( there's a nudge of guilt against her sternum, that she'd let herself believe he'd be no different than the rest before he'd even gotten a chance to show her otherwise. how many others would have been gathering their things? retracing their steps to tug back on one layer at a time, content to cover themselves up, to act as if they'd never been there at all. it's more than just a lacking experience, it's that she doesn't quite know how to protect herself. for so long she's had to learn what it was to be alone, always to be ready to let another go; never once did she have learn to let another stay.

he kisses her, and she doesn't want him to pull away once he's there, wrapping thin fingers about his wrist, to keep him there, just like he'd cradled her atop that kitchen island. and even as the kiss breaks she's lingering close, tongue running across her brims as that smile fades to something reverent; thoughtful. )

You don't have to thank me. And don't ... ( a pause, carefully trying t to find a way to articulate what she wants to get across without it splintering what they've built, here. maybe she should just let it be, but she's never been particularly good at that, almost as if she's trying to find some way to salvage the pieces of her he's already taken, should he choose to walk out that door sooner rather than later. )

Ah. Don't feel like you have to stay, if you don't want to. Not that I—

( and the moment the words are out one of her brows wrinkles inward, because she doesn't want him to read too much into it, to think she's merely politely suggesting his exit. a frustrated sigh passes her lips, and she's cursing herself internally for saying a thing in the first place. )

Sorry. I'm not saying you should leave.