[ he flops down, and she just sort of instinctively reaches for him.
part of it is because it still doesn't feel real that he's here, but the other part is that it was always something she did for her siblings. when they were close, she reached to punch them in the arm, to pull them over so she could ruffle their hair, wrap an arm around them, lazily sprawled out on a couch and just existing. when strohl flops down, it reminds her of claggor, of mylo, of powder, and with her shaky hands and horrible headache, she just wants the comfort of it. so she reaches for him and tugs him close, resting her head on his shoulder. the bare skin doesn't bother her. ]
Can't be friends with me unless you're willing to take a punch or two.
[ a lame joke. but.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Don't go.
[ she says, quietly. wrung out. just, don't go anywhere. he's said it already, he's said it again and again, but this time she's asking. an acknowledgement. she's so tired of being alone. ]
[ this is fine. he's pulled, easily - he's not as easily touchy as vi is, but he's become that way, and he relaxes back into it like they've never missed a beat. because they haven't, not really. weeks apart, but it's like breathing. the same way it was when he first woke up on the floor of the terminal with her all over again.
her head rests on his shoulder, and with care, he sets his head gently onto hers, minding the curve of his own. he's so tired, and it's all hitting as he sits here, thinking of the execution tomorrow, of the now sharply focused memories of the early morning and the things he could have done, of the past, and the future, of a thousand broken promises.
... don't go, vi says. he makes a soft noise in acquiescence. maybe not i promise, this time. maybe it's simpler than that. ]
I'm here. [ strohl says, voice near subvocal. ] To the end, with you.
[ no matter what that end might be, when this is all said and done. he can say with fidelity, with assuredness - whatever the end is, he'll not leave her side. ]
[ she's exhausted too, especially after today. so.
she gets that - she gets her reassurance. to the end, with you. it feels like fire crawling around her heart, burning up quick and hot in her chest. and there's so much that they have to talk about, there's stuff to get into. she needs to talk to him about rosamund, she needs to talk to him about how she's still so unsure that she should be allowed to go back with him, she needs to tell him about her sister, and...
it's just too overwhelming, right now. tomorrow, they have to watch hulkenberg rip her heart out, and that'll be a whole thing itself. so maybe for right now, in the dim and quiet of this fort, it's okay to not talk about any of it.
they can just curl up here for a bit, and maybe vi will actually fall asleep without any alcohol in her system for once. ]
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no subject
part of it is because it still doesn't feel real that he's here, but the other part is that it was always something she did for her siblings. when they were close, she reached to punch them in the arm, to pull them over so she could ruffle their hair, wrap an arm around them, lazily sprawled out on a couch and just existing. when strohl flops down, it reminds her of claggor, of mylo, of powder, and with her shaky hands and horrible headache, she just wants the comfort of it. so she reaches for him and tugs him close, resting her head on his shoulder. the bare skin doesn't bother her. ]
Can't be friends with me unless you're willing to take a punch or two.
[ a lame joke. but.
silence, for a long moment. ]
Don't go.
[ she says, quietly. wrung out. just, don't go anywhere. he's said it already, he's said it again and again, but this time she's asking. an acknowledgement. she's so tired of being alone. ]
no subject
her head rests on his shoulder, and with care, he sets his head gently onto hers, minding the curve of his own. he's so tired, and it's all hitting as he sits here, thinking of the execution tomorrow, of the now sharply focused memories of the early morning and the things he could have done, of the past, and the future, of a thousand broken promises.
... don't go, vi says. he makes a soft noise in acquiescence. maybe not i promise, this time. maybe it's simpler than that. ]
I'm here. [ strohl says, voice near subvocal. ] To the end, with you.
[ no matter what that end might be, when this is all said and done. he can say with fidelity, with assuredness - whatever the end is, he'll not leave her side. ]
no subject
she gets that - she gets her reassurance. to the end, with you. it feels like fire crawling around her heart, burning up quick and hot in her chest. and there's so much that they have to talk about, there's stuff to get into. she needs to talk to him about rosamund, she needs to talk to him about how she's still so unsure that she should be allowed to go back with him, she needs to tell him about her sister, and...
it's just too overwhelming, right now. tomorrow, they have to watch hulkenberg rip her heart out, and that'll be a whole thing itself. so maybe for right now, in the dim and quiet of this fort, it's okay to not talk about any of it.
they can just curl up here for a bit, and maybe vi will actually fall asleep without any alcohol in her system for once. ]