#withdread

it's cute that he asks, she thinks — cute in a way that makes her stomach flip-flop in a way that is absolutely, not at all butterfly like. it's super chill. definitely. there certainly isn't a pleasant warmth settled in her gut, trying to creep up the back of her neck and betray her.

"you would, huh?" the question is teasing, lilting, as she steps closer to invade his space. she's very nearly shoving herself into his jacket at this point, mouth curling into a feline little grin as she stares up at him. god, he's pretty. gorgeous. it's unfair.

for a long moment, all she could do was stare at him while she tried to process just what the fuck it was that he could possibly have meant by that.

it felt like she'd blinked and he'd disappeared, and she didn't know how much of that was accurate and how much was simply that he was so much stealthier than expected. and in the here and now with that cryptic i didn't want to get in your way? she'd never gotten a fucking hint in her life and she wasn't about to start now.

a hand scrubbed over one side of her face, and vic could only imagine the disappointment etched into her own features as she met his gaze. "you know i, like... enjoy being around you, right? and that i wanna spend time with you?" arms cross over her chest, one eyebrow arching high.

something about it almost sounded like a plea, though she wasn't so sure that it was one directed at her so much as the goddamn universe. even still, it felt like it knocked the wind from her lungs with the way it caught her off guard, left her reeling. there was a whole hell of a lot of weight in that statement; she wondered if he realized just how much.

wondered, too, if it mattered, or if all the ways they matched, meshed, outweighed any of the ones they didn't — made the weight seem lighter, somehow. that might have been a little too philosophical for her then and there, when she was still trying to process.

"whatever i need, huh?" that was a tall order, no matter how you looked at it. even if she'd been normal, untraumatized, the person she should have been, it would be a lot.

she hadn't realized it until that moment, but she'd shuffled closer to him at some point, leaving them toe to toe. god, his eyes were so green. it was unfair. unreal.

her eyes go a little soft.

she's never been the person people asked to just be there, and she can acknowledge that part of that is her fault — easier to keep people at arm's length than it is to let them and let them be disappointed by what they find. calmness, soothing? they aren't exactly things that she thinks of as associated with her. most people she knows would agree, she thinks.

he isn't most people.

vic shuffles closer until they're sitting thigh to thigh, loops an arm through his. her movements are slow, lazy, as she rests her chin on his shoulder, eyes him for a long moment. 

they haven’t been awake together all that long, even though most of the morning’s already passed them by -- she might have a little bit of time on him ( out of habit, unfortunately; early classes have made her an early riser this semester against her will ) but she hadn’t wanted to wake him just yet. she's been content on simply watching his sleep there beside her, curled in close and warm ... she wonders sometimes if he knows how often she just likes to look at him --- and not just those meant - to - be quick little glances ( that somehow, never seemed to be as brief as they probably should be so as not to risk getting caught as often as she does now )  whether they're traveling all the way to the other side of the room in class or when he's close like this.

but it isn't long before she's no longer content with just looking --- and maybe it's a little bit selfish of her ( something she hopes he'll forgive her for being after the fact ) wanting to reach out and touch; freeing her hand out from under the blanket they're sharing so she can brush a bit of hair out of his face. the risk ( him waking up and catching her ) doesn't deter her in the slightest ( and really, what's the real consequence here? waking him up and having to quietly murmur an apology against his lips for doing it? )

which of course is what happens on her second attempt at pushing the hair back towards his ear; an exhaled laugh and a grin on the pillow beside him the first thing he'll see once his vision comes back into focus --- that and a marginally apologetic " 'morning, babe" for waking him up. but before she can try to come up with an excuse for waking him, he catches her hand on the third attempt to see more of his face, barely missing a beat before he he presses his lips to the inside of her wrist.

