She was crying, and he couldn’t bear it. (He still didn’t understand this instinct – it was not very familiar to him, because he did not make a habit of caring about other people and their emotions and their stupid problems. Only Poppy wasn’t other people. Poppy had somehow folded herself into a different category, where her emotions had become his emotions, and her problems were his problems.
He didn’t know if he liked being so aware of this, but any doubts or qualms escaped him at Poppy’s murmuring, which gave voice to things Kristoffer was almost sure he had imagined. She had missed him. (He had never said it, and no one had ever said they missed him, either.) And she didn’t want to leave him. There was no way for this to be a good thing, was there? But he wasn’t thinking about the problems this might cause him, or the multitude of ways in which this wouldn’t work – and she hadn’t finished what she wanted, but he wanted to say it. What did it matter? They were alone, they were in Paris, there was no one here who would care what they said or did, for at least a little while. There was a rapidly-flourishing feeling in his chest, some feeling saying fuck you to the rest of the world, that all that mattered to him was her. “I want to be with you, Poppy.” Now, always, in every way. “Let me be with you.”
He didn’t know if he liked being so aware of this, but any doubts or qualms escaped him at Poppy’s murmuring, which gave voice to things Kristoffer was almost sure he had imagined. She had missed him. (He had never said it, and no one had ever said they missed him, either.) And she didn’t want to leave him. There was no way for this to be a good thing, was there? But he wasn’t thinking about the problems this might cause him, or the multitude of ways in which this wouldn’t work – and she hadn’t finished what she wanted, but he wanted to say it. What did it matter? They were alone, they were in Paris, there was no one here who would care what they said or did, for at least a little while. There was a rapidly-flourishing feeling in his chest, some feeling saying fuck you to the rest of the world, that all that mattered to him was her. “I want to be with you, Poppy.” Now, always, in every way. “Let me be with you.”
