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jadestrange · 3 years

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Death.. it’s not what you think

I don’t know why but ever since I was a child I was soulfully drawn to a character in a drama series I’m to embarrassed to mention the name - She said somehow she’d always known she would die young and indeed she did.

Ever since I’ve never really managed to let it go. I contemplated death from an incredibly young age and I’ve never really known why. No one close to me had even ever died when I was a child, yet death and the concept of the non-existence was constantly on my mind.

I recall for some reason I always thought about it every time we would drive through this one curve of the road near my grandparents home that would trigger it. Every time they drove past it on the way to drop me off at home I would immediately imagine non-existence, something I possibly couldn’t grasp. For some reason “nothingness” terrified me.

Death seems to be motif throughout my life, but to an abnormal degree. Ever since I could cognitively dream, I had only and ONLY had lucid nightmares. I was aware. But never fully in control. If I screamed, my voice disappeared. If ran I’d move in slow motion. If I covered my eyes from gore or horror my hands and eyelids would turn transparent. I think about the age of 5/6 I finally managed to gain enough control to do one thing and one thing alone…Kill myself

It was the only escape. The simulated pain of death within a dream was much more bearable than the nightmares themselves - even though I experienced genuine pain while doing it sometimes.

One time in particular there was nothing to kill myself with. No tall building. No bridge. No water. No knife. Nothing…

but a wall

So I ran

over

and over

smashing my face into my wall - until I woke up.

I felt it all

In fact recently I had a similar lucid nightmare.

The problem with lucid dreams is that the deeper you go the more real and tactical they feel... and the more you feel.

I often recall ever tactical piece of physical items in my dreams, analyzing them with my hands and fingertips in awe, amazement and sometimes fear at how real they felt. There was no physical telling in the difference between the dream and reality itself. Only the conscious tells whether it is or isn’t a dream - normally due to the absurdity of their nature.

In this Dream people or things were chasing me. Fear pure fear. I don’t know why. But all I knew was that THAT emotional pain was so unbearable that the risk of the pain of jumping headfirst off a bridge was worth it. I took a moment, feeling the scratchy grit of the cold metal poles of the bridge railings inside my sweaty palms. ‘This felt real’ I knew it. ‘But I had to’, it was the only way to escape. I was no longer in the lucid state of being able to control my environment only myself. I had to fight every instinct any real person would jumping head first into the low ground, the only difference was that little shred of hope - that maybe - just maybe I would wake up from the impact before I could feel anything.

I wonder if that’s what people who jump off buildings think as they’re falling down and there’s no turning back - that maybe - just maybe - they’ll die before they feel any true pain.

I paused writing this. A sudden chilly reminder came over me of a boy who momentary lost his sanity and indeed jumped head first down the stairs and indeed died. My friend saw it... I just felt a memory of a dream doing the same thing. That was weird.. I’m moving on

So right death. Another theme I carry is the need to resolve things with everyone and anyone I have encouraged to the point that it is either annoying or maddening for other people.

I guess I felt and still feel like I’m in a perpetual awareness of my death possibly arriving on tomorrows door.

Or perhaps I just want to feel lighter, because everything else, all the hidden things were too heavy to carry on their own. Like a camel’s back I could handle no straw - or more yet not even a feather.

I guess that makes me rather pathetic in other people’s eyes. But perhaps those are normally the eyes of someone who has not felt that weight.

I’m aware that a kg/ton of feathers is the same as a kg/ton of straws ( a metaphor for different the forms of pain if you didn’t catch that) - but how strong are the camel’s legs? How wounded are they? How well nourished were they since they were born? Are they loved or lashed?

Perhaps the weight may seem the same to outsiders eyes however - how it feels internally cannot be seen but merely felt by those who themselves have experienced it or at least something very similar.

I think I have a very confusing and troubling relationship with Death. On one side it always made me aware of the appreciation of my existence (the physical world, emotions, senes, conceptualization)

But on the other side it always came with an impending sense of constant pressure to fulfill my deeds and “pay my debt” in some sense. perhaps that’s not the right way to say it. More like “do the best I can” you know? Leave your mark on the world, give something back, make a positive impact as your farewell.

Which could either be unrealistic or perhaps it is just my assumption how grander that impact has to be. Something big. Something that says “The carbon footprint left by this one was worth it” haha.

Is that silly? Is that normal? Do other people feel this way or is everyone right about me? That I put too much pressure on myself.

Which too within itself seems to be a contradiction since society itself, friends, family, work, reputation, sustainability all requires pressure.

Some say I over think. While I think others under think.

Which is funny - considering I once had a lectuer tell me I was under thinking a script concept when in reality he was under thinking and unwilling to assume it had any more nuances or complexities that was an incredibly difficult topic to tackle.

