Every line of her body is tense, and she does fight him until he puts his hand over hers.
And in that moment, she stills.
That simple touch is like throwing a hood over a fighting cock's eyes. Her eyes close, and she breathes through her mouth, breathes in the scent of cigarettes and booze, the faint hint of cheap perfume and his aftershave.
Her fist uncurls slowly, until her palm is pressed flat against his chest, and she draws closer to him. Eyes still shut, her head tilts, as if she's listening, as if she could hear each discrete beat of his heart. He feels more real to her than anything else in this mad house. He feels like home.
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And in that moment, she stills.
That simple touch is like throwing a hood over a fighting cock's eyes. Her eyes close, and she breathes through her mouth, breathes in the scent of cigarettes and booze, the faint hint of cheap perfume and his aftershave.
Her fist uncurls slowly, until her palm is pressed flat against his chest, and she draws closer to him. Eyes still shut, her head tilts, as if she's listening, as if she could hear each discrete beat of his heart. He feels more real to her than anything else in this mad house. He feels like home.
"Start as we mean to go on," she breathes.