alone in sleeping bodies

She wants to make fun of him. She does. But she's not so exhausted, so inundated by growing pains, that she fails to revel in how nice it feels to be taken care of by someone else. His generosity is subtle in some ways—unsubtle in others—and though she's not sure how to classify these two offers specifically, they sure are great to hear—to imagine.

And he wouldn't be him if he didn't punctuate a proposed act of service with something unbelievably corny!

Samira pushes herself up, held upright by her palms splayed out on the couch behind her. This decreases the distance between them—she wants it known she won't hold him at am arm's length or further. Not on purpose. She did that for long enough already.

"Well—" She rolls out her neck, testing the extent of her soreness. "—I'm glad you'd be satisfied, but now that you've put those ideas into my head—"

Let her think. Let her kiss him while she does, like it'll help. Or maybe she simply saw an opportunity and took it.

                   any residual stiffness melts away when she leans in: exhaling a sigh into her kiss, one hand sliding up the back of her knee and halfway up her thigh. look at him, trying to take care of her, and yet he's the one feeling terribly indulged. here, he could stay. if it were what she needed, he'd stay here all night. chasing her, even, when she breaks away.

PAIN'S nothing new -- not by a long shot -- but the unique combination of circumstances and injuries means that Q's insistent -- and very necessary -- movement has Alec's vision tunnelling for a few vertigo-inducing moments. Well, longer than that, actually.

In fact, by the time he and Q have crossed over to a nearby verge, Alec's vision still hasn't righted itself. Nor has the younger's grip loosened on him; were his body not protesting the circumstances quite so vehemently, if he wasn't so acutely aware of the reality that Q was in danger alongside him, he might've been heartened by the implicit desire for protection that the gesture suggested.

                   turn snippy, it turns out.

                   ❝ alec, you can barely bloody walk, how in god's name are you going to-- ❞ q cuts himself off as he runs out of breath, from both his own trepidation and the strain of trying to keep trevelyan upright. it is easier to be indignant than afraid. ❝ fine. have it your way. ❞

dialogue prompts from the first season of ponies.

what made you decide to venture out today?

you do not have to lie. i love you for trying, though.

honey, you're bleeding.

you want to crash? i've got a couch.

i just don't know what i'm going to do with my life now.

sometimes in life, you have to live with not knowing.

i didn't know you had kids.

there's nowhere for me to go. not a place.

oh, god. you're one of those people who asks if you can ask a question.

we're women. people only look at us if they want to fuck us or marry us.

fuck, i should have gone to college.

take off your wedding ring. men will be more helpful if they think you're single.

hey. you can do this.

everything is flammable, once you set it on fire.

i'm always saying things ar fine when they're clearly not.

you know when people get killed? when they relax.

hold my hand.

what happened to your face?

i would have noticed you.

i don't care what the reason is. that's for you to know.

i can't quite place where you're from.

i wasn't expecting you to make the first move.

now you're just trying to torture me.

if you're here to kill me, just do it already.

how are you so fast?

i know how much you care about the women no one else cares about.

they said you were nobody. are you nobody?

to me, you are just a little ant on the wall. i can squash you.

i'm sorry for putting you in this position. this risk.

you don't have to lie for me to help you.

i can't hide forever. i want to die free.

i can convince anyone of anything.

i don't know if this is helping. just let me know if you want me to stop, okay?

thank you for trusting me.

maybe we're somewhere in between who we were with them, and who we are without them.

don't worry. i'm not afraid of a little danger.

i'm sorry about your _____. i lost mine, too.

i think they're following us.

can't i come with you?

i won't be there to save you next time.

hold my hand. that'll sell it.

honestly, i kind of just want to be on my own. is that okay?

i know what kind of _____ you are.

i did a job. i did it well.

half measures in this life will only get you killed.

we're not children anymore.

i can take care of myself. i have been for years.

i can hear you in there. you're not fine.

how long as you gonna keep ignoring me?

sometimes we gotta be other people.

