He always knew how to look at her, always knew how to make her feel like she was in the middle of a
He always knew how to look at her, always knew how to make her feel like she was in the middle of a photoshoot, even when she’d only just woken up, even when she was dishevelled, splayed, her pose about as far from ladylike as one could imagine. It was something about the way he regarded her, eminently curious, always fascinated. It was unnerving, if she was honest, and yet she wouldn’t say she didn’t exactly enjoy it. After all, who didn’t like a bit of attention? But sometimes he’d soften, just a little, sometimes his gaze would relax, and she’d feel as if she’d finally let out a breath she’d been holding for hours. Relief washing over her until she was drowning in it, and, just before her figurative consciousness faded entirely, that look would return, and that beautiful tension would be her home once more. -- source link
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