Re: quicklog: cris & elena
[She had a place, and she'd give him the address. Cris would've laughed if he wasn't so angry, if he didn't think that was just like her. He didn't see it as some cosmic choice made by God or the hotel, but Elena's own. Because she could stay here if she wanted to, but she didn't. She wanted to go, and he knew she wanted to take Teresa with her. She was so matter-of-fact, like there was nothing to this, even if her face spelled out relief.—After so many years, you could read a person, and Cris could see Elena was drawing conclusions, over there, a few feet away. His expression didn't budge. He didn't feel the distance the way she did. Maybe she saw him there, against the counter, the way a drowning person sees the shore, impossibly far away. For him, they were here, and his own feelings for her were so immediate, brimming beneath the skin, he couldn't accommodate her perspective.
But, resentment and anger cemented his feet to the tile, and it seemed like he wouldn't move.
Until her voice splintered under weight of emotion, and his reaction was familiar, it was the reach of comfort denied moments before. Surprise blinked away as he pushed off the counter to hug her, arms settling low, the way they always did, everything about her reminding him how much he missed her. Her perfume, the way she felt against him, smaller than she seemed.] Hey. [His voice was soft, all resistance eroded. He hadn't thought she wanted him to touch her.—Cris rubbed a soothing palm against Elena's back, nose tucked close to her temple.] I'm sorry. [...] You can stay. If you want. [And because he had told her, months before, he would try talking more. He hated it, but he continued.] I'd like it if you did.