They are sitting in his car before she can lose her nerve. It wanes so quickly that
she almost collpases in on herself, like a dying star, but she would end up this
shy again, lump of cold iron and Jane thanks whatever god there might be for
how quickly he says yes.
Her fingers stroke the stars of her dress. She isn't like him, thinking of what it
will look like later crumpled on old wooden boards of her floor. She's thinking
honestly of the real stars, the ones she hopes he takes a shine too because
if he does, if he takes one look at all her hopes and dreams hanging aloft in
the inky black void and holds his breath the way she did when she first saw
them..
then she'll know this is all worth it.
That night is too warm for leather seats, they kiss her skin so when she moves
there's an imprint of where she's been and her bare shoulders feel damp with
the wet, foggy night clinging to her skin. Jane wants the freedom of open air
again, and maybe even a little space between them because all these unspoken
things have filled up the air around them and she's starting to feel dizzy.
Or maybe it's the shoddy champagne finally kicking in.
"I think.." she says, because answering him seems the best way to get out of
sitting there too long, too close (as if they won't be sitting closer later on) for
comfort.
"I think it was just easy. I still live here. I have work through Culver now, and I guess..
I hoped.." hesitation, the sort that she shook off earlier, creeps back into her voice.
"I hoped to see old friends."
youyouyouyou she wants to say, you!
Jane smiles, mouth wavering slightly, and then she slips out of the car, wearing her
shyness in the dark like a cloak.
The house is well cared for these days. It feels full, with thick bushes blooming a
rainbow of flowers, wind chimes echoing the wind's passing sentiments, and if
he saw it during the day maybe he'd notice the fresh paint, the care put into this
home.
But it's dark and she's not giving him the full tour. Instead she's making haste in
grabbing what she needs for her work, pretending this is all what it's about. A
blanket to sit on, a notebook full of handwritten observations and drawings, and
she grabs the most important thing yet:
something better than shitty champagne, a pair of amber ale craft beers.
The telescope is set up on the apex of the hill behind the house. She has her shoes
held in one hand, notebook tucked against her chest and makes him carry the beer
and blanket.
"So why did you go?" she asks, brave enough again when fully in her element and
adjusting the focus of a lens without looking at him.
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
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