she barely slept, but she slept well. ( @ishyks // geez )
she can tell the difference from deep slumber to the light ones, because from the depth of the deepest ones she wakes up feeling clear headed. she wakes up without a yawn, maybe a stretch or two will be needed. but she wakes up content and graceful. a bit like the image of the perfect commercial passing by on the screen, over and over, of this one girl waking up at the perfect time with the perfect smile. except in the reality of things there are no such things as perfect times, hyuna’s aware. but this comes close.
this waking up, knowingly, but not wanting to be fully awake. that’s the reality of things. contrary to the girl in behind the screen who’d be out of her sheets the moment she blinked her eyes. in reality nobody wishes to leave the comfort of their blankets. in reality, hyuna would rather stay right here. for slightly different reasons than her blankets.
she straightens, elbows pressing into her mattress as she turns to the company she has beside her. still more than a perfect reason. it’s not lack of sleep that’s trying to stick her to her bed, it’s the fullness of wanting to linger by someone’s side. he’s sound asleep though. as it should be she thinks, definitely as it should be. how long it must have taken and how much time ad how much energy, she’s thought of that last night.
in passing only though, too happy with having him here than worrying about how he got here, or when. now her mind’s clear, now her long’s been somewhat--filled, so that she can simply let things be and maybe just get to take a good look before it’s time for him to stir up again. he usually does so around this time. when the sun is ready to be up and she usually does before, before the sun rises to welcome him.
there’s a temptation in her fingers, her elbows give up under her and she presses her cheek against her pillow. the one he has under his head is going to keep him for days and days--or at least until the next time she needs to wash him off. again. may time slow until that day, may it.
but for now, it is her fingers that cannot be kept in a timely order and she’s reaching, like a breeze she wants it to be though. her teeth she sinks in her bottom lip and the tip of her finger she doesn’t tap first. just brushes against his nose. then closer to the skin and relishes in how magnetic it always seems to be, slides closer, face and body and fingers, until of course--she’s touching. down the bridge, to the tip. suddenly so focused that the thought of waking him up--kind of vanishes, leaving place to the thought of mapping him out.
