(she nods, not trusting herself to speak past the sudden lump in her throat because it strikes her as deeply unfair that he should leave now, when he doesn't want to. abby doesn't want him to go either. she wanted to tell him so many things. she wanted to know him better and get closer to him, and she was being slow and careful with that, allowing it to build; all for nothing. she thought she'd have more time with him, the thought barely a comfort.
this disappointment abruptly crashes through her, but she holds strong despite it, biting the inside of her cheek, looking away. she needs a quick break from his expression, because he looks so sad, and he said i'm sorry, like this is some how his fault. so fucking selfless, as per usual. that makes her want to shake him, the familiar impulse causing her to huff out a little laugh.
when she finally looks back at him, she feels steadier.)
... You let me talk for way too long about Scaramouche. (he has things to say to the people he cares about, right? and he doesn't have enough time. she wishes she hadn't wasted her slot talking about some stupid book.)
Oh, I don't know about that. I was super into it. Who doesn't love a good book?
[Well, there's one thing that he doesn't hesitate to do; it just feels right, feels like a proper goodbye. He leans in, pressing a soft, fond kiss to her cheek. Standing back a step, his smile softens, eyes gentle in the way they wordlessly say goodbye.]
(the look she flashes him is tight, upset,) I know, but...
(if she'd have known, she would have said other things. maybe. they're all crowding around on the tip of her tongue now, vying for first position. she has no idea how to voice any of them or if she even should, and she's thinking about that when he kisses her, gentle and warm on the apple of her cheek.
it makes abby's ears go pink.
to think that he might have liked her too and hadn't said anything– it's almost too much. it fucking sucks.)
Peter, I–
(she can't think of what she should say, and maybe it's easier to show him anyway. he's stepped back, so she has to come in close deliberately, nervously, to cup his face between her calloused palms and kiss him properly. her fingers brush through the soft hair at the nape of his neck; abby gives him something harder and longer, a stand in for about a thousand words.
when she lets him go, it feels better than before, like she's given something weighing on her permission to go with him.)
Be safe. (she rolls her eyes to punctuate it,) As safe as you ever are, I mean.
[Peter always ends up being the first to kiss, huh? But this time, it's not him who's going to end up leaving. Looks like he's taking a page out of Wade's handbook — vanishing, leaving a lot of what-ifs and moments that would've been nicer with company. He's almost relieved, though. It's a young, silly crush, y'know? He'd been devastated when Wade left, and he couldn't fathom being that deep a cut for anyone else.
This is good. This is fine. Abby's a beautiful woman and the sky's the limit.
He kisses her back with soft intent, the gesture practiced even when so much time has passed. It's an easy goodbye. A good one. And though he has guilt and regret, it's not quite so palpable as it tends to be with him; she'll be okay, and he's happy to know. When they pull away, he reaches over, helps tuck back a wayward strand of hair with the same energy of a polite boy tidying the art supplies, eager to offer whatever service he can to repair the things around him.
It's a trait too easily developed in a decade. He grins.]
Hey, last time I checked, you get into plenty of trouble yourself.
[His eyes are warm, maybe shinier than usual. Maybe it's a trick of the light. Or maybe he's a sap. We all know which one is more likely. The weight she'd felt parallels his in its own way, and he feels it lessen in tandem.]
(she receives the gentle tuck of hair behind her ear with another uncertain smile, teeth closing gently around the inside of her cheek, pressing down. all she needs is for the interaction to be over now, if only so she doesn't do something stupid like tear up in front of him. how embarrassing would that be. he's oddly beautiful to her, standing in the light. his gaze is warm, and caring. if she had to have a last memory of him, she's glad it's like this.)
I'll try.
(... to get into trouble, or to take care of herself? might be a bit of both. her little joke.
abby shoves her hands into her pockets, and leaves before he can catch her expression crumbling at the edges.)
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this disappointment abruptly crashes through her, but she holds strong despite it, biting the inside of her cheek, looking away. she needs a quick break from his expression, because he looks so sad, and he said i'm sorry, like this is some how his fault. so fucking selfless, as per usual. that makes her want to shake him, the familiar impulse causing her to huff out a little laugh.
when she finally looks back at him, she feels steadier.)
... You let me talk for way too long about Scaramouche. (he has things to say to the people he cares about, right? and he doesn't have enough time. she wishes she hadn't wasted her slot talking about some stupid book.)
no subject
Oh, I don't know about that. I was super into it. Who doesn't love a good book?
[Well, there's one thing that he doesn't hesitate to do; it just feels right, feels like a proper goodbye. He leans in, pressing a soft, fond kiss to her cheek. Standing back a step, his smile softens, eyes gentle in the way they wordlessly say goodbye.]
I'm really glad I got to meet you.
no subject
(if she'd have known, she would have said other things. maybe. they're all crowding around on the tip of her tongue now, vying for first position. she has no idea how to voice any of them or if she even should, and she's thinking about that when he kisses her, gentle and warm on the apple of her cheek.
it makes abby's ears go pink.
to think that he might have liked her too and hadn't said anything– it's almost too much. it fucking sucks.)
Peter, I–
(she can't think of what she should say, and maybe it's easier to show him anyway. he's stepped back, so she has to come in close deliberately, nervously, to cup his face between her calloused palms and kiss him properly. her fingers brush through the soft hair at the nape of his neck; abby gives him something harder and longer, a stand in for about a thousand words.
when she lets him go, it feels better than before, like she's given something weighing on her permission to go with him.)
Be safe. (she rolls her eyes to punctuate it,) As safe as you ever are, I mean.
no subject
This is good. This is fine. Abby's a beautiful woman and the sky's the limit.
He kisses her back with soft intent, the gesture practiced even when so much time has passed. It's an easy goodbye. A good one. And though he has guilt and regret, it's not quite so palpable as it tends to be with him; she'll be okay, and he's happy to know. When they pull away, he reaches over, helps tuck back a wayward strand of hair with the same energy of a polite boy tidying the art supplies, eager to offer whatever service he can to repair the things around him.
It's a trait too easily developed in a decade. He grins.]
Hey, last time I checked, you get into plenty of trouble yourself.
[His eyes are warm, maybe shinier than usual. Maybe it's a trick of the light. Or maybe he's a sap. We all know which one is more likely. The weight she'd felt parallels his in its own way, and he feels it lessen in tandem.]
... Take care of yourself, Abby.
no subject
I'll try.
(... to get into trouble, or to take care of herself? might be a bit of both. her little joke.
abby shoves her hands into her pockets, and leaves before he can catch her expression crumbling at the edges.)