( he doesn't have to ask in order for her to hear it, the bold tuft of his brows expression of his concern enough. but she's grateful for the fact that he doesn't yet ask her a second time, now that she's here. now that she knows he'll be able to read whether or not it's truth befalling her lips or an efforts to put up a front. she's like him in that way—sometimes it was better not to talk about it, to let oneself try and get comfortable first before letting it rise up their throat like a haunting bile.
the light touch of humor that paints his lips doesn't go unappreciated, two lost souls in the night trying to make it a little easier to stay awake when sleep wouldn't come; when body begged but mind forbade. it's still a creature comfort, even if her body has long ago become immune to any normalized amounts of caffeine. )
Or the right one.
( the familiar sound of the espresso drips as the heat hums and bubbles within the maker fills her senses, and it's not long before the sharp notes of the beans threaten to fill the petite space. he surveys her like it's habit, to know someone's exterior before digging any further. she supposes she can't really be uncomfortable with it, seeing as she prodded into the lives of others when they wanted it least, the knife to journalism.
it's prompting enough to un-pry fingertips from her jacket (so long as it means he'll ease up on the analytics), allow it to shrug from her shoulders, revealing the thin white blouse and jeans beneath. she's far away from her secretarial days, after all. a few steps, and she's laying it over an arm of the couch, eyes skimming over the title of a nearby book. )
no subject
the light touch of humor that paints his lips doesn't go unappreciated, two lost souls in the night trying to make it a little easier to stay awake when sleep wouldn't come; when body begged but mind forbade. it's still a creature comfort, even if her body has long ago become immune to any normalized amounts of caffeine. )
Or the right one.
( the familiar sound of the espresso drips as the heat hums and bubbles within the maker fills her senses, and it's not long before the sharp notes of the beans threaten to fill the petite space. he surveys her like it's habit, to know someone's exterior before digging any further. she supposes she can't really be uncomfortable with it, seeing as she prodded into the lives of others when they wanted it least, the knife to journalism.
it's prompting enough to un-pry fingertips from her jacket (so long as it means he'll ease up on the analytics), allow it to shrug from her shoulders, revealing the thin white blouse and jeans beneath. she's far away from her secretarial days, after all. a few steps, and she's laying it over an arm of the couch, eyes skimming over the title of a nearby book. )
How long have you been here?