Greta can't even begin to keep a straight face, so she doesn't bother, smiling against his lips even as he kisses her. A soft, contented sigh escapes her, and part of her is almost embarrassed at how utterly smitten she must seem. Well. Is, really.
There ought to be music. The more she grows to care for him, the more keenly she feels its absence. It's not that none of this feels real, without it; they've spoken too much, and too honestly, for her to doubt him. But it... god, it almost puts her in mind of adopting Saoirse: of waiting impatiently for some bewildering bureaucracy to officialize something that was already true. Except for the part where Darrow at least provides a bureaucracy, but heaven forbid it give them a tune.
She just wants this to be real. And she doesn't know how to make it feel that way without music. She doesn't know how to tell him she loves him, as if it wouldn't sound trite and hollow without a melody to fill it out.
In that moment, her thumb idly smoothing over the jewel on her new necklace as Thomas's brushes against her cheek, she wishes there could just be music.
But she knows better. And this, as it is, is still rather wonderful. "I admire your restraint," she says, mock-serious, catching his hand with her own and pressing a kiss to his palm. Some methods of communication, at least, don't require words at all.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-05-07 03:55 am (UTC)There ought to be music. The more she grows to care for him, the more keenly she feels its absence. It's not that none of this feels real, without it; they've spoken too much, and too honestly, for her to doubt him. But it... god, it almost puts her in mind of adopting Saoirse: of waiting impatiently for some bewildering bureaucracy to officialize something that was already true. Except for the part where Darrow at least provides a bureaucracy, but heaven forbid it give them a tune.
She just wants this to be real. And she doesn't know how to make it feel that way without music. She doesn't know how to tell him she loves him, as if it wouldn't sound trite and hollow without a melody to fill it out.
In that moment, her thumb idly smoothing over the jewel on her new necklace as Thomas's brushes against her cheek, she wishes there could just be music.
But she knows better. And this, as it is, is still rather wonderful. "I admire your restraint," she says, mock-serious, catching his hand with her own and pressing a kiss to his palm. Some methods of communication, at least, don't require words at all.