[Him saying that reminds her of something else. He said something like that before. When did he say that? What were they talking about?
Before you? Nah.
She remembers that, and as she remembers the sound of his voice making the words, the scene comes back to her, in foggy bits and pieces. She remembers what followed that, I thought people'd just be mad I fucked up their clothes, what they were talking about, and—
He kisses her, and the delicate flush in her face ceases to be delicate as she remembers the sensation of his kiss elsewhere. She goes from soft pink to embarrassingly red — it's partially the memory, and partially what Mista says in the here and now, which is so ridiculously sweet that her heart does a dumb little flip in her chest. It makes her sound way more competent at this romance thing than she actually is.
A laugh, breathless and high as she flusters.] Th-that's— me? Sweeping? I just, I mean—
[It's kind of funny, the quiet way she loses her composure. Because she's reluctant to be too loud and disrupt this moment of closeness, but she's clearly vibrating as she turns the sentiment over in her head and struggles to meet his eyes with her goofy grin.] I just wrote it because it's true. And— I showed you because you are amazing and you deserve to hear it, and I'm not very good at saying that stuff on the spot, so— so I only knew how to say it in a poem.
[Her hand moves to his cheek, her knuckles brushing fondly along it as another bubble of embarrassed laughter escapes her. It's hard to comprehend what she feels from him: this...perfect, impenetrable faith. But it feels nice.] But you got to say it to someone like you wanted, too. So I guess you won twice, huh?
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Before you? Nah.
She remembers that, and as she remembers the sound of his voice making the words, the scene comes back to her, in foggy bits and pieces. She remembers what followed that, I thought people'd just be mad I fucked up their clothes, what they were talking about, and—
He kisses her, and the delicate flush in her face ceases to be delicate as she remembers the sensation of his kiss elsewhere. She goes from soft pink to embarrassingly red — it's partially the memory, and partially what Mista says in the here and now, which is so ridiculously sweet that her heart does a dumb little flip in her chest. It makes her sound way more competent at this romance thing than she actually is.
A laugh, breathless and high as she flusters.] Th-that's— me? Sweeping? I just, I mean—
[It's kind of funny, the quiet way she loses her composure. Because she's reluctant to be too loud and disrupt this moment of closeness, but she's clearly vibrating as she turns the sentiment over in her head and struggles to meet his eyes with her goofy grin.] I just wrote it because it's true. And— I showed you because you are amazing and you deserve to hear it, and I'm not very good at saying that stuff on the spot, so— so I only knew how to say it in a poem.
[Her hand moves to his cheek, her knuckles brushing fondly along it as another bubble of embarrassed laughter escapes her. It's hard to comprehend what she feels from him: this...perfect, impenetrable faith. But it feels nice.] But you got to say it to someone like you wanted, too. So I guess you won twice, huh?