[ There is a version of him that exists — had existed — that would consider a debt owed. That would exact it from her at an opportune moment, because nothing in this life is ever truly given freely.
There is a version of him like that, but the version of him in the room with her, now — he sees that greediness, that cynicism, wavering behind him. The value that he puts upon kindness freely given cannot truly coexist with a desire to quantify it, to leech what he can from others. She would give it to him, he knows — whatever he asked, however great the cost. But he would not see her diminished in that way.
So he smiles, when she nods, toeing off his shoes — disappearing only briefly to turn off the lights — as he once again climbs into bed. (He wonders, idly, if she knows the nights they've spent at rest have been the longest he's ever allowed someone to touch him.) His hand finds hers as he pulls himself close to her, the light of the moon diffused through the sheets hung around them. ]
I'm here, little dove. As you fall asleep, and when you wake.
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There is a version of him like that, but the version of him in the room with her, now — he sees that greediness, that cynicism, wavering behind him. The value that he puts upon kindness freely given cannot truly coexist with a desire to quantify it, to leech what he can from others. She would give it to him, he knows — whatever he asked, however great the cost. But he would not see her diminished in that way.
So he smiles, when she nods, toeing off his shoes — disappearing only briefly to turn off the lights — as he once again climbs into bed. (He wonders, idly, if she knows the nights they've spent at rest have been the longest he's ever allowed someone to touch him.) His hand finds hers as he pulls himself close to her, the light of the moon diffused through the sheets hung around them. ]
I'm here, little dove. As you fall asleep, and when you wake.