[It's a funny feeling for Sayori. Homesickness, that is. It's a feeling she falls just short of understanding, some crooked thing adjacent to a feeling that she does know. What's it called when you're homesick for something that was never real? For something you can't go back to, because you never had it in the first place?
She doesn't know. It doesn't matter. What matters is that pang of feeling she gets from Mista, and his contemplative silence, and the way he looks at her after he's absorbed what's in the box. She huffs a fond breath of laughter through her nose and shifts her weight on the blanket, already scooting in. The way he asks— it's just the fact that he asks when he's more than welcome to kiss her anytime he likes. It takes the end of one of her heartstrings and tugs her closer to him, ever so gently.] Ehehe.
Well, since you asked so nicely.
[She's already halfway up to him by the time she's done speaking. A little tilt of her chin and she closes the rest of the gap to press her lips to his, soft and yearning, like he's the only place she's ever been homesick for.]
no subject
She doesn't know. It doesn't matter. What matters is that pang of feeling she gets from Mista, and his contemplative silence, and the way he looks at her after he's absorbed what's in the box. She huffs a fond breath of laughter through her nose and shifts her weight on the blanket, already scooting in. The way he asks— it's just the fact that he asks when he's more than welcome to kiss her anytime he likes. It takes the end of one of her heartstrings and tugs her closer to him, ever so gently.] Ehehe.
Well, since you asked so nicely.
[She's already halfway up to him by the time she's done speaking. A little tilt of her chin and she closes the rest of the gap to press her lips to his, soft and yearning, like he's the only place she's ever been homesick for.]