Hotaru
She pauses as his hand tightens, and tries not to despair, because she doesn't know what to do. But that's selfish, and her internal mantra is a reminder that she can't be, that she has to check and double check her own desires because she can't trust herself drunk - as if she can even trust herself sober. So instead she goes still and waits for Sunjata to struggle through whatever he needs to, trying to wait him out.
Ru shifts slightly as he sits up, allowing him the room he needs, although she wasn't anticipating him needing it to shift. Blinking down at the dark shape in the dimly lit bed, she tries not to feel like this is a barely-adequate bandage for whatever he is feeling. "Okay," she relents all the same, because what else is she supposed to do? Sunjata clearly isn't stable enough for her to push and pry, and that's not her place anyway. Not anymore. So instead she lays back down beneath the sheets, reclaiming the lost pillow to wrap her arms around in the hopes it will prevent her from reaching for him in her sleep, regardless of what skin he wears. Damp golden hair spills out over the pillow, and she watches him silently for a moment. Hundreds of words on her tongue. Heavy, bloodied, pleading she open her tightly clamped teeth and let them free.
Instead, she lifts a hand to run gently over his snout, up over his ears, to rest upon his back. "Goodnight, Jata." It's scarcely a whisper in the night, and she closes her eyes against a sudden childish sting, uses a moment of wiggling to get comfortable to conceal the hitch of breath in her throat. Sleep will come quickly for her. It always does - insomnia is not a battle she fights. Instead it claims her quickly, but always with the assurance of horrible, misshapen dreams. There's no point in fighting them, so instead she twines her fingers in Sunjata's fur and tries to accept them with open arms.
Ru shifts slightly as he sits up, allowing him the room he needs, although she wasn't anticipating him needing it to shift. Blinking down at the dark shape in the dimly lit bed, she tries not to feel like this is a barely-adequate bandage for whatever he is feeling. "Okay," she relents all the same, because what else is she supposed to do? Sunjata clearly isn't stable enough for her to push and pry, and that's not her place anyway. Not anymore. So instead she lays back down beneath the sheets, reclaiming the lost pillow to wrap her arms around in the hopes it will prevent her from reaching for him in her sleep, regardless of what skin he wears. Damp golden hair spills out over the pillow, and she watches him silently for a moment. Hundreds of words on her tongue. Heavy, bloodied, pleading she open her tightly clamped teeth and let them free.
Instead, she lifts a hand to run gently over his snout, up over his ears, to rest upon his back. "Goodnight, Jata." It's scarcely a whisper in the night, and she closes her eyes against a sudden childish sting, uses a moment of wiggling to get comfortable to conceal the hitch of breath in her throat. Sleep will come quickly for her. It always does - insomnia is not a battle she fights. Instead it claims her quickly, but always with the assurance of horrible, misshapen dreams. There's no point in fighting them, so instead she twines her fingers in Sunjata's fur and tries to accept them with open arms.
But I am just a broken machine
And I do things that I don't really mean
And I do things that I don't really mean
