enough things for one day.]
[He winces, a little, at that feeling - the tight, heavy ball, and that sense of things ruined, and how intimately familiar it is and how much she's got the blame with the wrong person.]
I mean, yeah, we can take a dessert break, but like.
[He ducks his head - traces the lines of the roof with his eyes, so he doesn't have to see her expression]
Sorry. For - for real. I been - trying real hard, since that one time, but sometimes I ain't - great at it?
But I been trying. And I'll keep trying. It's just - harder, sometimes.
[The guilt is wound through him like a vine; the uncertainty trembles on the edges. There's something else under that, something like - hope, almost? That she'll understand - that she won't hold it against him, that he promised and then keeps messing it up]
Hey-- You're fine--of course you're fine. I don't need you to try nothing; you're good. I--
[Rakes a hand through her hair]
If anybody should apologize, it's me. So--sorry for being weird...and for screwing things up when they were going good. --I-I mean, it seemed like they were going good, and you seemed happy, even if I was pushing you around I guess, so...
[She trails off, awkward. It's not that she doesn't appreciate his efforts--she wants him to talk to her, she wants to be someone he feels he can talk to, and it feels good that he will when he owes her nothing--but guilt chokes up all the more, especially when she's the culprit all along]
And you didn't screw nothing up. I'm the one that, like. You know. Took it the wrong way.
[A flare of remembered heat, the scrape of teeth - and even now, a spark of want comes with it before he can smother it down, before the guilt can drag it somewhere no one can see]
And it wasn't even - that. I mean - I know you didn't mean nothing by it. I just. I'm just dumb. You know?
[It aches, low and deep, somewhere in his chest. That's normal, too. That's been there just about forever - in the way the sunlight catches her hair, when he turns his head just a little, and the way she still has a fleck of pudding on her lip, and the way --]
[He ducks his head - looks away, doing his very best to slam on the brakes before that can get any further. Before the swell of feeling rises up to drown him. Before she sees, though the harder he tries not to think about it, the more it circles around, and the higher the guilt creeps]
A-anyway. It ain't you. Okay? So - I promise. I'll do better.
[Confusion from the other side of the line at basically his entire response, but before she can question what she feels, she's already protesting, automatic:]
You ain't dumb. And I don't need you to do better--you're already way better than I deserve.
[This is completely heartfelt, and her feelings are mixed over how she's thus far been unable to figure out a way to make him believe it. For now, she hunches in on herself a little, shame and guilt welling up]
Look-- I spooked myself, thinking about--something dumb. So I figured--it'd be better for you if I didn't push it. I don't wanna be--disrespectful, y'know? So--when I say you're good, it's 'cause you're good. You don't gotta take this one for me--I ain't that much of an asshole.
What do you mean, disrespectful? You - pretty sure there's nothing you could do, that'd be disrespectful.
[The guilt's still eating him alive, but under that, there's a well of affection, warm and strong, shot through with an ache that's almost physical]
And I - I'm nothing, dude, you're the one that deserves better than me.
I'm the one over here thinking about stuff I promised I'd quit thinking about. It's been like a year, and I'm - I'm just real bad at it, I guess. You're just, like - doing normal stuff, and I'm over here making it weird.
[Looks up at him, somewhere between incredulous and pained; catches his wrist as if that could somehow make him understand]
What do you mean, nothing? You're everything. The first thing I ever even remembered from was how much--how important you are. If I didn't have you--
[She breaks off, flesh hand trembling as she attempts to tamp down the queasy, hopeless swell the thought brings, for her own benefit as much as his. Eventually she rallies, fierceness a thin veneer over a jittery, anxious distress]
Look--you haven't broken any promises 'cause I never asked you to make any. You ain't making anything weird, and even if you were, who cares?
So don't--don't say stuff like that, don't think stuff like that, okay? ...Please.