and ---- she feels it immediately. it’s not simply the warmth of his skin against her hers that permeates and spreads towards her fingertips and up her arm, but something else. it’s something akin the feeling that always gets described as butterflies in the stomach ( a phrase that from an early age always confused her --- who would want to eat a bunch of butterflies in the first place?! ); a happiness that feels ... almost stolen; unearned. as if he doesn’t quite believe it’s meant for him. ( but oh, if he only knew just how happy he made her… )

maybe she’s overdue in telling him exactly ------- not the part about how happy he makes her every time she gets a chance to see him; that she’s got down practically to a science now, even if it isn’t always conveyed in words. between the way she looks at him ( whether he’s looking back at her or not ) and how quick she is to repay his frequent little gestures of affection with a little kiss of her own, he must at the very least know she's smitten beyond belief.

but it's the fact she can feel it --------------- feel the warmth in him when they're close; feel how something like this felt almost previously unobtainable ( and still maybe he feels like it isn't exactly real, or he isn't exactly deserving ).

maybe she should finally tell him about that part of her, no matter how bizarre it might sound. if anyone would understand her, it's him. and maybe it's overdue. maybe ---- but for now, maybe she'll just hum sweetly while he presses another kiss to the pulse point in her wrist.

"So...court mandated or family threatened?"

He's the first person she's spoken to as she lingers outside the door to where the meeting is supposed to take place, but he's also the first person who hasn't looked at her with that strange look that every one else shuffling in the building seems to have. The one that rings with a mix of needing to prove they really deserve to be here, that their situation should be validated, but oh no, don't get them wrong, they're not fucked up like everyone else here.

the original plan for the evening had been take - out and studying ( which they had … for a little while — textbooks and notebooks had been opened, highlighters uncapped. but it did feel a little inevitable that it would devolve into something else once she’d gone and settled into her usual spot; tucked under his arm with his hand in her lap, lazily playing with the bracelets around his wrist ).

there had been every intention to share the book he’d opened ( she promises! ) but not that long into skimming the first few pages, she found herself reading the same paragraph three … four … five times before admitting the ( obvious ) fact to herself that she’s distracted --- an admission that ends with her glancing back at him instead of having her eyes down on the page. .… distraction loves company, right? and is it really a distraction if they’ve gone and put in a good twenty or thirty minutes into studying? shouldn’t it count more as a well - earned study break? at least that’s what she's prepared to call it when she tugs gently on his chin for him to lean down so she can give him a ‘well done on turning that last page’ kiss.

( it was only meant to be the one ----- she’ll swear to it. but it’s difficult for her not to be smitten whenever she’s around him for even just a little while. )

which also means she’s well - aware of all the alarms he has set for just about everything; she’s heard his watch ping with all sorts of reminders plenty of times. but the chime that comes in the middle of one of those meant - to - only - be - one kisses felt especially poorly timed. it’s not just a reminder that it’s gotten later than she’d thought ( time flies when you’re having fun studying ), but there’s a bus that needs catching in his future if either one of them wants to have at least the chance of a full night’s worth of sleep before class tomorrow.

… not that she would mind pulling an all - nighter.

which makes the fact that they’ve made it from the floor of her bedroom to her apartment’s front door feel like a serious accomplishment all on it’s own; the achievement punctuated with an overly - puffed out bottom lip as she reluctantly offers him his bag.

@withdread / “ i know i need to go but— one more kiss. ”

the pout recedes in about the same time it takes to push herself up on tip - toe and put her arms around his neck for that one more. "just one?" she grumbles quietly ( yet somehow, still with a hint of a grin ) in protest against his mouth, “why just the one, hm?” a rationale she’s quick to bolster with a string of little kisses meant to muck up the limit he’s put on himself as much as possible.

She's pretty sure the therapist that she took a frankly embarrassing amount of time to go to would disagree — that sounds like the sort of thing she'd say and get smacked down for mid-session.

Her problem is, of course, the years and years and years of reinforcement, of reminders. You can only unlearn things so quickly, can only make so much progress. It always feels like backsliding, she thinks, to have a day where the feeling returns full force, even when they're fewer and farther between then they once were. It's hard to remember that even a little step backward is further on than she started. 

Vic shoves her hands deep into her pockets.