(Untitled)
The switch in weather - and pretty much everything else - is going to take time to get used to. It was always bad enough when things were moved around in places he was used to by carelessness, but this - the entire landscape is different to him now, and it felt a little like he's back to square one because of it. It was a bit disorienting at first
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Besides, she's almost tempted to admit that she kind of likes this. Between the snow and the transformation on the island, it really feels like she's in a completely different place, and it definitely breaks up the monotony of their surroundings. At the very least, it's something new to experience and explore, and she'll never not be grateful for that.
"I haven't given up," she declares, giving his arm another squeeze as she feels herself begin to slow to a stop, even though she doesn't remember actively making the decision to stop walking. "I'm just taking a break from pants. Besides, there's enough layers under this skirt to keep me plenty warm, trust me."
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He slows when she does, though he doesn't think much of it as he does. He glances in her direction instead, commenting, "It's thick fabric, too."
So is his clothes, and it keeps the chill of the snow falling on them well enough. That's all he can really ask for. Truth be told, from the sounds of it, what he has as clothes now is vastly better in quality than the stuff he had before this place changed.
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"Thick and obnoxious," she adds, and okay, maybe she hasn't completely adjusted to the idea of wearing these heavy skirts, but right now, they're all she's got. She's mostly grateful that he can't see them right now, otherwise she imagines the teasing would be a lot more frequent and specific. It's warmer once they get to the Compound and step inside, so she breaks away from him momentarily, if only to shed her coat and gloves, but her cheeks are still pink from the cold.
She moves to take another step as they cross through the doorway of the rec room, wondering how crowded the kitchen will be on a day like today. There's probably more than one person with a craving for hot cocoa, Annie thinks, but she's jarred from her reverie when her feet won't go another inch, almost as if she's frozen inside a tiny radius of space. She frowns in confusion, only voicing it as far as a small noise. "Huh."
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He runs a hand through his hair when they get inside, pulling off any excess snow that's left there. He probably looks awful, but he ignores it for a moment to pull his coat off, folding it over the arm that she doesn't link with hers. He expects them to head to the rec room - or this weird new version of a rec room, because even the Compound's different now - and they do turn towards it. The abrupt stop a few seconds later surprises him and he lifts an eyebrow when they continue to just stand there.
"Is something wrong?" he asks, hearing the confusion in that small noise she just made. His cane isn't picking up anything.
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"I don't know. All of a sudden, we just stopped," she adds, eyes still scanning as she looks over the room and then down, around their feet. There's nothing there she can see, although she has to maneuver her skirt out of the way to even see anything at all, and then she finally glances upward, up the length of the doorframe until her eyes spot it, the sprig of mistletoe hanging above their heads.
"Um, I think I figured it out," she quietly admits.
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"Mind cluing me in?" he prompts when she doesn't immediately say it. Because he certainly isn't finding any reason why he appears to be frozen in place.
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"There's, uh, mistletoe, up - " She points, even though she knows he's not going to glance that way, but he can probably infer as much from the way her voice trails off, grows faint as she looks up above the door again.
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Suddenly, the idea of being stuck in one place because of something dangling over their heads doesn't seem so crazy.
"You're kidding me," he says regardless, letting out an incredulous sounding laugh. She's not laughing, though, and they're still not moving. "Wait, seriously? There's no reason but that?"
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She sighs, stepping to stand in front of him, looking up at his face with a mixed expression. "Well, let's see if this works," she declares. She doesn't have to rise up on tiptoe to reach his face - she has the advantage of high-heeled boots today that serve that very purpose - but she does tilt slightly at the last minute, gently pressing her lips to the edge of his mouth.
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Her mouth is warm and soft against his, and a pleasant, unexpected feeling spreads in him when his brain catches up with his body, like a spark exploding outwards. For a moment, he almost forgets why they're doing this in the first place, because suddenly the only thing he's focused on is her. It's almost instinct when his hands settle on her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of the dress she's wearing.
There's at least one small voice in the back of his head reminding him what they've already done is more than enough to get them out of this situation. He only gives in when he realizes just how much he wants to deepen it, to pull her closer, to step over a line he knows he can't cross. Still, even when he does pull away, slightly breathless, it's only enough to break the kiss and little else. His hands are still where they'd come to rest, and he's still close enough that it'd take mere inches to continue where they just left off.
And how much he wants to continue surprises even him.
He wishes he could see in that moment. It feels like a stretch of silence is passing between them, even though it's only been a few seconds, and nothing is helping him gauge what she's thinking. He can barely put together his own thoughts, to be honest, and he can't remember the last time any kiss did that to him.
He doesn't let himself think too deeply about that. He can't.
"Um," he says finally, the word almost an exhale. "I think - we should be able to move now, right?"
He doesn't even think to test it himself, like he's reluctant to move away. Maybe he is.
