[He should leave; she wants him to. He gets the sign, he does. He's going to, his steps measured as his hand drops from the window. Maybe he passes too close to her, slows as he does it. His hand lifts to rest on the door, close to hers to clutched to the door knob.
All he can think is it's never physically hurt not to touch someone, and his eyes flick up to hers for a moment, linger a second too long before he looks away.]
Good night. [He says this softly, somehow keeps walking afterwards out the door.]
no subject
All he can think is it's never physically hurt not to touch someone, and his eyes flick up to hers for a moment, linger a second too long before he looks away.]
Good night. [He says this softly, somehow keeps walking afterwards out the door.]