2022-07-26 - Secrets

It's only a secret in that Una hasn't told anyone yet. That, she supposes, is kind of the definition of a secret, but— it's not that she's not going to say anything, it's not that she's hiding it, it's that there's a part of her that just wants to keep it to herself, free to wiggle and grin and blush to her heart's content, without needing to explain. She feels a little bit like the giggly teenager she never was, and if this is a secret? It's definitely the happy kind, the good kind.

She knows that Jules suspects something, and that if Jules does, probably Della does too and is just more subtle about it. She knows she'll talk, too, but right now it seems an insurmountable thing: to put this feeling into words.

She can't imagine trying to explain it. How it feels when he looks at her. The way her toes curled when he asked if he could kiss her hand. How... powerful it feels, to be desired. Sexual attraction is a foreign land to Una, but this is different: there's an attractiveness in being seen, and another, too, in that shy reverence— in the blushes, too. She's never fantasised about sex with anyone, never cared all that much, but she can imagine that this might be different.

It's still not a fantasy, but it is something she thinks about.

(The kissing didn't hurt. The kissing is surprisingly nice, and 'nice' is definitely not the right word there because, um... but but she's not sure how to describe it, otherwise. It's not been like that, in the past, when it was always a rush straight in to making out instead of that slower, more careful start, letting her have a moment first, before— she'd liked the rest too, in the end. She feels tiny in his embrace, but safe rather than insignificant, though maybe she shouldn't feel safe, given the way he looks at her. Except he's so upfront and honest and that's easier, too, because she's not having to guess, and so of course she trusts him.)

She doesn't feel broken. Maybe that's the biggest thing of all.

Maybe, too, that's why she's so reluctant to speak, as if she fears that her little bubble will be burst; as if, completely accidentally, someone will end up making her feel broken all over again, for taking this slow, or for finding joy in things that another might brush past as inconsequential.

It's not inconsequential, for Una. It's anything but.

For now... for now, she holds it close to her heart. She's happy. She's so damned happy.