I'll push through my doubt, don't say goodbye
At some point, their maybe-child slipped away from being just a distant idea to him, settling instead like someone he knows he’s just waiting to meet one day. She feels like something out of a dream, too far and too unknown to fully reach, but a presence that lingers on the edge of consciousness, built into part of the slope of his smile for the day. ”Could be a boy,” he considers, shoulders flattening against the door. ”Feels girl coded though,” he muses, gaze tilting up in thought, trying to catch the wisps of it, but they remain out of reach. This he would not rush into or make loud, because this would be more than just them, and maybe it’d never be at all. If the time comes though, he’ll cherish it as surely as all the rest he’s spent with her.
He knows exactly what she’s doing. It’s all a trap, one she’s laying word by word, trying to distract him with images of tea parties and tiny fists on the training mat. She is good at what she does though, and as she slinks closer, more predator than woman, he snaps back to attention from this trip to some future version of their life where the house is fuller. She can nearly reach him now, and he leans so far into the door that the wood complains, heels battering the bottom as he presses flush. He’s certain she won’t be the only screaming if she gets ahold of him.
His hand fumbles for the door handle with more insistence, but as she goes stock still, so does he. Could be a new tactic, some part of him warns, but he sees more than the loss of motion in her. There’s a mild tightening, space that’d just been open and free now filled with rigidity. She braces from within first, and as she turns to look at him, he offers her what slack he can from his own form, like some tether between them could be pushed and pulled into normalcy from one end of the other.
He does look, but first he goes to her. He slides in beside her, a step behind, arms reaching out to hook around her as he presses in. ”The Ark,” he sighs, chin slotting against her shoulder. The picture of the galleon outside is unmistakable, and quietly he wishes he’d closed the blinds when he got up. ”I know…I saw it last night. Was trying to go start some breakfast for you. Thought you might be less likely to puke with something already in your stomach.” There’s a wariness to his tone, because maybe he saw it first, but he doesn’t know what it means, and he’d selfishly hoped to continue living outside of Jack’s outline for as long as he could.
He knows exactly what she’s doing. It’s all a trap, one she’s laying word by word, trying to distract him with images of tea parties and tiny fists on the training mat. She is good at what she does though, and as she slinks closer, more predator than woman, he snaps back to attention from this trip to some future version of their life where the house is fuller. She can nearly reach him now, and he leans so far into the door that the wood complains, heels battering the bottom as he presses flush. He’s certain she won’t be the only screaming if she gets ahold of him.
His hand fumbles for the door handle with more insistence, but as she goes stock still, so does he. Could be a new tactic, some part of him warns, but he sees more than the loss of motion in her. There’s a mild tightening, space that’d just been open and free now filled with rigidity. She braces from within first, and as she turns to look at him, he offers her what slack he can from his own form, like some tether between them could be pushed and pulled into normalcy from one end of the other.
He does look, but first he goes to her. He slides in beside her, a step behind, arms reaching out to hook around her as he presses in. ”The Ark,” he sighs, chin slotting against her shoulder. The picture of the galleon outside is unmistakable, and quietly he wishes he’d closed the blinds when he got up. ”I know…I saw it last night. Was trying to go start some breakfast for you. Thought you might be less likely to puke with something already in your stomach.” There’s a wariness to his tone, because maybe he saw it first, but he doesn’t know what it means, and he’d selfishly hoped to continue living outside of Jack’s outline for as long as he could.
I will love you 'til the lights go out
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
