[there's something warm about the way she laughs that has nothing to do with what's passing from her hand to his, or anything that's been building since she'd first approached. it's light, something he could allow to linger — something he could let in.
he shuts the thought, however fleeting, down in an instant.
it wouldn't lead anywhere good.
soon enough, though, he doesn't have the capacity to dwell on it, anyway. there's the loss, which he feels acutely, when she lets go of his hand, but she's close, leaning in, before he can even think to mourn it, and the smell of her is all he knows.
breath catches in his throat, mouth going dry. his own heart picks up the pace. he doesn't know anything else.]
Sam.
[that repetition, that acknowledgement, low and quiet, is all he manages before he leans over the rest of the distance that separates them, finding her mouth with his.]
no subject
he shuts the thought, however fleeting, down in an instant.
it wouldn't lead anywhere good.
soon enough, though, he doesn't have the capacity to dwell on it, anyway. there's the loss, which he feels acutely, when she lets go of his hand, but she's close, leaning in, before he can even think to mourn it, and the smell of her is all he knows.
breath catches in his throat, mouth going dry. his own heart picks up the pace. he doesn't know anything else.]
Sam.
[that repetition, that acknowledgement, low and quiet, is all he manages before he leans over the rest of the distance that separates them, finding her mouth with his.]