[ For now, his fingers laced over and through Newton's, and his hand in Newton's hair. For now. He holds the rest at bay, but his ability to do so may be compromised. The restraints creak and crack, threads snapping, as Newton moves even closer, as his weight settled against him, and as a familiar feeling returns to his head.
Sentimental and tricks of chemistry, yet the simplest and perhaps best word remains: right. It is vestiges, only traces, of those moments here when he has felt it most acutely, as if a physical thing, a literal slotting of disjointed pieces into proper place. That irresistible embrace after their weeks apart, that moment in the hallway when they'd found each other again (and again, and again, and always), and he had finally acquiesced, given up his determination to have them separate.
This, perhaps, the consequence. Or, he had only been fighting the inevitable. What would be. He does not believe in inevitable, but this comes as close to it as anything ever has. The certainty of the sun's rise has been removed here, and so Newton, and this, has become more reliable, and more necessary, than all and every natural law.
What a formidable, unwieldy, and unbearable thought. Yet, how long can he shy from what is true, and remain true to himself, and not become what he hates most of all: a liar?
He has not lied.
He has never lied, but he has avoided it.
Newton's hair is thick, and his weight a comfort, wanted, and the movement of his thumb draws Hermann's eyes to their hands, to the freckles on Newton's hand. He begins to count them. ]
...Fine.
[ Hermann yields, equally low, his head tilted, tilting, such that it is essentially in Newton's hair, above his ear.
He returns the squeeze, and feels acutely aware of his heartbeat, hearing it thrumming in his ears, which feel warm with it. Echoing in his head, Ranger Becket's words:
At least think about talking to him.
Hermann swallows.
He opens his mouth. He not explained himself well in the past, but Newton's incomprehension had been welcome, better than understanding, better than...
He shuts his mouth. At least think about talking to him.
He opens his mouth. ]
Newton, I... I couldn't bear it if you were shot, in part because you were protecting me. It doesn't matter if death is temporary here, I... you must be careful.
I told you that-- I told you once [ his voice quiet, quiet, even quavering ] that I refused to need you like this.
Well, I do.
[ And did, then, and probably before. For how long? Has he known since finding Newton seizing and bloodied on the floor, and the thought of truly losing him became a concrete and terrible thing?
Ah, but...
Awkwardly, and he is glad Newton is against him, and thus he need not look at him as he speaks. ]
[Hermann's fingers drag through Newt's hair and his eyes droop in reaction. It relaxes him further, slumping him more into the other man's chest. He's so very tired.
"Fine," says Hermann, and it sounds far off and distant. The corner of Newt's mouth quirks, just slightly. He means to respond with something witty, like: "Can I get that in writing?" or "Wait...are you actually agreeing with me?" but he just can't seem to manage it. Everything feels heavy and weighted down, and his eyes slip closed. He feels Hermann's fingertips against his scalp, the press of fingers curled around his own, and the safety of it drags him into sleep before he can even process that that is what is happening.
Which means that he misses essentially everything Hermann just said.
It also means he doesn't respond, once Hermann is finished speaking and instead just continues to breathe, rhythmically, in and out, asleep against the other man's shoulder.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fortunefavored) wrote2015-10-07 09:09 pm
right back atcha, ONLY 4SRS.
Sentimental and tricks of chemistry, yet the simplest and perhaps best word remains: right. It is vestiges, only traces, of those moments here when he has felt it most acutely, as if a physical thing, a literal slotting of disjointed pieces into proper place. That irresistible embrace after their weeks apart, that moment in the hallway when they'd found each other again (and again, and again, and always), and he had finally acquiesced, given up his determination to have them separate.
This, perhaps, the consequence. Or, he had only been fighting the inevitable. What would be. He does not believe in inevitable, but this comes as close to it as anything ever has. The certainty of the sun's rise has been removed here, and so Newton, and this, has become more reliable, and more necessary, than all and every natural law.
What a formidable, unwieldy, and unbearable thought. Yet, how long can he shy from what is true, and remain true to himself, and not become what he hates most of all: a liar?
He has not lied.
He has never lied, but he has avoided it.
Newton's hair is thick, and his weight a comfort, wanted, and the movement of his thumb draws Hermann's eyes to their hands, to the freckles on Newton's hand. He begins to count them. ]
...Fine.
[ Hermann yields, equally low, his head tilted, tilting, such that it is essentially in Newton's hair, above his ear.
He returns the squeeze, and feels acutely aware of his heartbeat, hearing it thrumming in his ears, which feel warm with it. Echoing in his head, Ranger Becket's words:
At least think about talking to him.
Hermann swallows.
He opens his mouth. He not explained himself well in the past, but Newton's incomprehension had been welcome, better than understanding, better than...
He shuts his mouth. At least think about talking to him.
He opens his mouth. ]
Newton, I... I couldn't bear it if you were shot, in part because you were protecting me. It doesn't matter if death is temporary here, I... you must be careful.
I told you that-- I told you once [ his voice quiet, quiet, even quavering ] that I refused to need you like this.
Well, I do.
[ And did, then, and probably before. For how long? Has he known since finding Newton seizing and bloodied on the floor, and the thought of truly losing him became a concrete and terrible thing?
Ah, but...
Awkwardly, and he is glad Newton is against him, and thus he need not look at him as he speaks. ]
Need you, that is. I do.
no subject
"Fine," says Hermann, and it sounds far off and distant. The corner of Newt's mouth quirks, just slightly. He means to respond with something witty, like: "Can I get that in writing?" or "Wait...are you actually agreeing with me?" but he just can't seem to manage it. Everything feels heavy and weighted down, and his eyes slip closed. He feels Hermann's fingertips against his scalp, the press of fingers curled around his own, and the safety of it drags him into sleep before he can even process that that is what is happening.
Which means that he misses essentially everything Hermann just said.
It also means he doesn't respond, once Hermann is finished speaking and instead just continues to breathe, rhythmically, in and out, asleep against the other man's shoulder.]