[She definitely catches the feedback from the distress - feels its echo in him when he contemplates what it would be like without her]
[He looks like he's ready to say something, ready to interject - but then she's pushing on, and he takes her hand, instead - squeezes it, careful and reassuring.]
[Finally, at last, when she's finished:]
...okay. I - I mean. If it's a big deal to you, I'll try not to - to say stuff like that no more.
[He's not sure he can promise not to think it - not when he is the one who makes it weird, nine times of ten. There's a rush of guilt at that, buried somewhere deep, but he tamps down on it, hard. If she wants him to try, he can try. She deserves that much, at least]
[This last bit is a little rushed, under her breath as she looks away. She of all people knows you can't just turn off bad feelings like flipping a light switch, but it's still frustrating. She hates, sad and bleak, that he feels this way--that she's so powerless to change it. Hates, shamed, that in the same breath she squeezes at the hand that he offered, selfishly, gratefully taking his support when she should be the one offering it. Admires his strength and generosity even as it baffles her that he won't spend any of it on himself.
So she sends over feelings of apology, and thanks, because it is hard and he is trying and she appreciates it. Just sits quiet like that for a long moment, holding his hand.]
[He's too busy lost in his own feelings, and in hers. They're nothing new, these feelings; they rise up every time she says something casual that cuts her down to nothing, every time she casts herself aside in favor of someone else]
[He swallows. His thumb traces the back of her hand, gentle]
Just... it goes both ways, is all.
You're - there ain't no one more important to me than you. Okay?
[The affection from before is slow, and warm, and deep. It goes all through him, from the top to the bottom, wound through like roots in the soil. He presses it out toward her, careful - a peace offering, if she'll take it]
[As if there was any doubt? To think that she would deny his affections now, after having gotten a taste--to think that she even could--she's half-insulted, half-impressed he thinks she could be so strong. In reality she couldn't if she'd wanted to, and holds his offering selfishly, embarrassingly tight, hoarding it close and letting it wear away the rough edges of her anxiety and frustration.
In return, she sends almost defiant gratitude and appreciation--for this offering (unnecessary though it is)--for everything he's ever done and ever will do for her (so many things--could probably be fewer things, even). And then, in its wake, a steady light, soft and shy and flattered and so very lucky for the depth and constancy of his feelings, the brush of his thumb, the power of his words. The warmth it brings spreads through her chest and darkens her cheeks]
...Yeah...same. Like I said, you're--everything.
[Cants in towards him unconsciously, like a sunflower turning towards the light. Continues, earnest]
I...wanna try and show you sometimes. So--if I do it wrong or I take too long--just ask for it, okay? If you need me to do something or go somewhere or if you wanna share again like this or--anything...blank check, okay? Just say the word.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
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[The embarrassment spikes, bright and sudden, bracketed by something very like heat, that he tries his absolute best to squash down before she can get a read on it. If she wanted more color in his cheeks, that was definitely a god way to do it]
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She picks out a couple koalas, offers them in apology]
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[A preemptive apology is probably fine, right? Which is to say, he's offering her a chunk from the Giant Cone, ice cream and chocolate and cone all in one]
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And turnabout is fair play, and cone sharing is caring, and she makes sure the sensors on her fingers are on before feeding him a chunk herself--gently, even if shoving the whole thing in his face would also be fun, she wants him to enjoy it]
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[He does a better job, this time, of keeping clear of her fingers - it's a larger piece, and easier to avoid - but his lips brush her fingertips a little, all the same]
[Since she likes getting offered chocolate, he picks some of the koalas out for her, to offer those up, as well]
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[Soft--
Heat rises on her cheeks, sudden, and she quickly looks away--mentally shoves something down, clumsily biting at the chocolate, sorry,]
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[His cheeks are burning; his eyes skitter out toward the rooftops of the other building, almost desperately, trying to find something else to concentrate on]
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[Though the hopefully-muffled-enough feelings leaking from her end are guilty, it's different from before--genuinely embarrassed in a way that's probably too intense for the relatively mild sin of touching a lip or scraping a fingertip.
