ever since we moved in together, my bed — my rest — rarely knows loneliness. with you, with your bulk spreading out over the mattress, there is warmth. there is comfort. there is company. rarely do I reach out or roll over and find empty sheets.
rarely.
so it seems tonight is a rare occasion.
when I turn toward you, expecting to meet the soft width of your back, there is cold, empty air. the shock of it wakes me up. and I know, in the furthest, most base instincts nestled at the back of my mind, where to find you.
slinking out of bed myself and toward the kitchen is like a test of my knowledge. pride swells in my chest at the sight of you silhouetted by the light of the refrigerator, confirming how intimately I know you, your habits, your unconscious desires.
you’re still asleep. and you’re eating. and you’re gorgeous.
you’ve mentioned a long history of sleepwalking, and, in passing, of sleep eating.
I never thought I’d be so fortunate as to witness it myself.
I don’t want to disturb you, so I stay near the doorway. watching. appraising. appreciating the view.
you’re eating the leftovers of a lunch you raved about not twenty-four hours ago…and at your waist, wearing the evidence of a dinner so good you refused to let it become leftovers. on the counter behind you is a box of crackers, still intact but visibly empty.
heat begins to simmer low in my core as I notice the clock on the microwave. you’ve been at it for several minutes now — and that’s only what I’ve been watching. who knows what else you’ve managed to put away?
I remain at my post, reveling in the sight of you clearing out the container, eyes closed, breath even, movements methodical. when you finally finish, I dash back to the bed, fully awake and dizzy with arousal. you lumber back into the room, lay down, and continue sleeping.
I turn to face you, press myself to your side, and wrap an arm around your middle.
I’ll play nice for now - let you finish resting, digesting an extra meal - but in the morning…
well, a rare occasion deserves a sort of celebration, doesn’t it?
i don't want to see Wyll cut off Ulder because he sucked as a father and deserved better as a 17 year old who was scared and alone and desperate to do the right thing with the immense pressure of not just his father, the man he idolized, but also The Entire Nobility of the city he loved bearing down on him.
i want to see them sit down on a bench overlooking the sea, somewhere they once spent every spare day (however few they may have been as time went on and Duty Called) Ulder had available bonding over training or fishing or listening to music or whatever else they enjoyed doing together.
i want them to have half-started and never-finished conversations about how Ulder failed, and how he wants to make up for it, and how much grief he holds over everything. about how many nights after his exile Wyll spent crying and screaming about how unfair it was and how "if he'd just listened to me." about how Wyll deserved better and Ulder should've known better but they can't go back and do it over again.
i want them to talk about Wyll's mother and who she was and why Ulder loved her and how he never really recovered from her death. and how bittersweet it is to look at Wyll - not because he blames his son for his wife's death, but because Wyll has her laugh and wears his hair the way she wore hers when they first met and it reminds Ulder of the woman he knew and loved and wishes so so so bad Wyll had also known and loved. of the woman he's certain would have protected Wyll from her husband's misplaced judgement.
i want Ulder to try and fail and succeed and fail and succeed and try over and over again to be the father Wyll deserves Now as an adult who's quite literally been through All The Hells and has the horns and claws and glowing red eye to prove it. and for Wyll to step away and back and away and back over and over again because he knows he wants His Father but he doesn't know what that means after everything they've been through.
i want to see the Ravengards learn to be father and son again and be able to laugh with and cry with and talk with and genuinely trust each other.
Wyll deserves to have a father who loves him and who has the humility and honor to listen to him and respect him and learn How to be the father he needs.
