She squeezed his hand, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Can I ask you something?" His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand.
"You're asking permission to ask. That's progress."
"Did you really call me emotionally constipated?"
She stared at the ceiling. Turned her head. "Yes."
He held her eyes.
"It made sense at the time." She swallowed. "I didn't realize that wasn't all of you."
"I am intense. I do schedule my life in fifteen-minute blocks."
"I know."
"I prefer structure."
"I've noticed."
He winced. "Yeah. I need to work on that."
"We all need to work on things." She turned on her side to face him. "I need to stop folding myself into shapes other people find comfortable. You need to stop announcing your way through emotional conversations. We're both disasters."
"Accurate assessment.” He pursed his lips for a moment and then continued. “I think I've wanted you longer than I let myself register. I categorized it as a distraction to resolve later. And today it stopped staying theoretical."
It wasn't romantic. It wasn't pretty, but it was honest.
"You didn't know?"
"I don't make a habit of interrogating impulses that threaten stability."
"Of course you don't."
He held her gaze. "That appears to have been an error."
April let out a slow breath.
"I didn't misjudge you," she said. "You are those things. You do operate that way."
"Yes."
"But tonight you didn't. That matters.”
He hesitated. "Can I ask—what was it like? For you. Just now."
“Terrifying. At first. I had no idea what I was doing."
"You seemed very sure of yourself."
"I was faking it." She smiled."But then it was—I don't know. Powerful? Not in a bad way. In a 'I get to choose what happens' way. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah. It does."
"What about you? You've never—?"
"Never." He swallowed. "I don't—I'm not good at giving up control. It's not something I do."