She ducks her head a little, a flush up her own cheeks; takes a moment before she can gather words to respond]
...Maybe--you should finish it.
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[Disappointment, there and gone in a flash, that he does not quite manage to hide]
[Guilt rushes in to follow it, and shame alongside, low and insidious. He ducks his head and keeps his gaze firmly on the cityscape, even as he breaks off another chunk of cone to use as a spoon, if only to give his hands something to do]
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[Alarm, chagrin, of course, of course-- She summons up something like a smile, nudges into his side again]
--Dude, seriously, you're fine.
[And she pushes this through the link as well: reassurance, apology, appreciation he'd be here with her in the first place--though she can't keep the ooze of guilt and anxiety from tagging along as well, her embarrassment darkened to anxiety]
Nothing's wrong, I just-- Getting mouthy's the puppy's job, you didn't ask for the worst dessert buddy, so--sorry for being gross, you don't gotta suffer in silence or nothing to be polite, that's all...
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[He shoves it down, as best he's able - tucks it carefully aside. And if he can't quite quash the part of him that's greedy, that's selfish, that wants too much when he has so much already, he can ignore it and hope she doesn't see]
...you ain't gross, dude.
[He musters up everything he can pull together to send back her way - warmth, and earnest affection, and gratitude for all of this - for her, and the rooftop, and the parfait, and for every single moment since they've gotten here and how stupidly happy it's made him. Somewhere under that, coiled around his feet like a serpent, is an implicit apology: it's not her fault, he's working on it, he'll do better, he's trying,]
Well. Cept for the natto.
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[And she of course is nothing like natto. But that is nothing new, so there's nothing about the tight, heavy ball in her gut to stop her from pulling up a more convincing smile, or from echoing back his feelings--trust, fondness, thanks.
She cuts herself off before saying anything more, however; maybe she and her big mouth have ruined enough things for one day.]
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and how much she's got the blame with the wrong person.]Xia...
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...I brought some real food, if you wanna take a dessert break.
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I mean, yeah, we can take a dessert break, but like.
[He ducks his head - traces the lines of the roof with his eyes, so he doesn't have to see her expression]
Sorry. For - for real. I been - trying real hard, since that one time, but sometimes I ain't - great at it?
But I been trying. And I'll keep trying. It's just - harder, sometimes.
[The guilt is wound through him like a vine; the uncertainty trembles on the edges. There's something else under that, something like - hope, almost? That she'll understand - that she won't hold it against him, that he promised and then keeps messing it up]
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Hey-- You're fine--of course you're fine. I don't need you to try nothing; you're good. I--
[Rakes a hand through her hair]
If anybody should apologize, it's me. So--sorry for being weird...and for screwing things up when they were going good. --I-I mean, it seemed like they were going good, and you seemed happy, even if I was pushing you around I guess, so...
[She trails off, awkward. It's not that she doesn't appreciate his efforts--she wants him to talk to her, she wants to be someone he feels he can talk to, and it feels good that he will when he owes her nothing--but guilt chokes up all the more, especially when she's the culprit all along]
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And you didn't screw nothing up. I'm the one that, like. You know. Took it the wrong way.
[A flare of remembered heat, the scrape of teeth - and even now, a spark of want comes with it before he can smother it down, before the guilt can drag it somewhere no one can see]
And it wasn't even - that. I mean - I know you didn't mean nothing by it. I just. I'm just dumb. You know?
[It aches, low and deep, somewhere in his chest. That's normal, too. That's been there just about forever - in the way the sunlight catches her hair, when he turns his head just a little, and the way she still has a fleck of pudding on her lip, and the way --]
[He ducks his head - looks away, doing his very best to slam on the brakes before that can get any further. Before the swell of feeling rises up to drown him. Before she sees, though the harder he tries not to think about it, the more it circles around, and the higher the guilt creeps]
A-anyway. It ain't you. Okay? So - I promise. I'll do better.