it's just sex. it doesn't have to be a big deal.

i was worried it would change things between us.

i should be allowed to decide how i feel about my life.

is that what you think? that i don't have feelings?

my life may be small, but in my small way, i am defiant.

what if the answers you find are worse than not knowing?

you didn't deserve this.

come over tonight. let me make it up to you.

i never used to break any rules.

sometimes it's like i'm having five conversations in my head at once.

am i funny to you?

relax. just let me take care of you.

who did this to you?

everyone's got a weak spot.

do i scare you? because i should.

do you want a plate? we can eat together.

it's _____ in the morning. i nearly shot you.

as you may have noticed, i have some issues with control.

go outside. get some air.

you've gotta be pushy in life, or you're not going to get anywhere.

this is your mess. you can clean it up.

you don't know who is under your lies anymore.

after all this, don't we deserve our own happiness?

i want you to live your life. whatever that looks like.

are you still mad?

couldn't you just lie, like everyone else?

i try not to lie to anyone, especially you.

you're getting what you want, like you always do.

try not to miss me too much.

you're alive. what the fuck happened?

i promised you i would come back.

if i make it out of this alive, maybe i'll call you.

you'll be safe there, as long as you need.

hey, look at me. you're gonna be okay.

i really didn't think we would ever speak again.

was it you following me? are you going to tell me why?

i never got to know your real name.

whatever happens, happens to the both of us. i'm not leaving you.

time helps. when you do something horrible, time doesn't make it go away. but it helps.

i lied a lot. i don't want to lie anymore.

his eyes are large and dark amidst the harshened edges of his gristle when he glances up at yusuf.

                   mutt cannot know all the things yusuf's withstood, nor how good they've each become at taking care of one another. all mutt knows is the unashamed delight with which yusuf tends to enjoy his food. it makes sense for him to assume yusuf would begrudge mutt their last reserves now.

THAT bit of self-soothing -- or whatever the bordering-on-self-harm-adjacent equivalent may be -- is what coaxes Liam into moving before his brain can offer the impulse; knees meet the trodden concrete without so much as a wince of protest, hands moving to comfort in a way he knows might not be well-received.

A grip on Jack's wrist -- the not-so-gentle coaxing of pulling it away from where the attached hand is tangled in his hair -- brings a watery wince to Liam's face. It's hard to be the formidable one, the strong one, when you're every bit the bleeding heart. He replaces Jack's hand with his own, a far softer touch: a touch that wants desperately to pull his husband's head to his shoulder, to shield him.

He resists the urge. Still, he tries to offer something solid for Jack to focus on.

                   paradoxically, this makes any lapse in self-control twice as humiliating in front of liam. specifically liam. one bad day's enough to forget years of unlearning his misconceptions about his supposed role in their relationship. here's the one person who's meant to be able to lean on him at all times, no exceptions. and now look what he's done.

                   liam's touch dissipates jack's anger immediately, but in doing so reveals the ugly guilt underneath. how in the hell is he to know if liam's view on him's even still true?

He asks how tired she is. He looks too thoughtful to be placid, too self-aware to be nonchalant. Maybe he'll be able to sense the vibrantly expressive confusion that overtakes her features. Being so reactive to his question means she doesn't have to acknowledge the simple physical intimacy—the way it begs to be intuitive, the way it already seems so right.

Samira scoffs nervously. She debates explaining that she's incapable of feeling tired when her sympathetic nervous system's been so actively engaged. She knows from experience the comedown is inevitable—and acknowledging it now counts for something.

"I'm glad you're here," is what she ultimately says, which isn't an answer. She shifts, re-learning how to lounge comfortable on her own furniture.

"I wanted to host, but—are you asking because I could stand to be more entertaining?"

                   his smile's only in part thanks to her repeated assurance -- they're both glad he's here. now that's out of the way.

                   he's watching the hand he's running down her shin, considerate as though musing aloud. ❝ more trying to figure out if you might need a foot rub, or a bath… ❞

𝗔𝗦 𝗦𝗔𝗜𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗩𝗔𝗫'𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗔𝗡

"This feels like more of a 'pants on' kind of conversation."

