Re: In-person: Sam & Cris
[It's stupid and it's dangerous, but he feels fragile too. He shouldn't. He don't got forgotten pain returning. He don't got bad years catching up to him, all in one go, in one second. Sure, he's got his own convergence—Elliot, the Ian thing, Cerise, Clem, Penny, alla that—but it's not like Sam's, and Cris knows that. He knows he's got no right, but it's there all the same, that fragility, like cracks webbing glass that still holds to frame. He wants to stay, with her, here. She wants to go up and climb under blankets, and the guy wants to go with her, to cling to her.—She called herself a coward, but she don't go no idea.
But, he can't stay and he knows that. And least he got that laugh outta her, wet as it is, and he smiles, real and broke-open. It wasn't so much that he was more careful with her young as... they just didn't know each other as good. Not like the twoa them do here, now. And even though Cris had gotten vulnerable, like he always did, with the younger blonde, talking 'bout Neil and alla that, it was different, being so much older and her being so much younger and more naive. The exposurea self now is different somehow. But, he don't think so much on it either. Sam's breath is on his cheek, that gasp, and he kisses her wherever he can reach—throat, jaw, lips, cheek—'til he's giving her la Caridad with lashes low and fingers moving in the dark.] I still got her, [he says, faithful.] Now you do too. [He presses his lips to hers, as hers tremble, and he holds her, idly petting the gold chain where it rests 'round her neck, heavy down her chest.] Lo siento. [He thinks 'bout that small sun as he grips la Caridad hard.] Maybe somebody got it for Halloween. You'll get it back.