It’s funny how sometimes you can seem stupid when you try explain something complex because the jargon and general context / information you’ve build up over time seems so obvious to you. Without that context your explanations can become muddled - since they would require a lot of time to give the context.

Quantum Physics for example. I remember trying to explain the concept to my friends in high school. It seemed… crazy - ridiculous - stupid - pseudo. In a strange retaliation my ex BFF went to the science teacher and queued it to come back to our group to tell me I was wrong (after we all agreed to have dropped it by the way).

I of course responded “Yes because a person who’s literally only studied a high school’s equivalent of physics would have the knowledge of a field way beyond her years and degree”

Eh.. School. Not so much friends. More just the people you settle for. Looking back all my relationships were pretty toxic - aside from one. I wrongfully teased my one friend for having hairy legs once and I still feel really bad about it today, in fact I messaged her a few years ago about it saying sorry.

But what the rest did to me… was.. ah.. definitely not on the same scale. I was betrayed a lot.

I got use to betrayal from a young age. Families seem to think it’s funny to undermine things that are important to children. It’s like they seek joy from it, I think they think it’s fun for the kids but it’s not.

Having your secrets shared between your family and laughed at as a child is.. betrayal. Being neglected, left in unsafe or unhealthy hands, unjustifiably disciplined … physically disciplined - are all betrayals.

I got accustomed to it. Silence was the way. Never tell anyone anything. People don’t help you anyway. In fact they often use it against you. Or worse undermine your pain.

It was strange.. I was clearly bullied. Yet I was the one who got sent to a shitty - oh lets just distract you for a bit but not really do anything- school councilor.

Death… mm. death death death. I understand the contemplation at around the time I started school, but why when I was like little little? Why have I always been crushed so easily?

Why was I always a target?

Did I want pity? no.. maybe sometimes (not that THAT ever worked - but no mostly it is was genuine emotion and debilitating pain. Crying. Freezing. Hyper-ventilating.

I wonder if I did it to myself. Had I done something so outright bizarre that deemed my the school target? What it cause I was a year younger? Was the shame of teachers shouting at me due to my ADD in front of my class.

Or was I just Overly Empathetic? I remember my first day of school…. the teacher shouted at a girl next to me and I started crying - she in turned shouted at me for crying.

Despite being broke now I did have money as a kid. Not like the rich kids of the school but, I had lunch money. Maybe that was it. I shared it too often maybe?

Was I too honest? Too weird? Too much of a push over? It was everything I had every been taught to my by mother’s side of the family. The family I mostly grew up in.

It’s quite sad. My mom could write a way better book full of funny characters and bizarre relatives like a movie - all the drama - the comedy. She started writing - it was good too. But she was too tired from work and stopped.

I think it’s sad because my stories aren’t funny.. just sad. Maybe with some beautiful moments (although the best ones would be indescribable). I think hers would have been better. A story a woman overcoming a broken abusive family and poverty who worked her way to the top of owning her own company.

Inspiring.

While mine just feels like a bummer… maybe that’s just because it isn’t finished yet.

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beybladeimagines · 4 years

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Question for the Bladebreakers 😘 how long would you wait to propose to your S/O? And how would you do it? X

The moment he hears the question, Tyson begins to chuckle nervously. Out of habit, his hand finds its way behind his head. Why does he suddenly feel so uneasy about answering a simple question? He could answer anything, even if the the response was stupid, but he knew this inquiry required more investment.

“You sure know how to throw a guy off, jeez. Let’s see...” Words trail off. You can tell he’s genuinely trying to contemplate his response. This feels like a first for him since he usually speaks with his sentiments rather than his brain.

“I guess I’d wait a while... I don’t know how this stuff works. I guess I just wouldn’t want to mess it up. I’ll admit, I’m not the most romantic person in the world, but I can sure as hell try to get something right. But, I know for sure that I’d want to make it big. If you’re with me, you need to be ready for the attention. I’m getting an idea now to do it after I win one of my matches. I think I’d pretend as if I’m about to give a victory speech or something. Then in the middle of it, I just...start talking about how amazing they are and how they’re the reason I made it this far. I need to be honest about that. There have been a lot of days when I wanted to give up. It’s good to have someone who won’t let me. All eyes are about to be on us. Haha, I’m picturing them crying and saying yes, but after saying it out loud...would be kind of a bummer if they said no.”

And upon sharing that, Tyson suddenly feels the need to rethink his approach in order to avoid public rejection.

“A proposal, huh? That’s easy. I’d do it the moment I felt like she was ready.”

A goofy grin spreads across Max’s face, one that reveals an air of confidence and excitement. Despite how eager he appears, the blonde is quick to extend a more mature perspective towards his approach.

