Re: In-person: Sam & Cris
[Yeah, ok, so maybe Vegas is safer. But she's not bullshitting when she says she wants to crawl into his bed and hide there. Maybe it comes from staying that week when he was old and she wasn't, or maybe it's just the fact that the pillows will smell like him, or maybe it's just that she's readjusting to old hurts, and she feels fragile or something. Whatever the reason, she wants to be here. And maybe it's not safer than the lakehouse, but it feels safer somehow. She doesn't think about it too hard, because she doesn't think of anything too hard. He's beneath her, warm and strong, and she doesn't feel suffocated. She stopped feeling suffocated back before that fucked up door, but she knows they haven't got a chance to talk about any of that.
And maybe she's forgot somehow, how handsy he is. Maybe he was more careful with her young. Whatever the reason, she's not expecting him to sit up and drag her with him. She laughs, yeah? Weepy, but the sound escapes. He rocks against her, and she gasps, inhale and remembering, and she talks rough against his cheek, voice sandpaper and too many cloves, without the sweet youth of the girl he just spent weeks with.] I missed this so fucking much. [Which is maybe weird, because they WERE together, but it was different, and part of her feels like she hasn't even been around for weeks. But before she can examine that too hard, he's slipping the Caridad over her head. She tries to protest, yeah? Free her hand from his and lift the chain over messy blonde.] You need her more than me. [She says it with the reverence of someone who gets the belief is important, and her lip only trembles a little when she tells him:] The sun's gone. [As if it didn't belong to a girl who wasn't REALLY her, but she feels the loss of it all the same.]