Mm, [ quiet agreement. there's a few places they've frequented that are quick and easy, at least one of which is not the sushi restaurant with a nearby alleyway. there's sure to be something. ] Maybe the smoothie place, they had good lettuce wraps.
[ doesn't matter, really. she'll eat anything. they could eat dinosaur egg oatmeal packets scrounged up from a time capsule if they had to.
and though she nearly opens her mouth to ask if he wants her to come — because she will, if her presence is important to him — he cuts himself off mid-next sentence, and daisy loses her train of thought. ]
What? [ her hand squeezes against his own again. ] What do you need?
That's fine. [ lettuce wraps. were there no places in this city that served actual meat? he could make an exception for sushi all things considered but why would you wrap lettuce around something? lettuce went on things to give him a crunch. food in this time and in this city was strange.
he doesn't answer her query immediately because he knows if he doesn't say what he's thinking in the right way, it could cause an argument and despite the frequency of their arguments, he doesn't actively try and find a reason to fight with her when he sees her. ]
Can we talk about that when we're inside? [ maybe she will forget by then but all he really knows is he doesn't want to speak about his emotional state while they walk. it's hot and he's a little tired from the fights which could be a potentially bad mix. ]
[ there's a part of her that considers saying no. they can talk about it here, she's sure, in these now-empty streets, with the ambient noise of the groundtram in the distance and the chatter of people in nearby businesses for distraction.
but his request is sincere, almost uncertain, and for once in her life, daisy doesn't push. she simply nods, her fingers snugly twined against his own, and leads him down the blocks until they find the shop in question. it doesn't take long. there aren't many people out and about at this hour; as it is, by the time they pull up to the door, it's barely five til closing and the girl sweeping up looks particularly irritable to be disturbed.
daisy tips her, though, which seems to help. they don't linger, either. they get their food, they pay, they leave (all truly exciting concepts in their own right); even the walk is understated. he's tired, so he doesn't say much — and considering how much of a chatterbox he usually was not, it leaves the conversation comfortably quiet most of the way. just idle talk, every so often; she asks about his opponents, he asks what she did that day, nothing argumentative or potentially so.
until, that is, illya unlocks the door (both digital and old-fashioned deadbolts, a fact she's sure has caught a few eyes by now) and they're left in a very different kind of quiet. the quiet of an apartment left empty, all its inhabitants either out for the day or gone for seemingly good, and daisy's reminded of the reason why he likely reached out to her.
she releases his hold on her hand just long enough to settle the food on the counter, but she comes back. the daisy johnson special, leaving and coming back. ]
What's going on, Illya?
[ they're inside. he can't skirt around the issue with that request anymore. ]
[ it had probably been too much to think that she would forget about his aborted attempt at talking about what he might be feeling. she's far too smart for that and far too perceptive but maybe he'd still hoped. maybe he'd hoped they'd come back and eat and do whatever else a night in could consist of.
but, she's a dog with a bone when she wants to be and so he tenses just a bit at the question when it reaches his ears. he'd come back to his bedroom to drop his fingers and straighten himself up a little so the question greets him as he comes back into the front room. ]
We are about to have dinner.
[ that wasn't precisely a lie, at least. they were going to eat and so it was going on. he knows that's not what she means though and sticking to that is only going to make her angry. ]
I am all right. [ again, mostly. ] I just needed something to...be angry at earlier.
Yes, [ they are. and she'll pull out plates, too, while he starts and stops his words, dispensing out the takeout containers onto real dishware like the grown up she absolutely is not. it's probably not necessary, but it's nice to have something to do with her hands. ] We can talk and eat, that's not a crime.
[ she gives him a plate and a quiet look, brows lifted just a bit to betray her curiosity, and settles beside him on the couch, her own plate resting in her lap as she considers his words. something to be angry at isn't unusual — they've fought over nothing enough times for daisy to recognize the need to unleash that adrenaline churning in her belly. they've sparred in the gym, too, on rare occasions; she's gone alone, too, and taken out her frustrations on punching bags that never quite swing the way she wants them to.
but the way he says it makes her wonder. was fighting enough? was it the right kind of release? or did he need something more? ]
What are you angry at?
