[He startles a little, too, when the drunken couple bursts through
their curtain, interrupting their moment of... what? He can't quite call it
intimacy, though he obviously intends to push it in that direction, if
she's so inclined. It can't properly be described as tranquility, either,
because although he's pleasantly slowed and addled from the alcohol, he
still feels a certain delight when he looks at her, completely
inexplicable; he can't put words to it, all he knows is that he very much
likes the feeling of her soft, delicate hand below his.
And then she's speaking, and saying that, and he may be
drunk, but he's not so drunk that he doesn't hear the 'if' in that
statement, the implication that perhaps she doesn't love her husband, and
there's the fact that her husband is nowhere to be found, here, has left
her alone... But he won't insult her husband again. What little good sense
he has is enough to caution against that.]
I know.
[Does he need to mention that he's married, too? Is it relevant? He
wears a simple ring, after all, but he'd rather not go into it. He'd rather
not describe all the ways that that marriage isn't what he'd imagined,
isn't even what his wife had wanted, and...
Well. That's a road he doesn't need to go down, not when he's been drinking
and could so easily get morose. Instead, he'll say what's on his
mind.]
I just keep thinkin' about what kissin' you would be like.
[He leans forward further, like he really intends to try it, and in
framing it that way, he has tried to, at least, sidestep the issue of
marriage and responsibility entirely.]
no subject
[He startles a little, too, when the drunken couple bursts through their curtain, interrupting their moment of... what? He can't quite call it intimacy, though he obviously intends to push it in that direction, if she's so inclined. It can't properly be described as tranquility, either, because although he's pleasantly slowed and addled from the alcohol, he still feels a certain delight when he looks at her, completely inexplicable; he can't put words to it, all he knows is that he very much likes the feeling of her soft, delicate hand below his.
And then she's speaking, and saying that, and he may be drunk, but he's not so drunk that he doesn't hear the 'if' in that statement, the implication that perhaps she doesn't love her husband, and there's the fact that her husband is nowhere to be found, here, has left her alone... But he won't insult her husband again. What little good sense he has is enough to caution against that.]
I know.
[Does he need to mention that he's married, too? Is it relevant? He wears a simple ring, after all, but he'd rather not go into it. He'd rather not describe all the ways that that marriage isn't what he'd imagined, isn't even what his wife had wanted, and...
Well. That's a road he doesn't need to go down, not when he's been drinking and could so easily get morose. Instead, he'll say what's on his mind.]
I just keep thinkin' about what kissin' you would be like.
[He leans forward further, like he really intends to try it, and in framing it that way, he has tried to, at least, sidestep the issue of marriage and responsibility entirely.]