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I'm standing on the edge of your words

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Greta pushed the hair away from her face and looked up at Klaus, feeling tired and melancholy. She had been having what her father might call ‘one of her fits’, if he’d been around to witness her behavior. She quickly pushed the thought of her father away before it soured her mood even more. Her tongue flicked against the corner of her mouth like it always did when she was thinking really hard on something.

She felt like refusing him, just to see what he would do if she put up enough of a fuss, just like the way she had for most of the day (more like weeks, if she was being honest with herself.) Her eyes glinted over his features, trying to discern his mood. She took in the line of his jaw as it led to the soft bow of his flushed lips and wondered if he’d just fed. The thought made her stomach roll as she unconsciously sucked her full, bottom lip between her teeth and began to worry it.

He looked like he was just about finished waiting for her to respond accordingly, when her feet began to move towards him. She pasted a heavy smile on her face as something in her settled and the words to an old Ray Charles* song invoked a quiet memory of her parents slow dancing in their living room.

Daddy’s done turned salty

Baby, you made him so sore …

She stepped up next to him, looping her arms around his, leaning into his shoulder as she closed her eyes, breathing him in. “Of course Klaus,” she smiled up at him as one of her hands fell to interlock with his, she shivered, “Whatever you want.”