imeeji_frontstage | (no subject)

[She doesn't entirely relax, but gores where she's pulled, quiet]

[He gets a hand up, careful, to rest on her head]

[After a long few moments, he starts to pet through her hair, gentle]

[whoof typo]

[She stays put--tenses almost in response to the gentle touch--takes in a long, shaky breath against his shoulder]

[Pauses]

...you okay?

You want me to stop? Or...?

[Shakes her head, hooking her hand into his shirt]

[His hand resumes its motion, then, very gentle - stroking through her hair]

[Leans in a little more, burying her face a bit more into his chest]

[Tugging her a little closer, the hand not petting at her hair busy drawing her gently in]

[Her fingers curl into his shirt more tightly]

...we're okay.

I got you.

...Sorry.

...don't be sorry.

There ain't nothing to be sorry for.

[His voice is a little choked up, maybe]

[Ducks her head further, attempting to calm herself but shoulders trembling nevertheless]

[Keeps petting through her hair, very gentle]

You're good. I ain't going nowhere.

Take as long as you need, okay?

[She makes a small sound--another hitching breath--sags against him like there's no energy left to hold her up]

[He holds them both up - curls her in close]

[For a long time, he says nothing at all, just runs his fingers through her hair, gentle]

[For a long time, she just shudders against him, breath a stream of uneven little sobs. Her hands knot into his shirt, grip desperate.

For the most part she's quiet. The times she can't muffle it, her voice is low and aching]

[Eventually his silence gives way to whispered words: soft murmurs of assurance, barely heard, barely a breath of warmth spoken into her ear. His hand keeps up its soothing rhythm all the while, petting softly through her hair]

[It seems to take her a while to realize what he's doing, as much as she can acknowledge anything happening other than her own weeping. But when she finally does, she only cries harder, shoulders quaking]

[Apologies, as now his shirt is very wet,]

[If he notices the shirt at all, he gives no indication - only curls her closer, those whispered words low and gentle]

[She goes--sinks against him like lead, even out here, in public--even after having indulged so much already. But even if she'd wanted to, she can't quite manage to unwind her arms from where they lock around him, hands knotted in his shirt; can't manage to do anything more than muffle her sobs into his chest]

[He holds her close, gentle - rubs over her back, hand warm, the path of his palm steady and even]

[He doesn't stop speaking, quiet words for her ears only]

[A shaky, hiccoughing sob is the closest he gets to a response before she slumps back against him--giving up on anything but just riding out the tears.

The quiet weeping continues for some time.]

[He doesn't seem inclined to rush her - is happy to wait, voice soft and hands gentle as she cries herself out]

[That's appreciated]

[Eventually the heave of her shoulders and the soft keens vibrating into his shirt begin to trail off, fading to shaky sniffles. She doesn't release her grip on his shirt, but it loosens to something less desperate. Her face stays buried in his chest, regardless of the wet spot]

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