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You ain't dumb. And I don't need you to do better--you're already way better than I deserve.
[This is completely heartfelt, and her feelings are mixed over how she's thus far been unable to figure out a way to make him believe it. For now, she hunches in on herself a little, shame and guilt welling up]
Look-- I spooked myself, thinking about--something dumb. So I figured--it'd be better for you if I didn't push it. I don't wanna be--disrespectful, y'know? So--when I say you're good, it's 'cause you're good. You don't gotta take this one for me--I ain't that much of an asshole.
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[The guilt's still eating him alive, but under that, there's a well of affection, warm and strong, shot through with an ache that's almost physical]
And I - I'm nothing, dude, you're the one that deserves better than me.
I'm the one over here thinking about stuff I promised I'd quit thinking about. It's been like a year, and I'm - I'm just real bad at it, I guess. You're just, like - doing normal stuff, and I'm over here making it weird.
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What do you mean, nothing? You're everything. The first thing I ever even remembered from was how much--how important you are. If I didn't have you--
[She breaks off, flesh hand trembling as she attempts to tamp down the queasy, hopeless swell the thought brings, for her own benefit as much as his. Eventually she rallies, fierceness a thin veneer over a jittery, anxious distress]
Look--you haven't broken any promises 'cause I never asked you to make any. You ain't making anything weird, and even if you were, who cares?
So don't--don't say stuff like that, don't think stuff like that, okay? ...Please.
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He looks like he's ready to say something, ready to interject - but then she's pushing on, and he takes her hand, instead - squeezes it, careful and reassuring.]
[Finally, at last, when she's finished:]
...okay. I - I mean. If it's a big deal to you, I'll try not to - to say stuff like that no more.
[He's not sure he can promise not to think it - not when he is the one who makes it weird, nine times of ten. There's a rush of guilt at that, buried somewhere deep, but he tamps down on it, hard. If she wants him to try, he can try. She deserves that much, at least]
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[Sighs, tired]
--I wish you were a big deal to you, too.
[This last bit is a little rushed, under her breath as she looks away. She of all people knows you can't just turn off bad feelings like flipping a light switch, but it's still frustrating. She hates, sad and bleak, that he feels this way--that she's so powerless to change it. Hates, shamed, that in the same breath she squeezes at the hand that he offered, selfishly, gratefully taking his support when she should be the one offering it. Admires his strength and generosity even as it baffles her that he won't spend any of it on himself.
So she sends over feelings of apology, and thanks, because it is hard and he is trying and she appreciates it. Just sits quiet like that for a long moment, holding his hand.]
...You were gonna say something...?
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
[He's too busy lost in his own feelings, and in hers. They're nothing new, these feelings; they rise up every time she says something casual that cuts her down to nothing, every time she casts herself aside in favor of someone else]
[He swallows. His thumb traces the back of her hand, gentle]
Just... it goes both ways, is all.
You're - there ain't no one more important to me than you. Okay?
[The affection from before is slow, and warm, and deep. It goes all through him, from the top to the bottom, wound through like roots in the soil. He presses it out toward her, careful - a peace offering, if she'll take it]
Re: Day 235 - Emotion Share
In return, she sends almost defiant gratitude and appreciation--for this offering (unnecessary though it is)--for everything he's ever done and ever will do for her (so many things--could probably be fewer things, even). And then, in its wake, a steady light, soft and shy and flattered and so very lucky for the depth and constancy of his feelings, the brush of his thumb, the power of his words. The warmth it brings spreads through her chest and darkens her cheeks]
...Yeah...same. Like I said, you're--everything.
[Cants in towards him unconsciously, like a sunflower turning towards the light. Continues, earnest]
I...wanna try and show you sometimes. So--if I do it wrong or I take too long--just ask for it, okay? If you need me to do something or go somewhere or if you wanna share again like this or--anything...blank check, okay? Just say the word.
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