This isn't the weirdest thing Abbot's seen in Robby's dorm room, but the late night cereal bowl and boxer briefs combination is certainly one for the books. He's used to it by now.

Probably.

                   still wondering where those rumours came from, mikey?

                   ❝ not a conversation ❞, or his sullen way of shutting it down before it's started as he shoulders his way in through the door. the beauty of robby's that abbot's not required to explain himself. supposedly.

This kid, this student—he's hardly her friend. He was—is, still is, let's not waste away into pessimistic despair, Margot—hardly more than a mark. A chink in The Organization's armor.

She can't believe he was ever so close to one of its young members. He's recuperating, hospitalized, because he's too sensitive. Cares too much.

Margot never laid a finger on him, and he'd never hurt anybody. Except for himself.

"He wasn't conscious," Margot admits unsteadily. "And I'm not—I can't stay. I'm not from here," Has she already said that? How desperate is she to distance herself from this city, from this tragedy?

                   it's what she's been told, anyway. the bad shit only gets worse when you try suppressing it, etc etc. cue eyeroll. (she is trying. she's trying really, really hard.)

his fumble is still within view, though the man hasn’t anchored again; he seems to be wending his way as efficiently through the bar as the bar will allow him. he stops more than once to bend over and stage-whisper somethings to his scattered friends, which bev surmises are either excuses for his premature departure or gossip about the sad old man who’d tried to chat him up.

they had been very near the same age, and not in leagues beverly would refer to as vastly different. he’s three decades unpracticed, is the problem. and he has, in the past, been better at holding his liquor.

he turns to face santos at the bar, one brow raised higher than the other, and releases a posture-altering amount of weight onto his elbow.

"in the future, i will try better." further acceptance of their eternal camaraderie, or not permitting this to happen again? his face somehow looks more drawn and wan and dirty and small than before. his voice falters several times as though he's trying to work past a slit throat, or vocal cords that aren't his own. it's clear from the way he speaks that his throat has suddenly drawn tight, like an animal seeking shelter within its own shell.

                   it doesn't take someone as intuitive as yusuf to understand mutt would rather like to drop the subject. it honours him to do so in such a sympathetic manner, however. yusuf takes this to mean mutt knows what it is to worry about another. there is hope yet that he will come to understand.

Lestat's disdain for small talk is readily apparent, but that's not what really bothers him. What bothers him is that he feels like he's being watched. Studied. And not in a way that appeals to his ego. Careless as he may seem—as he often is, and has been on many, many occasions—he doesn't take kindly to being watched. Whoever (or whatever) is in front of him right now is something that demands his full attention, and it is both distracting and annoying.

A sever passes them by with a platter of drinks. He briefly considers throwing one at him. Just to see what he would do.

                   it makes yusuf smile at a joke lestat cannot physically be privy to. he'll need to relay this to nico later, revel in the historical irony of it.

                   ❝ no need to worry about that. i'm batting for another team. ❞ tonal equivalent of a wink: goes for the prophet and the women alike. yusuf's terribly fond of a double meaning, and he wants to assume this one might be partial to a bit of wordplay, too.

" my toes are fine. i'm fuckin' ... fred astaire. " in place of declining another ten minutes, chris hops off his treadmill in imitation of the man's grace.

props his arm up on ed's handrail. pressing at ed's settings until the motor whirrs and the belt gradually increases speed under ed's feet.

                   meechum doesn't falter at the increased speed, nor chris interfering. but he does briefly look almost embarrassed. ❝ didn't say it was about me. ❞ perhaps the heat down his neck could be misconstrued as a mere symptom of physical exertion. he's still prone to flinching at the unfamiliar sensation of being listened to. most of the conversations meechum has remain superficial and get dropped haphazardly. no one else pays attention like chris does. meechum would not have brought it up with anyone else. there's a pattern there somewhere.