"Comfortable might be overstating it," she answers with a laugh. She steps away, pausing to give him an appreciative look. If she let herself pause to worry, she would-- all things considered he's remarkably well-healed, but it's not as though the months... away... left no mark at all. But she's just too glad to let herself get mired down fretting, not right now, not when it would spoil the mood.
She settles herself on his bed, her movements deliberate but not tentative; she's had practice figuring this out and, if the way she automatically repositions his pillows the way she wants them is any indication, not all of it has been in her own bed. (His sheets, likewise, are suspiciously clean considering how long the apartment has been vacant, but smell faintly like her lotion and shampoo.)
She lays on her side, faced away from him because otherwise there's no way to get close, and glances up over her shoulder.
(There's a part of her that wants to keep her eyes on him every moment, afraid if she looks away he'll disappear, like it'll break some spell.)
no subject
She settles herself on his bed, her movements deliberate but not tentative; she's had practice figuring this out and, if the way she automatically repositions his pillows the way she wants them is any indication, not all of it has been in her own bed. (His sheets, likewise, are suspiciously clean considering how long the apartment has been vacant, but smell faintly like her lotion and shampoo.)
She lays on her side, faced away from him because otherwise there's no way to get close, and glances up over her shoulder.
(There's a part of her that wants to keep her eyes on him every moment, afraid if she looks away he'll disappear, like it'll break some spell.)
"Come on in," she calls back.