@quantumleapt said: well, now you’re special to me.
downton abbey.
feeling wanted -- more than that, valued -- pulls his skin tight about his bones. he doesn’t know if he wants to cry, or laugh harsh and brittle in his face and tell him how stupid he’s being. both, maybe. he feels his loneliness open wide like a fanged maw upon realizing they’re looking after him, too, now. that pack has gone both ways.
his cheeks burn, as do the points of his ears, and there’s a fierceness in the way he squeezes, abruptly, sam’s hand in both of his. he knows his hands were never made for gentle things. even his care and his love was something fierce and unyielding, something set about with teeth, but sam didn’t pull away, and he likes how real his fingers feel clasped by his. he realizes how much smaller his hands feel, and just how calloused and rough and ugly they are.
he finds he doesn’t mind that right now. he catches himself hoping sam doesn’t either.
“ -- you’re stupid. “ he sniffs, raw and wet and halfway to teary in his nose, and it sounds like a threat of laughter’s caged in the back of his throat, and it sounds an awful lot like you’re special to me, too. “ did you know that? “
