[For once his reaction is not fluster and embarrassment, or denial, not even so much as a blush. He doesn't deny her words or her answer, or protest her ability to admit things so easily to someone like him. He takes in the words, turns them over in his head thoughtfully, and instead he looks serious, very serious. His expression shifts as if considering something for the first time, his gaze fixed on her.
He opens his mouth once, reconsiders. Does it again and clams up tightly. The words in his head wrestle with his mouth's willingness to say them; once they're out, he can't take them back.]
I want cake, [is what he says, finally, his gaze shifting away from her and looking ahead into the dark of the street beyond where they're sitting.] Some really irresponsible and disgustingly sugary cake for dinner. You in?
no subject
He opens his mouth once, reconsiders. Does it again and clams up tightly. The words in his head wrestle with his mouth's willingness to say them; once they're out, he can't take them back.]
I want cake, [is what he says, finally, his gaze shifting away from her and looking ahead into the dark of the street beyond where they're sitting.] Some really irresponsible and disgustingly sugary cake for dinner. You in?
[Next time. Maybe, next time.]