[Even just one of the things Tseng murmurs into the tranquil quiet of the darkness would've been enough to stop his heart. He could've been content with the praise, the validation — the confirmation that someone who matters believes in him. It would've been enough to keep him preoccupied for days after this, seeking to unravel all the possible implications that might've been tangled up in of course you deserve me. Just one would have been more than enough, but Tseng doesn't stop at just one. Tseng goes on, and goes on, and each new layer leaves him a little more stunned, a little more breathless in his realization.
His fingers still, when Tseng says don't — not enough to make him pull his hand away altogether, where a lesser man might've jolted back like he'd been burned. The fact that he stops is testament enough to how seriously he takes Tseng's feelings on the matter, when most people wouldn't even warrant the blink of an eye before he'd gone on right as he'd pleased.
But it doesn't end with don't, and suddenly he's left to wonder just what hopes Tseng might be referring to, and the twisting dawning recognition that for all the morphine might be loosing his tongue, the things he's saying might be deep-seated truths, and not idle ramblings of nonsense fantasy.
It would've been enough, just to hear don't, you'll get my hopes up.
But then — then, then, then something slips out and the world snaps into focus and all of a sudden, all of a sudden a new possibility begins to blossom, a fragile little notion that he barely dares to look at for fear it might shatter between the weight of a single glance. Because there aren't a lot of ways to interpret a rejection of the world in favor of a man, and all of them leave his heart pounding in the cage of his chest.]
Then get them up.
[He draws in a slow breath, then lets it out again even slower still. Tseng looks almost beatific in the low lamplight, his features awash in the golden glow; Rufus finds himself unable to look away, even when Darkstar nudges against his leg as if in recognition that her master has found someone equally important to pet, and leaves his side in favor of padding around to the far side of the mattress, climbing up to resume her vigil right in the comfortable indentation she'd made before.
The humor of it doesn't break the spell of the moment; it just adds a note of clarity to it, like a dash of much-needed acid to cut through the cloying haze of his affection. Without taking his eyes off Tseng, he reaches over in search of the morphine drip and finds the button, patient enough that Tseng has ample time to see what he's doing before deliberately pressing it.]
You're surprisingly candid like this. I like it.
[Emboldened again, he runs his fingers through Tseng's long hair, around and back until he's cradling the back of his head, his hand nestled between Tseng's hair and the pillow.]
My Tseng. The world is so empty when you're laid up in bed instead of at my side.
no subject
His fingers still, when Tseng says don't — not enough to make him pull his hand away altogether, where a lesser man might've jolted back like he'd been burned. The fact that he stops is testament enough to how seriously he takes Tseng's feelings on the matter, when most people wouldn't even warrant the blink of an eye before he'd gone on right as he'd pleased.
But it doesn't end with don't, and suddenly he's left to wonder just what hopes Tseng might be referring to, and the twisting dawning recognition that for all the morphine might be loosing his tongue, the things he's saying might be deep-seated truths, and not idle ramblings of nonsense fantasy.
It would've been enough, just to hear don't, you'll get my hopes up.
But then — then, then, then something slips out and the world snaps into focus and all of a sudden, all of a sudden a new possibility begins to blossom, a fragile little notion that he barely dares to look at for fear it might shatter between the weight of a single glance. Because there aren't a lot of ways to interpret a rejection of the world in favor of a man, and all of them leave his heart pounding in the cage of his chest.]
Then get them up.
[He draws in a slow breath, then lets it out again even slower still. Tseng looks almost beatific in the low lamplight, his features awash in the golden glow; Rufus finds himself unable to look away, even when Darkstar nudges against his leg as if in recognition that her master has found someone equally important to pet, and leaves his side in favor of padding around to the far side of the mattress, climbing up to resume her vigil right in the comfortable indentation she'd made before.
The humor of it doesn't break the spell of the moment; it just adds a note of clarity to it, like a dash of much-needed acid to cut through the cloying haze of his affection. Without taking his eyes off Tseng, he reaches over in search of the morphine drip and finds the button, patient enough that Tseng has ample time to see what he's doing before deliberately pressing it.]
You're surprisingly candid like this. I like it.
[Emboldened again, he runs his fingers through Tseng's long hair, around and back until he's cradling the back of his head, his hand nestled between Tseng's hair and the pillow.]
My Tseng. The world is so empty when you're laid up in bed instead of at my side.