his touch is warmth ; the heat of a fire melting away frozen sheets encompassing george’s body. could practically melt into his hands if he lingers there long enough. he peers through slits for eyes with heavy lids refusing to rise immediately , entirely. makes out a little but processes naught , whatever is etched upon that canvas of lipton’s face.
without restraint he balances back on his feet. no support. … a little support as lip guides him down the steps.
their breaths condense in the air , the redness rushing to george’s cheeks channels to his nose. he’s been out for a while , enjoying the peace in spite of him being the source of LOUDNESS. ( killer of silence , killer of quiet. ) non-gloved hands slip away from the pocketed-heat beneath his arms. one hand reaches for lipton’s , feels the source of the fire and salvages it , fingertips curling to the back of his palm. lets the weight of their met hands fall between them , continuing astride. ‘ don’t wanna get lost , ‘ he jokes. ‘ lost , in the city , in the middle of the night ? even if you’re with the police —- ‘ his nose scrunches up , a dismissive head-shake. ‘ what were you up to before i dropped by ? ‘ mindless on the time of night.
WEARY IN HIS bones, Lipton can’t help but smile. A gentle little thing, reminiscent of the flicker of a candle in the warmth that radiates and encompasses only the two of them. Leaving the rest of the world to the cold. George’s hand in his is a familiar weight, strong fingers flexing around it to keep it secure. He walks close enough that their shoulders brush, and he strokes the pad of his thumb over the back of George’s hand. He’s cold. Soon Lip will be cold too. It’s late--or early, depending on how you look at it. He’s exhausted. And time spent keeping George Luz steady when he needs it couldn’t be more worth the discomfort. ‘ You’re not gonna get lost, Georgie, ‘ he says quietly, turning that sweet little smile on his companion and sticking his free hand in his pocket where it traces the outline of his keys absently. ‘ I’ve got you. ‘
That last question makes him laugh. How could it not? It’s well past midnight, he worked today and he works tomorrow. The list of things he could have been doing when George had appeared out of the darkness to retrieve him is quite short. ‘ Think you know what I was doing. ‘ Dreamin’ about you. ‘