[ she has an idea, of course, but maybe she's wrong. she takes a bite of her wrap, chewing slowly, mostly as an excuse to give him time to sort through his answer. ]
[ does he even really need to answer that question? he's angry at this place. he's angry that he feels helpless in that he can't stop people from just disappearing. solo, her, gaby. if whatever...thing that runs this city wants to take someone, it will happen and he'll be unable to do anything but stand there and react. ]
It is something that I have to accept happens. I cannot stop it. [ which was a huge part of the problem. he was used to being able to control situations. this city was controlling him more like. ]
Anyway, I just needed to be angry. [ he doesn't know if it had worked. he can't even tell if he's still angry. ]
[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
[ there is nothing surprising about her immediate offer to help. he's learned a lot about her over a short amount of time and wanting to help those that needed it was absolutely something that drove her. he's not very familiar with a sentiment like that being used on him but he hadn't been dumb to think she wouldn't offer.
he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
We could spar again. [ maybe she couldn't have today, but soon. she'll be healed and back to normal in the next week or so, according to the medical staff at the safehouse; she's out of practice, but it won't take long to be comfortable back in the ring. ] Or —
[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ at first, he thinks this is all about sparring. that she thinks he is going easy on her when that's the last thing he does when a spar happens. what good is training if you do not go full out. you don't get the best of your opponent and your opponent doesn't get the best of you.
but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
[ oh, illya. so literal, so clueless. daisy laughs, bright and bemused, and shakes her head. ]
No, I'm not talking about sparring.
[ she could be, but she's not. they're good at sparring. they're good at a lot of things — arguing, admittedly, tops the list. she'd expected his quick temper and strength to follow suit in other ways, but he'd surprised her.
she could elaborate, but she opts not to. maybe it's more fun to just watch his expression shift as the gears roll in his head. ]
[ well, it was good to be able to eliminate one thing from the list. it's a short list and he really does not think she wants him starting arguments just to get some energy out which leaves him with only one thing.
when he realizes what that one thing is, he actually blushes a bit and turns his head away so she can't see. ]
I know what you're talking about. [ now. ] I don't want to hurt you.
[ even accidentally. that's not to say the prospect isn't intriguing and enough to make his heartbeat kick up slightly. ]
I wouldn't have brought it up if I thought you would.
[ really, she's not stupid. she has enough self-preservation to not walk directly in front of a tank for no reason at all. (if there was a reason, then maybe.) ]
And I'm not just offering to make you feel better, either. [ as if something like this was a teddy bear or an extra dessert after dinner. ] It's a little selfish, too.
[oh. he's glad that she'd made sure to mention that she wasn't offering something like this just because she thought it might be an outlet he needed to get through some of his issues. he doesn't want that to be an obligation, something she thinks he needs to have in order to care about her.
he doesn't. he's not going to lie and say he doesn't like that side of their non relationship (or whatever they were calling it today) because he does. a lot.
[ so she lets go of his hands, then, and promptly shoves her face full of a lettuce wrap. she is actually hungry, and she doesn't want it to get too hot and then taste gross. that would be a waste of a dinner.
between bites (with a clear mouth), she adds: ] I would tell you if you were hurting me, you know. That's what a safeword is for.
[ apparently dinner is also going to be kink negotiation, who knew ]
[ hey, you wanna know what illya's never done before in his long, russian life? have a conversation like this. he's aware of what she's talking about so he's not that bad off but he's just going to pick up his dinner and actually eat it for lack of anything to contribute because...
he doesn't really know what to add. so, he just nods along because sure, he's with you daisy and he's trying to eat meat wrapped with lettuce while he does that. ]
A good thing to have. [ since it has the word safe in it and all. ] All right.
[ for a safeword? while he's eating a lettuce wrap? it's a perfectly legitimate question, daisy thinks. maybe he's had one before, maybe he hasn't. he didn't ask her what it was, though, so that's a good sign. ]
I usually just go with 'mercy', but whatever's fine. [ she picks at the exposed edge, pulling out a piece of what looks like chopped tomato with a considering hum. it's pretty good, she's gonna eat it. ] I'm not that picky.
