What’s John like with a crush? Female please
Considering I’ll probably do separate headcanons for something similar to this, I’ll just give you a little example;
They’d been coexisting in mutual silence, the two of them. Every so often the blade of his knife would scratch unevenly against the chunk of wood he was making short work of, but the sun had long since set and the night was dull otherwise. She’d shift in her place, and so would he, and that was the way they danced around the absence of words. John had resigned himself to the idea that it would continue on as it was, for she was hard to read and he wasn’t feeling particularly bold.
Tired eyes flitted upwards, suddenly flickering as they settled on her. She gestured to the unlit cigarette she was setting between her lips, and he felt his own curve upwards into a hint of a smirk. ❝Need me?❞ he nearly rasped, voice wavering on hushed like their conversation was something to keep private.
❝I’d like a light,❞ her answer was noncommittal, but she leaned closer to him when he stood. It was close enough to where he could faintly smell traces of her perfume. He’d remember it, for reasons he didn’t linger on for long.
The man struck a match for her, protecting the flame as it threatened to die out. He swallowed thickly when she grasped his wrist, holding his hand steady. The firelight danced across her face, softening her features with a glow and bringing out the shine of her eyes. Her mouth curved teasingly around her cigarette as she took her drag, and he felt his tongue stick to the inside of his cheek. When she pulled away, he didn’t move, his fingertips quickly suffering from his hesitation as the match burned downwards.
❝Shit!❞ he sucked air in through his clenched teeth, shaking his fingers frantically.
She laughed, and he didn’t blame her. He had a strange habit of making a fool of himself in front of her.