“Sometimes I think my parents rushed into it, you know? I don’t think my mom anticipated that her career would be so demanding. I don’t even think my dad anticipated that he’d want life to move a little slower. That’s why it’s so important for me to feel prepared and for me to know where my partner’s going to be. I, uh-...” His voice quivers ever so slightly. Part of him is breaking and yet he always manages to keep himself composed. He’s cried about this enough as a kid - no sense in shedding tears now.

“I just want to make sure I don’t lose her for any reason. As far as a proposal goes, I think I’d want to make it somewhere private. Maybe at home or something - somewhere we can both get a chance to be ourselves, where we don’t feel pressured to respond a certain way just because all eyes are on us. Don’t worry, she wouldn’t see it coming. I’d prefer there to be an element of surprise. Maybe I slip the ring onto something she’s about to grab, or maybe I’ll spell it out in a bowl of alphabet soup. I don’t really know just yet, but... I can promise you it’ll come at the right time.”

“We’re jumping right into the topic of marriage? You didn’t even buy me dinner yet.” Ray playfully winks at the asker. He’s actually rather amused by the question. He hasn’t had the time to think about those kinds of things, but he assumes that now is better than never.

“Well, I’m not the type to rush into things, but I’ve gotten a better understanding of just who I am... If I like something, I go after it, but-...” He pauses. Originally, he felt so confident in his response... But he begins to remember a time when he left behind the people who needed him most. He remembers a time when he sought out an escape, a way to start again, a brand new life, brand new friends-... He remembers everyone he’s ever hurt because of his actions and part of him fears he’d do it all again. He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t have to. He’s become far more content with commitment, especially if he’s found a person to put his passions in.

“I’m gonna make damn sure I don’t mess up that opportunity. I’ve got a plan to invite them to meditate with me. I’ll plant the ring in their lap while their eyes are closed and have it sitting there when they open them. Or, I could just be cheesy and hide the ring in their food. I just want to avoid a potential choking hazard.” A loud laugh leaves his lips after he says that. “I take that back... There’s one thing that can be choked on, but a ring isn’t it.”

He scoffs at the inquiry. Marriage? Really? He wasn’t the type to remain loyal to anything or anyone. It’s not that he didn’t want to; rather... He was seldom given a reason. Why be part of a team that tried to change him? Why align himself with an idiot that steals his glory? Why hold himself back when he can always have more? ...But he knows that no matter what he ends up attaining, it isn’t enough to fill the void he’s created. An honest person will help patch him up. And when they do, he’ll reconsider his connection with commitment.

“There wouldn’t be a proposal.” His answer is quick and cutthroat. However, it doesn’t imply that he’s incapable of love. He just knows that marriages themselves require...much. Too much talking, too many people, too many lights, too much attention. He isn’t ready for that level of excess. Instead, he’d rather express his devotion in the dark. He’d rather celebrate the body of his bride in ways that strangers shouldn’t see. He’d rather have time to re-familiarize her with what love could look and feel like... And weddings don’t usually allow for love to be displayed in the way he really wants. So why waste time?

“And if you’re so inclined to be with me, you’d be content with that.” For now, at least... Kai forgets that he’s rather selfish. A wedding would be the perfect place to show off his significant other. Give him time... That realization will come one day when his eyes fall upon hers.

#beyblade imagine #bladebreakers #tyson granger #max tate #ray kon #kai hiwatari #vdaycelebration #Anonymous

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ethereousdelirious · 5 years

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Fandom: D.DADDS Characters: R.obert Small & J.oseph Christiansen Pairing: None, one-sided flirting/teasing, mentions of past R.oseph Tropes: Flu, stubborn character, caretaking, unresolved sexual tension Summary: J.oseph runs into a sick R.obert at the Maple Bay Marina and insists on taking care of him whether R.obert likes it or not. Warnings/Notes: Honestly this fic is kind of a bummer to read, haha. I didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s a pretty bitter read

“Those things will kill you, you know,” said a voice to his left.

Even in the dying light, Robert had seen Joseph walk up (hard not to, in all that pastel and khaki), and was weighing the benefits of ignoring him until he went away versus blowing cigarette smoke at him and watching him sneeze.

He took a drag while he considered this, but the smoke seemed to catch in his throat. He turned away on instinct and coughed hard into his sleeve and from there his body didn't seem to want to stop. He coughed until his abdomen was sore and his eyes were watering, and then he registered Joseph's hand on his shoulder.

“Put that out, maybe?”

Robert ignored him and wiped his eyes on the hem of his shirt. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I own a boat,” Joseph said, gesturing at the yachts and fishing vessels bobbing in the water. “What are you doing here, aside from giving yourself an asthma attack?”

“I don't have asthma,” Robert mumbled, but he stubbed his cigarette out on the dock all the same. “Just needed to think.”

“Got a lot to think about?” Joseph asked.

