Harper
Her stare is too fixating for him to retrieve the first apple that falls, and by the time she begins to speak he doesn't even actively notice the way the rest tumble free. This time, he waits, letting the riot of half-truths and full honesty he's already spoken spin their way out looser and looser until it feels less convoluted in his head.
He has to take a slow, deep breath, but in the wake of it he's able to finally smile at her. "Company would be nice. I don't have much to give you in return except my own company, but maybe that's what we both need right now." And though neither of them can pretend they don't wonder and perhaps hope for more, maybe they both need to learn how to be devoted to another person in a less obsessive, all-or-nothing way. Maybe it will make planting roots seem less terrifying. Maybe they'll even learn to plant them wider and shallower, so that if they're ripped out it won't kill them both all over again.
His hands blindly find one of the apples on the ground, only briefly looking away to ensure it's a viable fruit before he reaches for one of her hands and wraps it around both his own fingers and the mottled red of the fruit. He clasps it there beneath his own, smiling at her in the soft, boyish way he'd forgotten how to use. "Trust and communication. Pretty obvious once we cut to the center of it, huh?" Harper's scarred fingers squeeze gently around hers before pulling away, leaving the apple in her hand alone. "I used to be good at both. Hopefully it won't take long to dust them off." He's willing to try, even if it's terrifying. He'll tell himself just friends, just friends like a mantra, so that he can re-learn how to trust someone without spiraling down the hole of maybes and what-ifs. This isn't him breaking his bitter vow to himself. Not yet. And until it actually happens, he can ignore it. Fix the other broken pieces before even looking at his heart.
He has to take a slow, deep breath, but in the wake of it he's able to finally smile at her. "Company would be nice. I don't have much to give you in return except my own company, but maybe that's what we both need right now." And though neither of them can pretend they don't wonder and perhaps hope for more, maybe they both need to learn how to be devoted to another person in a less obsessive, all-or-nothing way. Maybe it will make planting roots seem less terrifying. Maybe they'll even learn to plant them wider and shallower, so that if they're ripped out it won't kill them both all over again.
His hands blindly find one of the apples on the ground, only briefly looking away to ensure it's a viable fruit before he reaches for one of her hands and wraps it around both his own fingers and the mottled red of the fruit. He clasps it there beneath his own, smiling at her in the soft, boyish way he'd forgotten how to use. "Trust and communication. Pretty obvious once we cut to the center of it, huh?" Harper's scarred fingers squeeze gently around hers before pulling away, leaving the apple in her hand alone. "I used to be good at both. Hopefully it won't take long to dust them off." He's willing to try, even if it's terrifying. He'll tell himself just friends, just friends like a mantra, so that he can re-learn how to trust someone without spiraling down the hole of maybes and what-ifs. This isn't him breaking his bitter vow to himself. Not yet. And until it actually happens, he can ignore it. Fix the other broken pieces before even looking at his heart.
I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments
you can't trust a thing I say
you can't trust a thing I say
