It feels like, from Clarisse's sudden silence and the way she brings her cup immediately to her mouth, Abby might have said the wrong thing, the pause indicating to her that Clarisse is now figuring out how to duck out from underneath of that proposal. Her palms feel sweaty on her own mug, hot from the coffee and the blood suddenly pumping much quicker in her ears. She feels like a teenager. They're probably just as red as each other.
Clarisse puts her mug down. The pottery clipping against the wood table is so loud. Abby says "Sorry," and it comes out little and stupid, but Clarisse keeps going just to beat her to the point and what she does say makes Abby's jaw drop inelegantly.
She sweeps her hand across her face to tuck her hair; there is no hair that isn't already braided back so it's just a familiar motion, curling her fingers around her ear and letting them linger there while she listens. When she glances over and registers the raw look on Clarisse's face, a shyness she doesn't think she's ever seen before, she doesn't hesitate.
"Me too. I wanted — I tried to ask you," but wimped out, sat around afterwards, thought about it for days. Kept revisiting the entire moment in odd places, playing through alternative versions of it in her head: the one where she got it out and Clarisse kissed her because she wanted to; the one where Clarisse told her she didn't feel the same way, and that they probably shouldn't stay friends. "I got in my head about it, I didn't want to fuck anything up because you're so important to me. And I — really like you."
no subject
Clarisse puts her mug down. The pottery clipping against the wood table is so loud. Abby says "Sorry," and it comes out little and stupid, but Clarisse keeps going just to beat her to the point and what she does say makes Abby's jaw drop inelegantly.
She sweeps her hand across her face to tuck her hair; there is no hair that isn't already braided back so it's just a familiar motion, curling her fingers around her ear and letting them linger there while she listens. When she glances over and registers the raw look on Clarisse's face, a shyness she doesn't think she's ever seen before, she doesn't hesitate.
"Me too. I wanted — I tried to ask you," but wimped out, sat around afterwards, thought about it for days. Kept revisiting the entire moment in odd places, playing through alternative versions of it in her head: the one where she got it out and Clarisse kissed her because she wanted to; the one where Clarisse told her she didn't feel the same way, and that they probably shouldn't stay friends. "I got in my head about it, I didn't want to fuck anything up because you're so important to me. And I — really like you."