[ His thumb skims against her knuckle, and then - with a strange sort of shyness, a nervous hesitancy - moves forward to touch her wrist. It's fine, he thinks to himself. She's drunk. He can play around like this without real consequences...Even though he knows that, in truth, that's not true; he has an eye that's trained well to recognize when someone is drunk enough to forget and when someone isn't, and she isn't. ]
Perhaps. Or perhaps it's adoration. I scarcely know how to tell the difference. The only thing I know I cannot feel is indifferent.
no subject
[ His thumb skims against her knuckle, and then - with a strange sort of shyness, a nervous hesitancy - moves forward to touch her wrist. It's fine, he thinks to himself. She's drunk. He can play around like this without real consequences...Even though he knows that, in truth, that's not true; he has an eye that's trained well to recognize when someone is drunk enough to forget and when someone isn't, and she isn't. ]
Perhaps. Or perhaps it's adoration. I scarcely know how to tell the difference. The only thing I know I cannot feel is indifferent.