[ It's easier, hearing that. The unique uncertainty of the space between her bedroom and here feels a lot less stifling. Maybe she just isn't cut out for one-night stands. But he seems relaxed, and she can do the same. They have a few more drinks; not enough to unmoor her, but enough to make her feel as warm and golden as the tequila she decides she likes after all. And she smiles through them, and leaves before he does. She takes care of the bill, of course, squaring up inside the pub proper.
Before Kimiko goes, though, she leaves something on the table. A little illustration of her intent from earlier, visual shorthand the moment she got tired of typing, of pretending and fussing at typed English and needing her phone to bridge them. Two butter packets, face up, a centimetre or two between. Space left to spread out, to be themselves, to stretch and breathe and be unbothered— separate, maybe, but the same, and not alone.
There's that, and a little wave goodbye from the other side of the patio fencing, and then — whatever comes next, or doesn't. ]
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🎀 wrapped!
Before Kimiko goes, though, she leaves something on the table. A little illustration of her intent from earlier, visual shorthand the moment she got tired of typing, of pretending and fussing at typed English and needing her phone to bridge them. Two butter packets, face up, a centimetre or two between. Space left to spread out, to be themselves, to stretch and breathe and be unbothered— separate, maybe, but the same, and not alone.
There's that, and a little wave goodbye from the other side of the patio fencing, and then — whatever comes next, or doesn't. ]