He wouldn't have minded if her fingers were sticky...
Wondering what she means by having 'come back from hellfire,' he lets it pass, because he's tired of talking about what they can and can't and should and shouldn't and might or might not talk about. It's too draining and frustrating. And he doesn't like where it puts him in his head.
But he is grateful to her, deep down somewhere. For letting him in. And opening up. It's those moments when she does let him in, that remind him that this thing, this connection, is a two-way street.
Nodding, he sighs, meeting her eyes. "I know. I get it. I really do."
Sometimes he feels as if he's still chasing after her, the wild mustang that she is, and she only allows him to take the reins for short periods of time before yanking them out of his hands again with a toss of her head.
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Wondering what she means by having 'come back from hellfire,' he lets it pass, because he's tired of talking about what they can and can't and should and shouldn't and might or might not talk about. It's too draining and frustrating. And he doesn't like where it puts him in his head.
But he is grateful to her, deep down somewhere. For letting him in. And opening up. It's those moments when she does let him in, that remind him that this thing, this connection, is a two-way street.
Nodding, he sighs, meeting her eyes. "I know. I get it. I really do."
Sometimes he feels as if he's still chasing after her, the wild mustang that she is, and she only allows him to take the reins for short periods of time before yanking them out of his hands again with a toss of her head.