revokedlicense:
❛ mostly mumbling, something about … uh, you said to wait up at one point, i think. ❜
annie’s smiling, telling jack about his sleep-talking habit almost happily, as if it were a simple, endearing quirk, despite what it may suggest about his underlying anxieties. jack moves around in his sleep, sometimes, too – when he’s dreaming DEEPLY, it seems – he can be a very physical, restless sleeper at times. but annie leaves that part out. jack’s always been a very physical person, anyhow, it shouldn’t be news to him … and perhaps it’s painful, too, what he’s doing in his dreams. she can only imagine the types of things he’s seen … the types of dreams he’s dreaming … and she doesn’t want to make him remember them again. but the talking seems harmless enough to be a good icebreaker in the morning. annie can’t help but mention that.
she’s wrapped ( swallowed up, rather ) in a plaid sweater that is clearly not her own, about four sizes too large, head and shoulder leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. she’s smiling, gently, watching jack; or the back of his head, rather, make coffee, holding her own store-bought red mug in a completely sleeve-covered hand.
❛ my brother used to talk in his sleep, ❜ annie continues. ❛ when we were kids. sometimes we’d have to share a room on camping trips our dad made us go on. he’d always talk about really weird things. it was so funny. ❜ annie crinkles her nose in a humorous smile as she remembers it. ❛ one time he said the name of the girl he liked and i didn’t let that go for months. it was really amazing leverage. ❜ she’s still smiling as she rambles, tickled at the memory of jake mumbling ‘ yes, amanda ’ from his sleeping bag, in his own drool – and his horrified face when she had poked him about it in the morning, laughing manically as he chased her around the cabin with threats. one of her finest accomplishments.
annie meets jack’s eyes, then, her own shining, basking in the light of a victorious reminisce. she takes a few steps forward, coming into the kitchen beside him, suddenly remembering that she’s in the kitchen of her fairly new boyfriend’s apartment, and not in a log cabin in the southern california mountains torturing her older brother.
❛ so no one’s ever told you you do it before, huh ? it’s cute. ❜
“huh.” it almost sounds like another hum as it leaves his lips. the word has jack clearing his throat, sleep still clogging his voice, but there's quiet relief as his smile pulls a little wider in the early morning equivalent of a chuckle. even in sleep he has enough sense to be vague — better to be mildly embarrassed over unintelligible mumbling than nervous over revealing too much of himself. this, their relationship, still feels new. jack can acutely remember being without it. sometimes waking up with the evidence that he isn’t alone anymore sleeping beside him (or on other days, splayed across him) still surprises him. even with what they’ve been through, maybe because of it too, he doesn’t want to upset the balance they’ve found for themselves by bringing up old wounds, especially if he isn’t awake to filter which ones get shown. fortunately her reminder doesn’t dredge up anything from the few dreams he can recall, flashes and blurs that they are. “wonder what that’s about.”
he’s grateful for the change of topic, brief as it is. relaxes further into it, as those fingertips of apprehension fully withdraw. leaving just that sleepy affection in his gaze, watching and listening. like a piano string pulled through the both of them, her key his chord. the latter always reflecting the first. an actual, audible chuckle pulled from him as she rambles. smile turning to a grin for a moment when her nose crinkles.
“you’re a menace, annie.” jack likes these little glimpses into her life, likes how freely she gives them. “i’m guessing he requested a different room after that trip?”
most mornings he used to rely on instant coffee. some water, a stir. no reason to spend more than a minute in the kitchen before taking flight from the one-bedroom apartment. a perfectly fine mr. coffee relegated to counter decor for years in the name of efficiency. now he’s surprised to find the coffeemaker blinking itself back to sleep when he turns around, fresh brew waiting for him it seems, rather than the other way around.
“cute?” he passes a look over his shoulder before moving to fill up his mug, “so what i’m getting is i should sleep mumble more often?” and if his grin isn’t visible, it sure is audible. he shakes his head and returns the coffee pot to its place once his cup is almost full. “never heard about it before. i’ve been told i move in my sleep. almost fell off my bunk back in college and my roommates never let me live it down. but no... wasn’t aware i sleep-mumbled till now.”
