[ A right? She can hardly think of it that way, not when he's in so much of a worse situation than she is and yet holding himself together in what seems to be an infinitely better way. (Of course, he's had a lot more practice with this kind of thing than he has, logic tells her, but that's not enough to make the strange sick feeling leave, is it?) Not to mention that this is a vengeance he's been chasing for longer than they've been closeโ practically for longer than they've known one another at allโ how can it possibly be okay for her to feel this way about it?
Or, she wonders somewhat helplessly, is this just her brain's way of trying to push her back from what she knows are feelings too deep for him, something deeper than just worry, something deeper than the "like" by which she defines itโ even if it makes no logical sense for her to feel this way.
Nonetheless, the tears keep flowing even as she tries to make them stop, even as she finds a hint of laughter on her lips at his statement, a slight shake of her head the answer to his unspoken question: no, it's not too bold of him. ]
I would have. [ Her voice when she speaks is thick, wet with the emotion clogging her throat. Is it strange, then, that there's a strange little part of her joyful that it was with that thought that he continued on? That even if it was out of nothing else but fear of her vengeance, it was the thought of her that pushed him forward, kept him going.
She presses a small, chaste kiss against whatever part of him she's fallen against in her emotional frenzyโ she's not exactly sure whether his chest or neck or shoulders, only that he can reach her crown with his own kissesโ and breathes a slow breath in through her nose, trying to calm herself even as the waves of emotion threaten to crash over her again. ]
I would have killed the bastard that hurt you first... and then you for giving up before making it back to me.
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Or, she wonders somewhat helplessly, is this just her brain's way of trying to push her back from what she knows are feelings too deep for him, something deeper than just worry, something deeper than the "like" by which she defines itโ even if it makes no logical sense for her to feel this way.
Nonetheless, the tears keep flowing even as she tries to make them stop, even as she finds a hint of laughter on her lips at his statement, a slight shake of her head the answer to his unspoken question: no, it's not too bold of him. ]
I would have. [ Her voice when she speaks is thick, wet with the emotion clogging her throat. Is it strange, then, that there's a strange little part of her joyful that it was with that thought that he continued on? That even if it was out of nothing else but fear of her vengeance, it was the thought of her that pushed him forward, kept him going.
She presses a small, chaste kiss against whatever part of him she's fallen against in her emotional frenzyโ she's not exactly sure whether his chest or neck or shoulders, only that he can reach her crown with his own kissesโ and breathes a slow breath in through her nose, trying to calm herself even as the waves of emotion threaten to crash over her again. ]
I would have killed the bastard that hurt you first... and then you for giving up before making it back to me.