Re: Sonrisa: Sam A & Cris M
She never gave herself time. Sam didn't. It was hard to be there for people when you were falling apart, and most anybody would fall apart after what she went through. And it was like every time she started working toward it, something or somebody else came along and screwed with her. But, there was no real way to explain that to somebody young, Cris found. He could tell her, try to get her to be kind to herself, but youth was nearsighted, too present to get life went on, that that moment ended and another began, one after the other, 'til you were past it, 'til things changed, you changed. All the guy could do was keep reminding her and maybe one day she'd start to see it herself, huh?
For now, this was how things were—for this moment, 'til the next came—and that was okay. He nuzzled at blonde, even when Sam shoved at him and he had to grin. 'Cause it was better. It was, and it was cute. She couldn't rebuff him for long, 'cause he constricted his arms, careful with his nose, not to ram it into bruised temple.
"You love me," he teased, so sure in a way he couldn'tna been before, still stupid and sniffling, lips moving against angel hairs that grew fine and tickled at his face. He smiled—tracesa the smirk there, faint, when he asked her to stay, and when she—she thought about it, huh? Her fingers fanned on his chest, where his heart hammered, and Cris sucked on his bottom lip, nervous, like he wasn't almost forty, as she talked. She said she had one thing she needed and black eyebrows arched, still looking perfect over bloodshot eyes and red-rubbed nose.
He had no idea what he should be expecting, huh? So he looked at her open, curious, his cheek still there against the crowna her head.