[ He’s safe here with her. Holding as tight against her as he can.
And there’s a thought: Maybe nothing has to exist beyond this room. Maybe not even beyond the bed. Katrina and the blankets and pillows and himself; isn’t that all he needs? Isn’t that enough for a comfortable morning, enough for a good really good day?
He tries the thought on. Focuses on the steady lightness of her touch, how each brush could hold him captive, how she’s so careful, so gentle, and this minor minor pressure swings focus away from his aching head. It doesn’t take much with her. Doesn’t take so very much to draw his attention, keep him from drifting off into pain, into worries.
’I’m proud of you.’ How how good does that fucking feel? Jesus, all these years on earth, and how many people before her have ever been proud? Wallace, though those moments rarely reached speech. A… couple of professors at Davis, sure. His advisor, that one time. Beyond that, it was mostly disappointed gestures, words leveled to wound. Half-held wonderings over what it would feel like, to receive such praise and fondness. And here she is, supporting him even in his minor moments.
And she is proud. And he believes it. And sometime - sometime soon - he’s going to have to break that trust, betray that pride. Because yes he’s focused on her and yes this bed’s an entire world, but he knows what’s just beyond, waiting on the nightstand. Because the itch is driving deeper, because he’s awake and doesn’t being awake mean having a drink and isn’t there a drink available so close, just right beyond the bed’s edge?
Not yet. Not yet. He can wait a little longer. Swallows hard. And. And. He’ll…
Grasp for her wrist, her hand. Just wants to make contact with her, give her a moment’s pressure, a quiet thanks. ]
Hey. My life’s already worlds better.
[ He raises his head a little, thinks he might try to sit up but you know what? He’s just going to drop down again, dig back against the mattress. ]
Even with this headache. I’ll take life with you and a perpetual headache over life with no wife, no headache. I’m not interested in that.
Mm, and don’t worry, the flirt police’ll testify to what they saw: the fish taking little fish bites out of you, ganging up and swarming after you.
no subject
And there’s a thought: Maybe nothing has to exist beyond this room. Maybe not even beyond the bed. Katrina and the blankets and pillows and himself; isn’t that all he needs? Isn’t that enough for a comfortable morning, enough for a good really good day?
He tries the thought on. Focuses on the steady lightness of her touch, how each brush could hold him captive, how she’s so careful, so gentle, and this minor minor pressure swings focus away from his aching head. It doesn’t take much with her. Doesn’t take so very much to draw his attention, keep him from drifting off into pain, into worries.
’I’m proud of you.’ How how good does that fucking feel? Jesus, all these years on earth, and how many people before her have ever been proud? Wallace, though those moments rarely reached speech. A… couple of professors at Davis, sure. His advisor, that one time. Beyond that, it was mostly disappointed gestures, words leveled to wound. Half-held wonderings over what it would feel like, to receive such praise and fondness. And here she is, supporting him even in his minor moments.
And she is proud. And he believes it. And sometime - sometime soon - he’s going to have to break that trust, betray that pride. Because yes he’s focused on her and yes this bed’s an entire world, but he knows what’s just beyond, waiting on the nightstand. Because the itch is driving deeper, because he’s awake and doesn’t being awake mean having a drink and isn’t there a drink available so close, just right beyond the bed’s edge?
Not yet. Not yet. He can wait a little longer. Swallows hard. And. And. He’ll…
Grasp for her wrist, her hand. Just wants to make contact with her, give her a moment’s pressure, a quiet thanks. ]
Hey. My life’s already worlds better.
[ He raises his head a little, thinks he might try to sit up but you know what? He’s just going to drop down again, dig back against the mattress. ]
Even with this headache. I’ll take life with you and a perpetual headache over life with no wife, no headache. I’m not interested in that.
Mm, and don’t worry, the flirt police’ll testify to what they saw: the fish taking little fish bites out of you, ganging up and swarming after you.