He tugs her closer and she lets him, leaning into the embrace, not even bothered at the arboreal texture or the way a stray twig catches a strand of hair. Wrapping her hands around her coffee cup she lets her eyes fall shut and focuses on the solid, certain sense of his presence beside her.
This is the sort of thing she lets herself indulge in, now and then, and tries not to think about whether they're crossing the line they perpetually toe. It's different here because everything is at a baseline so permissive, the value on contact and intimacy overriding the social mores people come in with. Passerby aren't likely to think twice.
Certainly they must be synched-- at least in some low-level way-- but she doesn't feel conscious of any difference.
no subject
He tugs her closer and she lets him, leaning into the embrace, not even bothered at the arboreal texture or the way a stray twig catches a strand of hair. Wrapping her hands around her coffee cup she lets her eyes fall shut and focuses on the solid, certain sense of his presence beside her.
This is the sort of thing she lets herself indulge in, now and then, and tries not to think about whether they're crossing the line they perpetually toe. It's different here because everything is at a baseline so permissive, the value on contact and intimacy overriding the social mores people come in with. Passerby aren't likely to think twice.
Certainly they must be synched-- at least in some low-level way-- but she doesn't feel conscious of any difference.
"Better," she affirms, but doesn't pull away.