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[ The corners of her lips weigh down, her brows smooth. She's not sure what this is, the quiet acceptance that takes her. It's not right, and she knows it, yet she wants even though her heart doesn't break, even though what she's feeling is the furthest from relief. He can't. So she foolishly thinks he won't, and there's nothing on her shoulders anymore; nothing and everything.
So her breath is sudden and shallow as his thumb moves across her cheek; her pulse is dizzyingly loud in her ears when he seems to decide differently. He will, and her lashes fall because both his voice and the curve of his mouth is soft and full. A rush of anticipation seizes her, only to be swept away.
It's only then she realizes what she's doing, what's she's done, what she's said - what this means. It's not over. He said not right now and the implications enter her eyes: uncertainty and panic and more; her gaze darts over his.
This wasn't what she meant, and she's dug this hole deep already. She thinks it'd be easier to kiss her now, or not at all. She's sure of that, even if she hasn't been sure of anything. ]