Her weight flattens the blankets, pinning his legs in a way she hadn't intended. Hannibal shifts closer as her request hangs in the air, and although Neph finds most charged silences unbearable she doesn't squirm or chatter her way through this one.
There's a difference between having confidence in a thing and having that confidence validated. It's the bubbling dizziness she'd felt when he'd backed her against Samson, grounded by the way he'd said I would never abandon you afterward. Now, with I would never send you away, he's just won Countering Abandonment Issues Bingo. Her right hand is splayed under his, but her left darts out to grip the leg he's bumped against hers. All she really wants is to fold herself up against his heartbeat, but she really should get under the covers first. Right this second it's enough to just dig her nails in and croak "Thank you."
She can't get under the covers fast enough after that, fleeing the clammy chill of her evaporating fear. Normally Neph climbs in with Hannibal after he's already kicked everything into wild disarray, but when he's not battling his own nightmares he makes his bed so envelope-tight she has to claw the sheets down. Does it help, being half-restrained? Was he always like this, or did he start up the habit after whatever happened to Mischa, as a substitute for someone to hold him through his bad dreams? She's just wriggling under all the layers, into the bubble of trapped body heat, when Hannibal asks the obvious question.
"Yeah." Their height difference means that even seated hip to hip her knee hits above his, and his knee presses into the top of her calf. Neph throws everything out of alignment by twisting sideways and snaking her arms around his ribs, flattening them both to the mattress. She doesn't drag the blanket up over them, prioritizing fitting her shoulders under his arm. It's strange, seeking comfort instead of offering it, strange enough that Neph presses her face to his chest as though she has something to hide. "One'a the bad ones."
Everything's so loud in the dark: her shaking voice, the raw note in it, her uneven breath. Neph cares less that Hannibal's sure to notice than she does about how warm and alive and not-accusatory he is. It's a question of responsibility. What did that even mean? She presses her forehead to his breastbone and lets the thump of his heart drive those thoughts away. It's steady and real, if a little fast after she'd shocked him awake.
"You were there," she mumbles, the sharp angles of her limbs softening as the heat settles around her. She tries to keep her toes curled away from his legs. They'll be ice cubes by now. "'was new."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-04-03 05:36 am (UTC)There's a difference between having confidence in a thing and having that confidence validated. It's the bubbling dizziness she'd felt when he'd backed her against Samson, grounded by the way he'd said I would never abandon you afterward. Now, with I would never send you away, he's just won Countering Abandonment Issues Bingo. Her right hand is splayed under his, but her left darts out to grip the leg he's bumped against hers. All she really wants is to fold herself up against his heartbeat, but she really should get under the covers first. Right this second it's enough to just dig her nails in and croak "Thank you."
She can't get under the covers fast enough after that, fleeing the clammy chill of her evaporating fear. Normally Neph climbs in with Hannibal after he's already kicked everything into wild disarray, but when he's not battling his own nightmares he makes his bed so envelope-tight she has to claw the sheets down. Does it help, being half-restrained? Was he always like this, or did he start up the habit after whatever happened to Mischa, as a substitute for someone to hold him through his bad dreams? She's just wriggling under all the layers, into the bubble of trapped body heat, when Hannibal asks the obvious question.
"Yeah." Their height difference means that even seated hip to hip her knee hits above his, and his knee presses into the top of her calf. Neph throws everything out of alignment by twisting sideways and snaking her arms around his ribs, flattening them both to the mattress. She doesn't drag the blanket up over them, prioritizing fitting her shoulders under his arm. It's strange, seeking comfort instead of offering it, strange enough that Neph presses her face to his chest as though she has something to hide. "One'a the bad ones."
Everything's so loud in the dark: her shaking voice, the raw note in it, her uneven breath. Neph cares less that Hannibal's sure to notice than she does about how warm and alive and not-accusatory he is. It's a question of responsibility. What did that even mean? She presses her forehead to his breastbone and lets the thump of his heart drive those thoughts away. It's steady and real, if a little fast after she'd shocked him awake.
"You were there," she mumbles, the sharp angles of her limbs softening as the heat settles around her. She tries to keep her toes curled away from his legs. They'll be ice cubes by now. "'was new."