[ Know the truth? She could've asked any which way, and Logan would've stayed. 'Cause some part of him was hoping she would. Ask, that is. He's not oblivious to how she feels. He can't be when every skip and stutter of her pulse reaches his ears. But it doesn't always mean something. It doesn't always mean she wants it to mean something. He isn't sure he's ready for it, either, all of this.
Maybe there is somethin' to this place. A quality that makes it easier to ignore the reality behind what they've got going on even against his better judgment, against the curling discomfort that never quite leaves him.
So he sits and he talks to her, and he manages to make her laugh a second time. And it's...it's good. Despite the dozens of uncertainties swirling in his head, it's good. She makes it easy, too. She's loose here, acts as though she's right at home, and he can't help letting himself get swept up in her careless chatter and questions that she asks just to ask. ]
More of a whiskey guy, [ is his reply. But nah. He isn't picky when it comes down to it.
The most Karen reveals is that she never had that kind of money. It's not much, but it tells Logan enough, both the admission and the fact that she hesitates after, as if she hadn't meant to expose that side of herself. He studies her. Reformulates the picture he's been building of her a bit. He drinks. The moons never move from their positions in the sky. By the time he checks the clock on his phone, it's...not early, that's for damn sure.
Once upon a time, he might not have taken the out. He might've stayed the night. But that was then and this is now. When her eyes start to close, the hazy fog of the day sharpens with sudden clarity, tells him it's time to go. He pauses to drape a blanket over her shoulders before he gathers his shirt, his boots, and starts toward the door. Then her voice drifts toward him, half-awake. His hand rests on the wooden frame as he turns. A light breeze blows through. She's curled up on the cushions, hair splayed over the pillows. He ends up waiting without meaning to, watching her from the threshold for a minute 'til her eyes slip shut for real and her breathing evens out. It strikes him that the past several hours (more?) is the longest he's gone feeling...okay. Like he can take a breath without the world ending in the next hour.
He closes the door with a gentle click. (He's so fucked.) ]
no subject
Maybe there is somethin' to this place. A quality that makes it easier to ignore the reality behind what they've got going on even against his better judgment, against the curling discomfort that never quite leaves him.
So he sits and he talks to her, and he manages to make her laugh a second time. And it's...it's good. Despite the dozens of uncertainties swirling in his head, it's good. She makes it easy, too. She's loose here, acts as though she's right at home, and he can't help letting himself get swept up in her careless chatter and questions that she asks just to ask. ]
More of a whiskey guy, [ is his reply. But nah. He isn't picky when it comes down to it.
The most Karen reveals is that she never had that kind of money. It's not much, but it tells Logan enough, both the admission and the fact that she hesitates after, as if she hadn't meant to expose that side of herself. He studies her. Reformulates the picture he's been building of her a bit. He drinks. The moons never move from their positions in the sky. By the time he checks the clock on his phone, it's...not early, that's for damn sure.
Once upon a time, he might not have taken the out. He might've stayed the night. But that was then and this is now. When her eyes start to close, the hazy fog of the day sharpens with sudden clarity, tells him it's time to go. He pauses to drape a blanket over her shoulders before he gathers his shirt, his boots, and starts toward the door. Then her voice drifts toward him, half-awake. His hand rests on the wooden frame as he turns. A light breeze blows through. She's curled up on the cushions, hair splayed over the pillows. He ends up waiting without meaning to, watching her from the threshold for a minute 'til her eyes slip shut for real and her breathing evens out. It strikes him that the past several hours (more?) is the longest he's gone feeling...okay. Like he can take a breath without the world ending in the next hour.
He closes the door with a gentle click. (He's so fucked.) ]