[ because he's never used one in his life because he's never had to have a discussion like this with any woman he's slept with because it's never been something that's come up.
but, he was never like this with any of those people either. he chews slowly and then swallows, considering her suggestion. ]
The word does not matter to me. I will remember whatever is decided upon. [ even if it was lettuce wrap. ] I've never had to have a discussion like this before.
[ and now he just feels like an idiot for admitting that. it would have probably been better with more detail but he'd always been the type to selectively reveal portions of his life to those he deemed deserving.
and most of the time, that was no one. he kept himself and his life locked up and secured away save for dossiers and files that narrowed his life down to a few words.
her expression tells him all he really needs to know about what he's said. is she disappointed? a possibility. ]
As I said, the word doesn't matter to me. Anything is fine. I'll remember it.
[ is she disappointed? no. just — surprised, for lack of a better word, but then he's surprised her fairly consistently over the last few months. she should really consider not being surprised by these things.
daisy hums a bit under her breath, thinking, before finishing off her meal, the empty plate balanced on her lap. he still has a bit left, as it turns out, and as she turns her head to look him over, she notices how clean he looks. clearly, he's already showered. she has not. and since she's clearly comfortable enough to steal his shirts and go through his cabinets for drinking glasses and plates, she's comfortable enough to use his shower without invitation. ]
I need to shower. [ fabulous segue, daisy. you're doing amazing, sweetie. ] Why don't you finish up, and then you can let me know what you want to do when I get out.
[ and just like that, she's gone. he blinks as he watches her disappear while he sits on the couch, a plate of food balanced on one knee. he doesn't know...he doesn't really know what's just happened. had they finished the conversation? or had she wanted out of it so she'd gotten up to go shower?
it's something he sits there thinking about even while he dimly hears the water come on. does she want something like this to happen today? is she expecting him to do something when she's out of the shower?
he scowls a bit, glaring around the empty room before picking his own plate up and dumping it into his sink. he'll wash them tomorrow.
while she showers, he changes into a pair of cotton pants and a tee shirt, still debating on what to do when she's done with her shower. or maybe she wants him to go in there like she had done to him?
he's thinking about this too much. way too much. eventually, he returns to the kitchen to wash the dishes and grab some water before he pads into the bedroom and sits down, settling his things neatly on the bedside table.
does he know what he wants yet? no. but again, that's because he doesn't know what she wants him to want? that doesn't make sense. he's confused. ]
[ does she expect him to launch into something brand new immediately? no, not really. but she does think about it a little while she showers, in the same sort of way she always seems to think about these sorts of things — eyes closed, a pleased smile curving her mouth as she tips her face up to the spray, clearly enjoying the mental image. and though he doesn't come in to bother her the way she had to him before, he might hear the sound of her satisfied humming under the splashing water if he listens in the hall, a tune she remembers from home.
eventually, though, the hot water peters out, and daisy trades in wet skin for toweling off and her (his) shirt; she's exactly zero percent surprised to find him lounging in bed, looking pensive and staring into space.
cue the traditional Hey There™ pose against the doorframe, her voice startling him out of his daydream. ]
[ his reverie is broken by her reappearance and he blinks, pulling himself out of his thoughts and focusing over on her. her hair's wet around her face and she's wearing another of his shirts and somethings tightens in his chest. he rubs at the spot idly even if he knows what's happening. ]
I come here all the time.
[ for once, he knows she's teasing and tries to play along even as he swings his legs up onto the bed and crosses his arms over his stomach to watch her. ]
And lately so do you.
[ called out. ]
Did you have a good shower? [ certainly had seemed that way by the humming and all. one corner of his mouth even curls up at that and he does nothing to hold it back. ] I haven't decided what to do.
