// @becomingsea sent, “ i’ve missed our little talks. ”
No. Don’t say it.
She bites hard on her lip, the words an internal, chastising monologue against the retort that springs far too quickly to her lips.
He’s trying, Jeannie. Try back.
And so she stows away the observation that they’ve never really talked. This isn’t talking. Talking is a conversation over dinner about mundane, inane day-to-day life. Casual, at-ease chatter, enjoying each other’s company. Not high stakes scientific puzzles that belong purely in the realm of the theoretical. She’s still not entirely sure she’s not dreaming this whole thing, because how can there be a practical application to this? All of which isn’t to say she doesn’t enjoy the conundrum before them nearly as much as he does. And really, quibbling over semantics ought to be the last thing on her mind. Above all else, she knows what he means.
Instead, she lets a smile spring to her lips, unable to resist turning the words back on him. ❛ Really? Huh... and to think I spent all those years thinking you hated me fixing your work. All the things I could’ve pointed out if I’d only known you enjoyed it... ❜
