Can’t sleep. But he doesn’t think he has, restfully, in the last two years. There’s always something lying in wait when he closes his eyes and it’s the ominous blue of the lake tonight, the mocking glimmers of light between chunks of ice bobbing along the surface and air-hunger squeezing his lungs, so real he wakes up gasping, clawing at the blanket tangled around him.
Five months and it’s still so strange to blink into the darkness and bring the outlines of his room and its needlessly lavish furnishings into focus and know he’s alone and feel it, gnawing deep in his gut. There’s no one to worry about waking up when he sits up and heaves a quiet, shaky sigh, staring dully at the wall. No one to see him when he buries his face in his hands and stays like that for a long time. All he knows is that he has to go. Just away, somewhere.
Somewhere becomes the couch of D2’s suite, where he gets to in time to catch a reunion near the elevators. It’s no one he knows. They talk like doting poets, wrapped up in each other and at the centre of each others’ universes, radiating an intensity of relief and raw, bittersweet joy that makes him feel like an intruder as he sits there, eyes soft with sympathy, and pretends he doesn’t hear a thing. Giving them space, because it’s the respectful thing to do. He just stares at the scars and creases etched into his palms, breathing and breathing until it’s over, because it’s all he can do.
[D2 suite stuff] hope this works -- if you need more/something changed, lemme know!
Five months and it’s still so strange to blink into the darkness and bring the outlines of his room and its needlessly lavish furnishings into focus and know he’s alone and feel it, gnawing deep in his gut. There’s no one to worry about waking up when he sits up and heaves a quiet, shaky sigh, staring dully at the wall. No one to see him when he buries his face in his hands and stays like that for a long time. All he knows is that he has to go. Just away, somewhere.
Somewhere becomes the couch of D2’s suite, where he gets to in time to catch a reunion near the elevators. It’s no one he knows. They talk like doting poets, wrapped up in each other and at the centre of each others’ universes, radiating an intensity of relief and raw, bittersweet joy that makes him feel like an intruder as he sits there, eyes soft with sympathy, and pretends he doesn’t hear a thing. Giving them space, because it’s the respectful thing to do. He just stares at the scars and creases etched into his palms, breathing and breathing until it’s over, because it’s all he can do.