[ but instead of staring pensively into space, he could just stare at her? ]
[ tonight, as opposed to however many nights where she's either just invited herself or they've been elsewhere and wound up here — but the way she grins, bright and unabashed, might signal just how pleased she is at the change. every time he initiates something, daisy smiles; maybe someday, the dots will connect. 'to make smile, do action', russian man 101.
her head tips down, hands lifting to squeeze at her damp hair, water droplets trailing down to form little pools on her neck and shoulders. she probably should have hung on to the towel, but too late now. ]
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[ doesn't matter, really. she'll eat anything. they could eat dinosaur egg oatmeal packets scrounged up from a time capsule if they had to.
and though she nearly opens her mouth to ask if he wants her to come — because she will, if her presence is important to him — he cuts himself off mid-next sentence, and daisy loses her train of thought. ]
What? [ her hand squeezes against his own again. ] What do you need?
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he doesn't answer her query immediately because he knows if he doesn't say what he's thinking in the right way, it could cause an argument and despite the frequency of their arguments, he doesn't actively try and find a reason to fight with her when he sees her. ]
Can we talk about that when we're inside? [ maybe she will forget by then but all he really knows is he doesn't want to speak about his emotional state while they walk. it's hot and he's a little tired from the fights which could be a potentially bad mix. ]
I'm fine. [ somewhat. ] Truly.
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but his request is sincere, almost uncertain, and for once in her life, daisy doesn't push. she simply nods, her fingers snugly twined against his own, and leads him down the blocks until they find the shop in question. it doesn't take long. there aren't many people out and about at this hour; as it is, by the time they pull up to the door, it's barely five til closing and the girl sweeping up looks particularly irritable to be disturbed.
daisy tips her, though, which seems to help. they don't linger, either. they get their food, they pay, they leave (all truly exciting concepts in their own right); even the walk is understated. he's tired, so he doesn't say much — and considering how much of a chatterbox he usually was not, it leaves the conversation comfortably quiet most of the way. just idle talk, every so often; she asks about his opponents, he asks what she did that day, nothing argumentative or potentially so.
until, that is, illya unlocks the door (both digital and old-fashioned deadbolts, a fact she's sure has caught a few eyes by now) and they're left in a very different kind of quiet. the quiet of an apartment left empty, all its inhabitants either out for the day or gone for seemingly good, and daisy's reminded of the reason why he likely reached out to her.
she releases his hold on her hand just long enough to settle the food on the counter, but she comes back. the daisy johnson special, leaving and coming back. ]
What's going on, Illya?
[ they're inside. he can't skirt around the issue with that request anymore. ]
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but, she's a dog with a bone when she wants to be and so he tenses just a bit at the question when it reaches his ears. he'd come back to his bedroom to drop his fingers and straighten himself up a little so the question greets him as he comes back into the front room. ]
We are about to have dinner.
[ that wasn't precisely a lie, at least. they were going to eat and so it was going on. he knows that's not what she means though and sticking to that is only going to make her angry. ]
I am all right. [ again, mostly. ] I just needed something to...be angry at earlier.
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[ she gives him a plate and a quiet look, brows lifted just a bit to betray her curiosity, and settles beside him on the couch, her own plate resting in her lap as she considers his words. something to be angry at isn't unusual — they've fought over nothing enough times for daisy to recognize the need to unleash that adrenaline churning in her belly. they've sparred in the gym, too, on rare occasions; she's gone alone, too, and taken out her frustrations on punching bags that never quite swing the way she wants them to.
but the way he says it makes her wonder. was fighting enough? was it the right kind of release? or did he need something more? ]
What are you angry at?
[ she has an idea, of course, but maybe she's wrong. she takes a bite of her wrap, chewing slowly, mostly as an excuse to give him time to sort through his answer. ]
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It is something that I have to accept happens. I cannot stop it. [ which was a huge part of the problem. he was used to being able to control situations. this city was controlling him more like. ]
Anyway, I just needed to be angry. [ he doesn't know if it had worked. he can't even tell if he's still angry. ]
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[ it hits her with a sudden, almost dazzling clarity: control. daisy's used to losing people — a sad fact, but true, in that almost everyone she's ever loved has been taken from her or left her in some way. she's learned to cope with it, to some degree, even if those coping mechanisms haven't always been the most healthy. ]
You know you can come to me when you feel like that, right? [ not necessarily to hit her, though she won't say no to a spar if he needs it. but he can come to her all the same, in this space they've carved out for each other, unlabeled all the same. ] I … [ she sighs. her plate is set to the side, freeing up her hands and her lap to turn towards him, to reach out and take his hands. again. ] I know what it's feel like you're losing control.
