Darcy/Clint 8
Darcy looked down at Clint’s sleeping form, only dimly lit by the light from the bathroom in the hall. He was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, sprawled out on his front across the narrow bed. She made a face as she looked at him.
She knew this had been coming, of course, they both had. They hadn’t talked about it for some stupid reason, but it was the big thing that had been looming over their heads for as long as they’d been doing… whatever this was. Sex, obviously. More? Feelings?
She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly so that she didn’t wake him up with the explosive sigh she really wanted to make. She’d half-convinced herself that this day would never come, and yet here she was…
Darcy picked up her bra and shirt off the floor. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was getting dressed a lot slower than she normally did. Stalling wouldn’t change things, though, it would only postpone the inevitable.
Even taking her time, it didn’t take long to get dressed. There was nothing else to really get ready, everything else she would need would be waiting for her.
With one final look over her friend, she turned and walked to the door. Her hand just fell on the doorknob when she heard him shift, moving in the bed behind her.
She froze, eyes shut, willing him to just roll over and continue sleeping. Her wish was in vain, though. “Darcy?” came the sleepy voice, hushed in the dark room.
She didn’t turn around, didn’t look at him. If she looked at him, there was a good chance she would start crying. And Darcy was determined not to cry. “Bye,” she whispered, and turned the doorknob, letting herself out into the hall and shutting the door behind her before he had a chance to react.