[ Again, reaction upon reaction pops up at the same time, a mess of words instead of the usual neat mental list she manages. (Don't bullshit me; kiss me again; it isn't alright, it's never going to be; no, I owe you, I owe you, I've never given you anything but you've still given me so much; I'm sorry.) Her hand finally stops upon his cheek, though her touch is more tentative than not, as if she weren't sure that this was the way things were supposed to go or she didn't know if the gesture would meet with his approval (because despite her bravado whenever they're out in public, she still looks to him).
Again, a fist seems to close around her chest, but she manages to pare the reaction down to the barest dig of her teeth into her lower lip.
(He'd take a bullet for her and the equation still holds true in reverse. It's not the sort of thing she's ever truly contemplated but the sort of thing that sits deep in her gut, as unquantifiable as the ache in her chest and the tears that threaten to sting at her eyes. Frustrating, yes, but she's never been more certain of anything in her life. Funny how things work out like that.)
Then, faintly, the words almost a dare despite how quiet they are: ]
no subject
Again, a fist seems to close around her chest, but she manages to pare the reaction down to the barest dig of her teeth into her lower lip.
(He'd take a bullet for her and the equation still holds true in reverse. It's not the sort of thing she's ever truly contemplated but the sort of thing that sits deep in her gut, as unquantifiable as the ache in her chest and the tears that threaten to sting at her eyes. Frustrating, yes, but she's never been more certain of anything in her life. Funny how things work out like that.)
Then, faintly, the words almost a dare despite how quiet they are: ]
Tell me again and I'll believe you