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Summary
She swallows the lump in her throat. Think of better things, think of fucking something. Boo's laugh, the freckle on her breastbone, how she hogs the duvet. How she loves the snow and hates how grey and slushy it is in London, so drives out to the country when it does happen, and drags Fleabag with her. The way her teeth sink into Fleabag's neck when she rides her fingers and lets Fleabag press as close as she can. Don't let go like I let you go, pushed you away, please, please, please -
Sometimes, the distraction works. She curls closer, careful, into Boo's side.