[ she doesn't need the precedent set at the treehouse to know what that look means. Jess slips her tongue between her lips, sweeping up the smears of whiskey left when she lowers the bottle. she watches him back, remarking for the first time that aside from the ever evolving state of his hair, he looks almost the same as when he got here, give or take the tired, sunken skin under his eyes. hell, though, he looked tired on day one. night one.
Jess cants her head questioningly -- and dry, if a gesture can have a tone. detached, she's curious if he's going to allow himself to do what he wants to do, stifle it and turn in, or overburden them both on night one by trying to explain the look he's giving her. ]
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Jess cants her head questioningly -- and dry, if a gesture can have a tone. detached, she's curious if he's going to allow himself to do what he wants to do, stifle it and turn in, or overburden them both on night one by trying to explain the look he's giving her. ]