abstracts | life and its complications.

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alanna

life and its complications.

[It is a laundry day in someone else's mind.

He took extra steps to leave her alone to her task. She has quite a task ahead of her, and Nigel would only be in the way. Thus, he kept to cat naps, to shifting between waking and sleeping states.

Eventually, his throat demands a trip, and he emerges from his room with the intent to go to the kitchen. An intent that cuts short inches from his destination, when he catches sight of white-gold in the laundry room. Of skin he shouldn't be catching, a floral shape etched against the pale. White with a blue edge. Maybe. It's hard to tell with his sight.

Nigel halts, caught in an emotion unnamed. And as with all his awkward steps, he begins with words.]

A tattoo?

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[It's obvious. She is sad. On his behalf or something more--either way, she shouldn't have to suffer, wondering about why he is falling apart.

His hand drops, and he looks at her.]

Are you... Do you like being here?

[ What a pitiful look. It melts her ferocity. She lifts a hand, the long sleeve sliding down, to touch his head. ]

Yes. I like being with you.

[He feels pressure against his head, and Nigel shifts toward it on instinct.]

Is it selfish of me that I...don't ever want you to leave?

[ The insides of her stomach shift in a way she's not familiar with. It's pleasant. It's frightening. He moves his head against her, and she lightly moves over his hair.

He's tired. She thinks he's tired. ]

You want me?

[The motions through his hair comfort something broken within him. The question worsens the cracks. He pales, blue-green eyes tearing away from the girl before him.]

I don't know, but I think--

[His voice cracks at the last word, and he coughs into his fist.]

I might be becoming too dependent on you.

[ He is breaking and she is sorry. He would reject her apology and so she does not give it.

She moves to slip arms around his shoulders, to hug him to her. ]

...You're fine. I think it's fine like this.

[This close, he can take in her scent. He can feel her form beneath his own shirt. His senses serve to muddle already complicated emotions.

Nigel whimpers quietly.]

I can't... It can't be fair to you. I have nothing to offer.

[ He is sad. More than he's shown. She feels too small to take care of him; too inadequate to show that she cares. ]

You told me....

[ She holds to him, dips her head down to lay her cheek against his head. ]

You told me you don't expect anything from me. That to you I am just myself. You offered me that. I'm not settling.

[He can't...really believe her, even as she holds him. Even as she touches her cheek against him, he cannot understand why something so alive would not eventually walk away from what is dead. And there is nothing in him that can say that.

Another whimper sits in his throat. Instead, he pushes it down and away.]

...Yeah, you said that. I'm sorry.

Don't be sorry.

[ She wants to ask him. If he does want her. If he still wants her knowing a bit of how she is. She wants to talk to him and know him. And yet she can't speak. Not yet. ]

Hug back.

[Above everything, it is tempting. To simply hug back and let the pieces fall. But then, there would be no return for him. There would be nothing more for him if one day, she decides otherwise.

Thus, he stills within her arms, his hands twitching every odd second in indecision.]

[ He is a difficult child. He makes things more difficult than they need to be. ]

You know you're my best friend.

I don't think I'm being a very good best friend.

[Otherwise, he might know what to do for her.]

You're wrong.

[ She backs from hugging him and crouches before him so he can see her. She watches him. ]

You stay with me every day. You include me in your life. We like the same things and hate similar things as well. You can be dumb but you're not annoying. You're clever and kind to me. You're my favorite person.

[The separation is nice. It's calming enough for him to breathe without shudders.

Her eyes, however, threaten to undo that. Her words do worse.

He mutters his next response.]

Your favorite person who lately seems unable to converse with you without the conversation ending in hyperventilation.

[ She remembers what he seemed to joke about earlier. She blinks downward unconsciously. ]

...You're scared of me.

[Guilt saturates his countenance and his voice.]

...I'm scared of your friendship.

[ She has no reply to that. She doesn't know what to say.

But. Past the hurt. She knows what he's saying. She knows what he's saying is that he's scared she will leave.

She blinks slowly, gauging. Then reaches to place her hand over his own. ]

[She takes his hand, and Nigel can only watch. He can only dedicate his strength to stifling his want to react.]

It will pass. It will, eventually.

[The friendship or the fear, he cannot say.]

[ She knows it. She knows he is swallowing something down and it hurts far more than the former. She watches him, and despite her inclinations, knows she has to speak. ]

...Be honest with me. Please. Show me what you're struggling with.

[Honesty isn't a probability. Not right now, not as they are. Everything of control will be lost if he gives in, and he doesn't want that for them.]

...I can't.

[ She understands.

She understands, she understands, she understands. But she can't-- She can't accept-- ]

Nigel--

[ She calls without meaning to, her voice raw without its normal neutral tones. She notes this. Notes the weakness shown and still-- Still leans forwards, head shaking slightly in some emotion. ]

Don't... Don't leave me behind.

[His name. His false name, yes, but with it, she would implore. Beg him with emotion seeped in her tones to not-- To not leave her behind?

Green eyes widen to show white, and he reaches desperately for her arms.]

I won't-- I won't ever leave you behind!

[The words threaten to choke, but he persists.]

I will never leave you alone!

[ He grabs for her and she jolts; he declares statements passionately that she hasn't asked for. Had she? Is that what she meant by her words? Is she scared... of being left alone?

Left alone without this man.

She rocks from her crouch to slip onto her knees instead, slipping between his legs to place her head against his chest. She can feel his heart from there--a too-quick frantic pounding. She rubs her face against the skin guarding it. ]

[He does not shake her, though he thinks he might. He lacks the strength. Instead, she moves forward to press against him with her face in his chest. The sensation she leaves on his skin burns.

Words, once passionate, dwindle into murmurs. He curls his arms around her back, finally giving her the hug she had asked for.]

I'm sorry. I didn't meant to hurt you. I'm so sorry.

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