( it's definitely a statement that catches rene off guard a little, something undeniably difficult to do, despite his own unabashed honesty that he wouldn't fight or keep inside even if he wanted to. there's nothing playful about how she says it, no joking tone, simply matter of fact.
she says his name. no cari, no niño, no other affectionate pet names she doles onto him as he does her. simply rene.
when they turn the corner, a familiar route towards the inner part of the city, he can catch a glimpse of the warmth on her cheeks even through the downpour. he's drenched from head to toe, even the soles of his shoes soaked through from accidental steps into puddles he was too distracted to notice. what she says is far more important, trumps anything and everything else.
she speaks about timing, and he knows that it's not just about the physical, the inexpressible chemistry that seems to ignite every time they're near one another. it goes deeper than that. )
I know. ( and because it feels like it bears repeating: ) I know. ( it still doesn't feel like enough. there's a part of him that wants to tell her what she deserves to know about him, basically claws at his gut and lingers on the tip of his tongue. ) But I'm happy you got someone like that. And you know I ain't lying about that —
( there's more still. it twists inside of him, and he tries, in vain, to fight it, brow furrowed and stomach knitting together like he's teetering over the edge of a cliff and he's so nervous it makes him queasy. rene hates the feeling, hates how unlike himself he feels by trying to hold it inside. so he stops. )
I don't know if I coulda been that for you. Don't know if I'd be ready. Don't know if I'll ever be ready — 'cause after Laura died ... I was sure that was it for me.
( he regrets saying her name the moment it leaves him, jaw set firmly once he realizes what he's said. he doesn't know why he'd brought it up; it was the first time he's spoken the name laura since he's been in this city, maybe longer. )
no subject
she says his name. no cari, no niño, no other affectionate pet names she doles onto him as he does her. simply rene.
when they turn the corner, a familiar route towards the inner part of the city, he can catch a glimpse of the warmth on her cheeks even through the downpour. he's drenched from head to toe, even the soles of his shoes soaked through from accidental steps into puddles he was too distracted to notice. what she says is far more important, trumps anything and everything else.
she speaks about timing, and he knows that it's not just about the physical, the inexpressible chemistry that seems to ignite every time they're near one another. it goes deeper than that. )
I know. ( and because it feels like it bears repeating: ) I know. ( it still doesn't feel like enough. there's a part of him that wants to tell her what she deserves to know about him, basically claws at his gut and lingers on the tip of his tongue. ) But I'm happy you got someone like that. And you know I ain't lying about that —
( there's more still. it twists inside of him, and he tries, in vain, to fight it, brow furrowed and stomach knitting together like he's teetering over the edge of a cliff and he's so nervous it makes him queasy. rene hates the feeling, hates how unlike himself he feels by trying to hold it inside. so he stops. )
I don't know if I coulda been that for you. Don't know if I'd be ready. Don't know if I'll ever be ready — 'cause after Laura died ... I was sure that was it for me.
( he regrets saying her name the moment it leaves him, jaw set firmly once he realizes what he's said. he doesn't know why he'd brought it up; it was the first time he's spoken the name laura since he's been in this city, maybe longer. )