imeeji_frontstage | (no subject)

Your best is way better'n most people's.

[She presses closer, feeling for his heartbeat, as if in the hopes it might keep her crying under control]

H-how come you don't never get mad...or worse?

[His heartbeat is strong and steady, there beneath her hand]

You ain't never done nothing for me to get mad over.

[Her fingers curl in closer]

I-I left you...

[He curls her in a little closer, in turn]

I know how it is, after games. If you need space, you need space.

...Just means there's something wrong with me, don't it?

[Her voice is quiet and the question is rhetorical. Surely they both know the answer]

There's nothing wrong with you.

[Immediate, almost fiercely]

[He takes a breath - calms a little, for the next bit:]

Different people jsut deal with stuff different ways. That's all.

[She crumbles against him, attempting to speak but instead just weeping into his chest]

[He tugs her in a little closer, hand gentle in her hair]

...hey. Hey, I got you.

You're okay.

[She sinks against him, hands knotting too tightly into his shirt as she cries]

[His fingers comb through her hair, gentle; his other arm tucks in around her, just as soft]

[At length, he presses a small kiss to the crown of her head]

[Another shudder at that, even as she holds on more desperately, shoulders quaking]

[It's more than a few shaky breaths before she can manage apologies, but then they spill out profusely, wavery and muffled against his chest]

Hey, shh. Shh, you're okay. You don't gotta say sorry.

[He keeps up the pettings, slow and gentle, making no move to disentangle them]

[There are in fact several reasons to say sorry, though she still has some trouble explaining and breathing at the same time. She gives it a few more tries before subsiding, heavy and cool against him, as if finally calming]

[Thankfully, she doesn't seem to need to explain]

[He seems content just to hold her, until she calms and even past, fingers soft in her hair]

[She makes a soft sound but otherwise just sinks in, tension quietly draining out]

[His fingers continue to pet, slow and steady; his other arm curls her in closer still, almost protective]

[Her breathing slows, fingers loosening just a bit in his clothes]

[He just keeps it up - more careful now, perhaps, as if afraid to wake her]

[Regardless, she is well and truly caught, now. It's not as though she could bear to leave him, even if she should]

[For now, she drapes against him, exhausted]

[If she needs to rest, he certainly doesn't mean to keep her from it]

[There are other things she needs, as well, surely - water, and food, and a shwoer, and a bed]

[But for now, this will have to do, and he stays there with her tucked in against him, happy to give her what little he can]

[She would argue she does not need any of those things--that there is only one thing she might need from him, and he's already been kind enough to give it]

[Those things might not be important to her, but they're important to him - at least, they're important for her to have]

[For now, though, he gives her time to rest, keeping an eye out for the signs of impending nightmares]

[Despite herself she falls fast and hard into sleep, his warmth and his scent and the steady thud of his heartbeat too soothing to resist with her already feeling so wrung out.

And for a while, it's just that, the cool, quiet rise and fall of her chest against him.

But it's not that terribly long before her muscles have gradually knotted back up, breath gone short and shallow. He may notice or he may not; she has plenty of practice trying to hide it]

[He does, of course; how could he not, when he's so focused on the feel of her in his arms?]

[He rubs over her back, gentle and hopefully soothing - whispers something soft in her ear, to try and get her to settle]

[The lines of her back are sharp and rigid as glass. The most she can do is release a whimper, soft and unbidden, as she curls in more on herself--though she doesn't push him away]