[She moved before he could protest otherwise, and he was back in the relative comfort of his big, stupid orange scarf. While she settled down and was content to watch the rain for any sign of stopping, he held tight and felt his own shivers begin to subside, eyes turned nowhere in particular, rather unfocused. The nagging thoughts, usually blocked by stubbornness and his work, had no choice but to bubble up, and he furrowed an eyebrow as he found himself resting a cheek atop her damp hair.
He liked this. He really liked this, and lately, he'd found himself thinking a little more about it than he should.
But should he tell her? Something told him that was a terrible idea, she'd laugh, or she'd brush it off and walk away. He couldn't tell which reaction would be worse... but...]
Quicklog
He liked this. He really liked this, and lately, he'd found himself thinking a little more about it than he should.
But should he tell her? Something told him that was a terrible idea, she'd laugh, or she'd brush it off and walk away. He couldn't tell which reaction would be worse... but...]