[ It's almost hard to hear the reluctant give he offers up freely, even just half a minute into sitting down. The one she knows exists. Acknowledged could, would, if she chose it, before he even appeared. Except that isn't the part that makes it hard to hear. It's the way, for a few seconds, her focus skips, a bit like a record, a bit like a singular tunnel in waking to this haze, after his hand covers her.
Steady and solid, heavier than it used to be, yet so carefully placed.
It would take so little to turn her hand over.
Again. Like that first night. Again. Like in the phone booth.
(There's so much that aches there, too.)
It's almost worse than the words. It means what they say, but it's more, somehow, too. Luther just wanting to be there. Whatever she determines there means or doesn't mean. The one person she told everything for half her life, and that she never had so freely after with anyone. And never even close, without the comparison to it. Him. Them. Then.
Allison pulled in a breath and pushed it through her nose, her shoulders giving a little more. She picked up her phone from the blankets on her lap, opening it, again. Touching a handful of buttons with the edge of her thumb. Pulling up a voicemail and tapping it to play. If he happens to be looking close enough, it reads Patrick where the name is, but when he puts it to his ear, it'll be the all too newly familiar voice of Claire. ]
no subject
Steady and solid, heavier than it used to be, yet so carefully placed.
It would take so little to turn her hand over.
Again. Like that first night.
Again. Like in the phone booth.
It's almost worse than the words. It means what they say, but it's more, somehow, too. Luther just wanting to be there. Whatever she determines there means or doesn't mean. The one person she told everything for half her life, and that she never had so freely after with anyone. And never even close, without the comparison to it. Him. Them. Then.
Allison pulled in a breath and pushed it through her nose, her shoulders giving a little more. She picked up her phone from the blankets on her lap, opening it, again. Touching a handful of buttons with the edge of her thumb. Pulling up a voicemail and tapping it to play. If he happens to be looking close enough, it reads Patrick where the name is, but when he puts it to his ear, it'll be the all too newly familiar voice of Claire. ]