[ and how much it sucks. how much it tears you apart, when you're used to your world operating a certain way. ]
I want to help.
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he sighs and glances down to where she's taken his hands. they're a little less battered tonight than usual, the bone broken from a few weeks ago healed and fully functional once again. ]
I don't know a way that anyone can help with this.
[ he's not going to take out his anger on her. it's not her fault and he's not that cruel of a man because he knows how angry he can get at certain times. ]
It is just...it's fine.
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[ she pauses as his gaze flits back up to hers. she can see the retort ready to spill from his lips — you're not ready, you're injured, the implied i don't want to hurt you said so many times over. but this isn't about hurting her or causing her pain. it's about soothing his. with his bones healed, she feels a little less guilty about squeezing his hands, pads of her fingertips pressing into palms as they wrap around. ]
You're always so worried you're going to hurt me. [ kind, in his own way. caring, without always knowing how. she doesn't always feel deserving of it, but she appreciates it. more than he knows. ] But I'm not going to break.
[ her tone is sincere, but serious. ]
I can handle it.
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but then something shifts in his head and he realizes she's talking about something else. sparring or. that's what she'd said precisely and then had gone on about how he was afraid to hurt her.
and he was especially when she was injured. he'd backed off, been careful, tentative, and easy as of late. ]
You're not talking about sparring, are you?
[ just to...double check. ]
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No, I'm not talking about sparring.
[ she could be, but she's not. they're good at sparring. they're good at a lot of things — arguing, admittedly, tops the list. she'd expected his quick temper and strength to follow suit in other ways, but he'd surprised her.
she could elaborate, but she opts not to. maybe it's more fun to just watch his expression shift as the gears roll in his head. ]
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when he realizes what that one thing is, he actually blushes a bit and turns his head away so she can't see. ]
I know what you're talking about. [ now. ] I don't want to hurt you.
[ even accidentally. that's not to say the prospect isn't intriguing and enough to make his heartbeat kick up slightly. ]
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[ really, she's not stupid. she has enough self-preservation to not walk directly in front of a tank for no reason at all. (if there was a reason, then maybe.) ]
And I'm not just offering to make you feel better, either. [ as if something like this was a teddy bear or an extra dessert after dinner. ] It's a little selfish, too.
[ it's not just about you, kuryakin. ]
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[ oh. he's glad that she'd made sure to mention that she wasn't offering something like this just because she thought it might be an outlet he needed to get through some of his issues. he doesn't want that to be an obligation, something she thinks he needs to have in order to care about her.
he doesn't. he's not going to lie and say he doesn't like that side of their non relationship (or whatever they were calling it today) because he does. a lot.
it's just not a requirement. ]
I...wasn't aware. [ now he is though. ] I am now.
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[ so she lets go of his hands, then, and promptly shoves her face full of a lettuce wrap. she is actually hungry, and she doesn't want it to get too hot and then taste gross. that would be a waste of a dinner.
between bites (with a clear mouth), she adds: ] I would tell you if you were hurting me, you know. That's what a safeword is for.
[ apparently dinner is also going to be kink negotiation, who knew ]
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[ hey, you wanna know what illya's never done before in his long, russian life? have a conversation like this. he's aware of what she's talking about so he's not that bad off but he's just going to pick up his dinner and actually eat it for lack of anything to contribute because...
he doesn't really know what to add. so, he just nods along because sure, he's with you daisy and he's trying to eat meat wrapped with lettuce while he does that. ]
A good thing to have. [ since it has the word safe in it and all. ] All right.
