In Bed
not smut but rather melancholy uncertainty
You crawl into bed, one socked foot after another, and face the much bigger man.
“So…”
You start, and he waits, his eyes meeting yours in what appears to be ease and calmness. You wait for him to fill in the gap, but he doesn’t. So you continue,
“What now?”
“Hm?” He grunts, although his focused gaze on you tells you that he was paying close attention the whole time, no matter how he may pretend. You adjust the softer blanket on top over yourself, though careful to not take too much of the cover from him, in turn scooting closer to do so. After Way Too Long, he huffs,
“What now…. What?”
It sounds vague, but you think you know what he means.
“Like.. what do we do now? What’s the next step?”
He sighs his old man sigh (you know the one), rubbing a hand over his still masked face (in a sleep balaclava this time, simply black, worn, softer).
“Kid, you askin’ too many questions.”
You do not want to think about your.. feelings in being called that, so you store that away mentally to freak out about later.
You don’t know what to say, so you listen and lay there silently this time. Ghost doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to fill the silence. In fact, he seems more content that way, laying there in unfamiliar comfort, gazing at you like… well, like.. you’re not really sure what that look means, actually. You get curious,
“Is there something you want to say?”
His eyes glint in the slightest twinge of affection studying your face,
“Negative.”