And he can feel the look before he sees it. Can feel the wake of something soft and silent. Can feel the push of emotion against some foreign shore. An obedience and no question. And something small seems to sway or stammer. Squall. Something quiet seems to stumble, stammer. And does not break or bury. Does not bend or burrow. Dragging sand and salt back to currents. Dragging thoughts and freedoms. A destructive, merciless force. And he remembers his hand beneath his own, fleeting. A moment before –
There’s the dip of thanks in the curve of his shoulders. There’s a softness without clear name. A sort of love or love. Skirting the corners of his expression. Chancing into shadows. Into the fainter narrowing of eyes. In understanding. In a kind of seeing. An ineffable warmth, always. Always, and – he goes. (No need for the continuation of pain. Upon him. No need for the continuation of pain, upon her. And -)
And it is not a moment before he is before the bedroom door. Not a moment before he lingers just beyond the doorjamb. Waiting for realization. Waiting for something. Seeing the rage in her posture flickering, flaring. Seeing the way she vocalizes something and nothing. Without utterance, sound – and keeps a careful distance. Keeps a careful stance. Open, though. Receptive. And prepares for the sudden rearing of words. Prepares for what he knows might come. And weathers it.
no subject
There’s the dip of thanks in the curve of his shoulders. There’s a softness without clear name. A sort of love or love. Skirting the corners of his expression. Chancing into shadows. Into the fainter narrowing of eyes. In understanding. In a kind of seeing. An ineffable warmth, always. Always, and – he goes. (No need for the continuation of pain. Upon him. No need for the continuation of pain, upon her. And -)
And it is not a moment before he is before the bedroom door. Not a moment before he lingers just beyond the doorjamb. Waiting for realization. Waiting for something. Seeing the rage in her posture flickering, flaring. Seeing the way she vocalizes something and nothing. Without utterance, sound – and keeps a careful distance. Keeps a careful stance. Open, though. Receptive. And prepares for the sudden rearing of words. Prepares for what he knows might come. And weathers it.
Always.