[ He sees those tears beginning to fog her eyes and in his chest Eamonn's heart starts to beat out of rhythm, that syncopation slowly twisting him into knots of please, Grace; please, don't; I'll do anything; just don't cry.
To Grace's credit it isn't crying — not yet, anyway — but she's getting there fast (and with him help). Poised on the very cusp of weeping, every inhale threatening a sob or a catch of breath from which she'll never recover, it's either a case of fall forward or fall back and no room for error inbetween. The line Grace is walking is narrow enough as it is, barely enough room for the both of them side-by-side, but Eamonn doesn't intend to abandon her. Come hell or high water, he'll follow her. Even if that means diving headfirst into the salt sea of her tears.
Leaning his forward, his forehead comes to rest against the gentle slope of hers, the curve of his skull rocks once as he nods in silent agreement. (Please believe me; it's all I want.) Eamonn shifts and lifts a free hand to retrace the path that Grace had drawn over his heart only moments ago — one line intersecting a second. A tell-tale cross. X marks the spot. ]
Cross my heart'n hope t'die. Stick a needl' in m'eye. [ Peek pulls back far enough to offer his eyes, to show her with his gaze and his expression. D dozen dozen microexpressions all point to the same thing and that direction is love. ] T'ere isn't anyone else in the wide world f'r me, but you. I promise, Grace — s'alright. An' if it isn't right now — will be soon.
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To Grace's credit it isn't crying — not yet, anyway — but she's getting there fast (and with him help). Poised on the very cusp of weeping, every inhale threatening a sob or a catch of breath from which she'll never recover, it's either a case of fall forward or fall back and no room for error inbetween. The line Grace is walking is narrow enough as it is, barely enough room for the both of them side-by-side, but Eamonn doesn't intend to abandon her. Come hell or high water, he'll follow her. Even if that means diving headfirst into the salt sea of her tears.
Leaning his forward, his forehead comes to rest against the gentle slope of hers, the curve of his skull rocks once as he nods in silent agreement. (Please believe me; it's all I want.) Eamonn shifts and lifts a free hand to retrace the path that Grace had drawn over his heart only moments ago — one line intersecting a second. A tell-tale cross. X marks the spot. ]
Cross my heart'n hope t'die. Stick a needl' in m'eye. [ Peek pulls back far enough to offer his eyes, to show her with his gaze and his expression. D dozen dozen microexpressions all point to the same thing and that direction is love. ] T'ere isn't anyone else in the wide world f'r me, but you. I promise, Grace — s'alright. An' if it isn't right now — will be soon.