The crook of his smile back at her is just as grungy -- less easily defined in the shadow of her hat, save that he seems to know what he’s wagering. Surely that’s part of the thrill, permeating as the queer pang at the back of his heart when she smiles at him. He lingers in the grass a beat before grunting back up onto one arm, and from his arm to his feet.
There’s still a hint of a hitch to his step, brush line (briefly) be damned.
Her hat goes with him, seated snug with an unapologetic glance back. His satchel stays behind.
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It feels a little terrible.
The crook of his smile back at her is just as grungy -- less easily defined in the shadow of her hat, save that he seems to know what he’s wagering. Surely that’s part of the thrill, permeating as the queer pang at the back of his heart when she smiles at him. He lingers in the grass a beat before grunting back up onto one arm, and from his arm to his feet.
There’s still a hint of a hitch to his step, brush line (briefly) be damned.
Her hat goes with him, seated snug with an unapologetic glance back. His satchel stays behind.
Camp isn’t far.