( it's just the length of his arm there, stretched between them, that keeps them separated. she notices it, when she turns on her heels at the sound, when she sees him stretch out the flask towards her, and inside is likely precisely what she needs: water, and plenty of it, or at least enough to swallow down, to calm herself and to feel like the world isn't slipping right out from her grasp, isn't telling her things that she shouldn't think or even consider. she stares down at his hand for a moment, and wonders if it's worth it to push: to step past it entirely, to gather herself down next to him and seek solace in his company, but it feels almost like he's at the edge of some sort of cliff and she's meant to be the person talking him down from jumping. she can't do that if she goes too far, right?
so she nods, just a small, tiny movement--he told her to stop moving so much, after all--and reaches with both hands for the flask, instead. standing there, it takes a monumental effort on her part to remember how to get her fingers working enough to unscrew the top and then bring it to her lips; and what a ridiculous thought it is, to sit there drinking water and thinking did he have some of this before me, is this our first kiss, do i tease him about it? a swallow, then another, and one more, taken just after a breath, and she closes the flask back up, keeps it hostage between her palms and then looks at him, finally, her gaze watery but warm. )
What happens...
( she chooses her steps carefully--one, then another, and though she'd usually make a show of creeping up on him, she doesn't have the conscious effort available to be cute about it, or at least showy about it, or to try to dig into the way that she tends to antagonize him by being nice or by being playful or just by being herself. it's an invasion of his privacy, probably, to bring herself right next to him, where his legs lay twisted and flat and she can't quite get right beside him, since his big bony knee is there, but she still tries to fold herself in the best that she can.
they sit nearly hip to hip, and she plants the bottom of the flask against his nearest thigh, holds it there with both hands like it's a toy that's waiting to be acknowledged by him, twisting it back and forth slightly. )
no subject
so she nods, just a small, tiny movement--he told her to stop moving so much, after all--and reaches with both hands for the flask, instead. standing there, it takes a monumental effort on her part to remember how to get her fingers working enough to unscrew the top and then bring it to her lips; and what a ridiculous thought it is, to sit there drinking water and thinking did he have some of this before me, is this our first kiss, do i tease him about it? a swallow, then another, and one more, taken just after a breath, and she closes the flask back up, keeps it hostage between her palms and then looks at him, finally, her gaze watery but warm. )
What happens...
( she chooses her steps carefully--one, then another, and though she'd usually make a show of creeping up on him, she doesn't have the conscious effort available to be cute about it, or at least showy about it, or to try to dig into the way that she tends to antagonize him by being nice or by being playful or just by being herself. it's an invasion of his privacy, probably, to bring herself right next to him, where his legs lay twisted and flat and she can't quite get right beside him, since his big bony knee is there, but she still tries to fold herself in the best that she can.
they sit nearly hip to hip, and she plants the bottom of the flask against his nearest thigh, holds it there with both hands like it's a toy that's waiting to be acknowledged by him, twisting it back and forth slightly. )
...if I fall asleep, out here? Will you stay?
( that sounds scarily like foreshadowing. )