There's a doubt that lives in the back of Neph's head, buried so well in the jumble of all her other fears and what-ifs that finding it would be like looking through her room for a particular hair tie. It's the one that says but he shouldn't have been here at all, so how can he be happy about it? Can Hannibal put together the evidence from Lecter's life, trace its trajectory, and know for sure it isn't what he would've wanted? At least in that one he was guaranteed some security, guaranteed to make it to his 40s. There's no promise of that anymore.
Yet her selfishness, now admitted to, grabs onto his declaration of wanting to be here and runs with it anyway. She can want this for him, can't she? She can want him to have this thing they've got, and his friendship with Will, and dance lessons on Fridays and a fancy work study thing at an important college. She can be relieved that he's got a world where maybe it's still not safe to be a mutant, but at least it's easier to connect with others. She can think, in the pawnshop clutter of her head, that this is better than publication credits and a big house and half a dozen degrees. Those could come in time, or they could both die first, and Neph wouldn't feel too bad either way so long as they had this.
The mattress creaks as Hannibal sits up. The movement rocks her a little, and when she settles forward again it's to his bangs against her nose. She could press a kiss to his forehead easy as thought. Instead she lifts her free hand from his chest to grip the outside of his wrist and breathes out a laugh. "I'm not scared'a you, either."
Scared that he might not understand how far down this clinging, vinelike need in her really goes. Scared that when he says he's equally selfish, he doesn't actually know enough to make that comparison. But not scared of Hannibal Lecter, who threw a pepper grinder at another mutant threatening him with a gun. Not scared of the boy who conceded to leaving the apartment windows unlocked so she could come and go at all hours.
Speaking of...
"Shit, you've got class tomorrow, don't you?" there's an apology in that quiet sigh, but no real regret. That would be...unfair, or even insulting, after he let her under the covers without complaint. Neph tilts her face down so his eyebrow ridge slots into the bridge of her nose, a maneuver that is absolutely not a nuzzle by any definition, and lets some of the weight drop from her hunched shoulders.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-04-09 09:52 pm (UTC)Yet her selfishness, now admitted to, grabs onto his declaration of wanting to be here and runs with it anyway. She can want this for him, can't she? She can want him to have this thing they've got, and his friendship with Will, and dance lessons on Fridays and a fancy work study thing at an important college. She can be relieved that he's got a world where maybe it's still not safe to be a mutant, but at least it's easier to connect with others. She can think, in the pawnshop clutter of her head, that this is better than publication credits and a big house and half a dozen degrees. Those could come in time, or they could both die first, and Neph wouldn't feel too bad either way so long as they had this.
The mattress creaks as Hannibal sits up. The movement rocks her a little, and when she settles forward again it's to his bangs against her nose. She could press a kiss to his forehead easy as thought. Instead she lifts her free hand from his chest to grip the outside of his wrist and breathes out a laugh. "I'm not scared'a you, either."
Scared that he might not understand how far down this clinging, vinelike need in her really goes. Scared that when he says he's equally selfish, he doesn't actually know enough to make that comparison. But not scared of Hannibal Lecter, who threw a pepper grinder at another mutant threatening him with a gun. Not scared of the boy who conceded to leaving the apartment windows unlocked so she could come and go at all hours.
Speaking of...
"Shit, you've got class tomorrow, don't you?" there's an apology in that quiet sigh, but no real regret. That would be...unfair, or even insulting, after he let her under the covers without complaint. Neph tilts her face down so his eyebrow ridge slots into the bridge of her nose, a maneuver that is absolutely not a nuzzle by any definition, and lets some of the weight drop from her hunched shoulders.