connie.

    she read his eyes and she knew full well what had made him so 
    reluctant. yes, she thought of matt, but she differentiated the two.
    sam was sam, matt was matt. it was only the feel that was familiar,
    that reminded her of her past lover. she still looked up at him, but
    emotion slowly molding itself onto her face. furled brows made that
    familiar crease in between her brows and the corner of her mouth 
    slightly twitched.

    “ sam, you and him are different. you are sam, he is matt. and just
    because i thought of him in this moment doesn’t mean i still love him
    or miss him in anyway. the feeling was just familiar. “ though, after
    justifying herself, she felt embarrassed, but it wasn’t that teenage
    embarrassment. she’d gotten ahead of herself again.

    she frowned, arms now dangling down by her sides. “ i got too 
    ahead of myself. “ it was because connie is so rarely loved that
    when the opportunity comes up, she dives too deep into it. she 
    just missed it….she’s forgotten what it felt to be happy and how
    to properly feel. 

“ i’m going to go move the paints—-, “ she began to walk away.

       he’s taken aback by her words, not anticipating such an
       accurate swift of a hammer to hit the nail precisely on the
       head. it almost makes him feel embarrassed that his 
       insecurities could’ve been that apparent; his own feeling
       are his own unless he willingly shares it. still, having her
       know without him gathering up his scattered confidence to
       share makes it all the more easier; he doesn’t have to take
       the unnecessary steps to be more open. 

       before he can open his mouth to form a reply that would
       elaborate more on his feelings, to show that he understood
       & was probably overthinking it, she began to leave. 

      he turns around to catch up to her, a hand meets her shoulder
      to prevent her from taking another step. “connie, wait,” he
      says, not exactly sure what feelings are captivating him now.
     “i’m sorry, i didn’t know. i thought, but i guess assuming’s ..
      not really a good thing– sometimes. i’ve,” his eyes fall to the
      ground, then elsewhere as if following a moving light; it’s as if
      his awkward phase was returning to him. a brief glance past
      her & down the hallway leads him to change the topic ( briefly?
      maybe ) to ask, “do you want me to help with the paint? because
       i can.”