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She's not predicting him to turn his head, to shift and place his mouth directly against her own, and the gasp of surprise she emits against his lips, the sound mostly stifled by the kiss itself, is proof of that. His lips are still cold from the winter chill outside - the tip of his nose is, too, as it brushes against her own when she turns her head slightly to change the angle, and when his hands fall to settle on her waist, she can feel the sensation if not the warmth through the damned corset, light points of pressure from his fingertips. She'd placed her hand on his shoulder when she'd risen up to initiate the kiss, and now it rises to cup his face gently, her palm warm against his cheek made pink from the cold.
There's another noise she makes, too, a soft murmur, or maybe a sound of protest as he finally breaks the kiss, still hovering in her space, his hands still resting on her hips, and she turns her head only slightly to feel his breath against her cheek, her fingertips spindling across his jawline. Slowly, she opens her eyes, looking up at his face, trying to get a read on how he's processing all of this, but he looks just as surprised as she feels. She couldn't have anticipated this. Could she? Annie opens her mouth to speak but he's already beating her to it, and their faces are still hovering close enough for it to make doing it all over again more of a temptation.
"Yeah," she breathes, but she's torn between pulling out of his embrace to check and considering the idea of being a little more thorough. "Probably."
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And if this proves anything, anything at all, is that he definitely has been keeping himself in check. It's always been fairly easy to ignore the long dormant attraction he's had for her, but not when they're like this. About the only thing keeping him from moving forward and pressing her up against the doorframe is the realization that if it goes badly, if he's reading this wrong, he'll be ruining this one, perfect constant in his life. There's no turning back from that, and he's painfully aware of it.
"Annie," he murmurs, his tone huskier and probably more intimate than he intends it to be. He doesn't know what he wants to say after, but he's still not moving, almost willing her to do something, anything, to tell him what she wants him to do. Making the first move comes almost naturally to him, but he can't do it in this case.
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Maybe she's been ignoring it all along. Maybe she's only been fooling herself into thinking it would never happen because of their friendship. After everything they've been through, letting a sudden kiss derail all of that seems almost like an insult, cheapening the past. Or maybe it doesn't. On the other hand, this could be what all of this has been building up to here, without work, without outside distractions. This is the most time they've spent outside of the office together in all the years they've been friends - and now, there's even no office to speak of. There are some things she does now without even thinking - readying a second cup of coffee in the morning, lending him her arm on the way to yoga, ordering a drink in preparation for his arrival every time they decide to frequent the Hub. They've been living together, for God's sake, and sometimes she marvels at how domestic they've become, are still becoming. And she can't pretend she doesn't hear the way other people quiz her about him - Luce, Eden, Sam, any of their mutual friends. What do they know that she doesn't?
Everything, apparently, judging by the way she closes her eyes again when he utters her name like that, low and intimate, and her fingertips clutch onto his shoulder in response, nudging her temple against his, her heart racing with the prospect of what she might lose if she pulls away and what she might lose if she doesn't. "Auggie, I - " She wants this, now, and could easily wind up pressing into him again, taking advantage of all that their proximity has to offer. But she's scared, and that feeling grips her tight in the chest like a fist squeezing around her heart, making it difficult for her to breathe. Her fingers curl under the collar of his jacket, turning it down in an action reminiscent of all the times she's done it before, and she turns her head to kiss his cheek, just once. A confession, maybe, but not exactly a consolation prize either.
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It shouldn't happen at the whims of this island anyway, if it happens at all. Suddenly it's hard to deny now that he does hope it might. One day, maybe.
The kiss on his cheek does make him bold enough to lift one hand from its' spot on waist to cup her jaw gently, though it's a gesture that's more warm and comforting than anything else. He doesn't lean in, doesn't try to bridge the small gap between them.
"Thanks," he says instead, his voice still soft, and a smile lifts after. He lingers for only a few moments more before finally easing away from her (though not without some bit of reluctance), stepping out into the hallway. It's as though there were never a barrier at all. He turns back to her, motioning around him. "Looks like it worked."
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They've opened a door now, and all that remains is whether they're going to cross through it or linger on the other side, peeking through occasionally. She's considering the possibility of this happening again, now that the initial moment has passed, but she doesn't want it to be like this. There's no question that they both want this, especially by the way his hand lingers on her cheek, and she tilts her head into the touch of his palm, certain that he can feel the way her mouth draws up at the corners to shift her expression into a small, hopeful smile. They both want this, but it's not the right time. Not now.
He takes a step back from her and she releases a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding, blinking the rest of the world back into focus as she tries to calm the racing of her heartbeat and the heat in her face, a flush she can't entirely blame on the winter weather anymore - and just to test and see, she steps back as well, expanding the space between them. There's no boundary holding them in anymore, but she doesn't want to go too far. "Looks like it did," she quietly echoes.
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They'd be fine. They had to be.
"I'm going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?" he asks, gauging whether or not she wants to stick around or not. It just feels like he ought to give her the option of making an excuse to duck out and go elsewhere. Hell, a part of him wants to do it himself, to collect his thoughts alone somewhere. He just doesn't like the kind of message that might send if he does.
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