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[ for a safeword? while he's eating a lettuce wrap? it's a perfectly legitimate question, daisy thinks. maybe he's had one before, maybe he hasn't. he didn't ask her what it was, though, so that's a good sign. ]
I usually just go with 'mercy', but whatever's fine. [ she picks at the exposed edge, pulling out a piece of what looks like chopped tomato with a considering hum. it's pretty good, she's gonna eat it. ] I'm not that picky.
[ a Lie. ]
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[ because he's never used one in his life because he's never had to have a discussion like this with any woman he's slept with because it's never been something that's come up.
but, he was never like this with any of those people either. he chews slowly and then swallows, considering her suggestion. ]
The word does not matter to me. I will remember whatever is decided upon. [ even if it was lettuce wrap. ] I've never had to have a discussion like this before.
[ A Truth. ]
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[ he seems to be following along, though, so daisy wonders how much she needs to explain. ]
But you understand the concept, obviously.
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[ and now he just feels like an idiot for admitting that. it would have probably been better with more detail but he'd always been the type to selectively reveal portions of his life to those he deemed deserving.
and most of the time, that was no one. he kept himself and his life locked up and secured away save for dossiers and files that narrowed his life down to a few words.
her expression tells him all he really needs to know about what he's said. is she disappointed? a possibility. ]
As I said, the word doesn't matter to me. Anything is fine. I'll remember it.
[ time to eat some more. ]
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[ is she disappointed? no. just — surprised, for lack of a better word, but then he's surprised her fairly consistently over the last few months. she should really consider not being surprised by these things.
daisy hums a bit under her breath, thinking, before finishing off her meal, the empty plate balanced on her lap. he still has a bit left, as it turns out, and as she turns her head to look him over, she notices how clean he looks. clearly, he's already showered. she has not. and since she's clearly comfortable enough to steal his shirts and go through his cabinets for drinking glasses and plates, she's comfortable enough to use his shower without invitation. ]
I need to shower. [ fabulous segue, daisy. you're doing amazing, sweetie. ] Why don't you finish up, and then you can let me know what you want to do when I get out.
[ great talk. bye! ]
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it's something he sits there thinking about even while he dimly hears the water come on. does she want something like this to happen today? is she expecting him to do something when she's out of the shower?
he scowls a bit, glaring around the empty room before picking his own plate up and dumping it into his sink. he'll wash them tomorrow.
while she showers, he changes into a pair of cotton pants and a tee shirt, still debating on what to do when she's done with her shower. or maybe she wants him to go in there like she had done to him?
he's thinking about this too much. way too much. eventually, he returns to the kitchen to wash the dishes and grab some water before he pads into the bedroom and sits down, settling his things neatly on the bedside table.
does he know what he wants yet? no. but again, that's because he doesn't know what she wants him to want? that doesn't make sense. he's confused. ]
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eventually, though, the hot water peters out, and daisy trades in wet skin for toweling off and her (his) shirt; she's exactly zero percent surprised to find him lounging in bed, looking pensive and staring into space.
cue the traditional Hey There™ pose against the doorframe, her voice startling him out of his daydream. ]
Hey there. You come here often?
[ she is so funny. ]
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I come here all the time.
[ for once, he knows she's teasing and tries to play along even as he swings his legs up onto the bed and crosses his arms over his stomach to watch her. ]
And lately so do you.
[ called out. ]
Did you have a good shower? [ certainly had seemed that way by the humming and all. one corner of his mouth even curls up at that and he does nothing to hold it back. ] I haven't decided what to do.
[ but instead of staring pensively into space, he could just stare at her? ]
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[ tonight, as opposed to however many nights where she's either just invited herself or they've been elsewhere and wound up here — but the way she grins, bright and unabashed, might signal just how pleased she is at the change. every time he initiates something, daisy smiles; maybe someday, the dots will connect. 'to make smile, do action', russian man 101.
her head tips down, hands lifting to squeeze at her damp hair, water droplets trailing down to form little pools on her neck and shoulders. she probably should have hung on to the towel, but too late now. ]
What are the options?
[ you know, for things to do. ]
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count the commas in this tag
i counted nine
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wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
but you know i love the garbage
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