There's a faint tension, here and then gone, in the muscle under Victor's hand touching down on his leg, but he doesn't move. Finds himself looking down at that spot in the morning soft-dark. The pressure of Victor's fingers through the warm, but worn material of well-love-on winter sleep pants. Solid as the bed under him. He's not certain he has any clue how to put the words together and make them make sense, and it's his heart more than his head that rails against being told to calm down.
That this was important. Was supposed to be. Had been?
He can't get his fingers to sink in. Everything feeling like it washed in and washed away, against something too loud and too sharp and too present. Everything in glaring retrospect from what he'd expected it to be, if he expected anything, and he had to have expected something, right? He had not freaked out when he just woke up, or in the minutes after, and he hadn't still been freaking out when he fell asleep, like falling with a large stone from a high cliff, and
None of this felt like what Victor promised. None of this felt like nothing will have changed when you wake up. It felt like everything under him had shifted entirely while he slept on, believing that. Victor had. While he'd lay there, earlier, unquestioningly. Why hadn't any of it been enough to just tell him?
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But he, also, doesn't move.
There's a faint tension, here and then gone, in the muscle under Victor's hand touching down on his leg, but he doesn't move. Finds himself looking down at that spot in the morning soft-dark. The pressure of Victor's fingers through the warm, but worn material of well-love-on winter sleep pants. Solid as the bed under him. He's not certain he has any clue how to put the words together and make them make sense, and it's his heart more than his head that rails against being told to calm down.
That this was important. Was supposed to be. Had been?
He can't get his fingers to sink in. Everything feeling like it washed in and washed away, against something too loud and too sharp and too present. Everything in glaring retrospect from what he'd expected it to be, if he expected anything, and he had to have expected something, right? He had not freaked out when he just woke up, or in the minutes after, and he hadn't still been freaking out when he fell asleep, like falling with a large stone from a high cliff, and
None of this felt like what Victor promised. None of this felt like nothing will have changed when you wake up. It felt like everything under him had shifted entirely while he slept on, believing that. Victor had. While he'd lay there, earlier, unquestioningly. Why hadn't any of it been enough to just tell him?