“Oh, don't do that. I'm not another lost soul you can recruit into your pastel Jesus cult--” Robert just barely managed to choke out the end of his sentence before more coughs came ripping out of his chest. He ducked his chin to smother them into his collar.

Joseph's hand was still on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked. The sun was almost down now, but the dim marina lights had kicked on and even in the shadow, Robert could see how his handsome face had twisted up into a sickening, cloying expression of concern.

“I'm fine,” he said breathlessly. “I don't--” he cleared his throat. “Uh, I came down here to be alone, so.”

A breeze ruffled the flags on the boats with a series of overlapping snaps. Robert shivered and fumbled for the zipper on his leather jacket.

“Are you sick?” Joseph asked and before Robert could inch away from it, Joseph's hand was on his forehead. “How long have you had that fever?”

“I don't have a fever,” Robert said drily. “I'm blushing because that baby pink polo just looks so damn good on you.”

Joseph sighed, his hand still pressed against Robert's forehead. He looked… Sad? The sun was well and truly down now, not even a hint of orange on the horizon, and it was hard for Robert to tell in the dark.

Joseph finally pulled away from him and stood up. “Come on, you should go home.”

Who the hell do you think you are? Robert wanted to say, but he just cleared his throat against another coughing fit and accepted the hand Joseph offered him.

Getting up was a slow process. It hurt. At first Robert had associated the ache to whatever he'd gotten up to the night before. The memories drifted into a haze of hard liquor and he'd woken up on the floor instead of in bed, sore from his knees to his neck.

“You alright?” Joseph asked. Robert's grip went slack. The minute he'd gotten to his feet, gravity seemed to tilt slowly to one side and now the lights on the marina were shutting off in concentric circles at the edges of his vision. It was enough to make him nauseated as the spinning picked up. He fell forward into Joseph and could dimly make out the sound of speech over the buzzing in his ears.

“Easy, easy, easy,” Joseph was saying. “Easy there.” He lowered Robert to his knees. “You're really warm.”

Robert was too busy catching his breath to respond. Dimly, he was aware of his forehead pressed into Joseph's shoulder and then he was coughing down the front of that horrible pink shirt. He managed to choke out “ugh, fuck” between coughs, which seemed to prompt Joseph to wrap his arms around him in a loose embrace.

“You're really sick,” he said fretfully.

“I noticed,” Robert said. His knees were starting to hurt from kneeling on the dock but he was so tired and his head ached like he had 6 hangovers at once. His pulled back from Joseph's shoulder and wrapped his arms around himself. The ocean breeze cooled the sweat on his neck, making him shudder.

“Let's not stay here.” Joseph stood up again, offered Robert his hand again. “Go slow.”

Robert didn't have much of a choice bu tot go slow. Gravity seemed to want to pin him flat to the ground and his joints protested even the slightest movement. But he made it to his feet with Joseph’s help.

“There's a flu going around,” Joseph said conversationally as they walked to the parking lot. “I’ve been missing a lot of my regulars at Sunday school.”

“Mm,” Robert managed. As they got nearer to the parking lot, he started to fumble for his keys but his hands were shaking so badly all he really managed to do was rattle his coat pocket zippers.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked. “I'm not leaving you alone. You're coming with me.”

“To your house?” Robert asked, horrified. He stifled a few coughs behind his lips.

“Uh, well.” Joseph scratched awkwardly at one of his temples.

“S’what I thought.”

“At least let me drive you home.”

Robert couldn’t think of anything to say so he just let Joseph lead him to the car.

“You can lay down in the back if you want,” Joseph offered.

Robert looked in through the window, taking in the dark shapes of misplaced soccer cleats, a children's novel, a few stray food wrappers. Uncomfortable reminders of Joseph's personal life. “I'm good.” He went around the back and dumped himself in the passenger seat, head spinning. The car smelled like Mary's perfume. Robert let his head loll, brushing up against the cold glass of the window. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched the lights of Maple Bay as they went by. Dimly, he could hear music playing, possibly even hear Joseph singing softly to himself, or talking to Robert. It didn't matter. It was just Robert and the cool glass on his face and the patternless flow of lights outside the window.

He didn't really notice when the car stopped. The flow of time seemed languid, relaxed, and he was so, so warm.

“Robert!” Joseph's voice penetrated the haze. There was a hand in his cheek now and Robert flinched away from the sudden cold. “M'okay,” he mumbled, trying to remember where he was. Gradually, he did, and then he repeated himself. “I'm okay.” He forced his shaking hands to undo his seatbelt buckle and managed not to wobble getting out of the car. Then he coughed sharply into his sleeve a few times and looked up awkwardly at Joseph, who was still standing around the far side of the car.

“Uh, well, thanks,” Robert said. “See you around.” He gave a weak salute and fumbled in his pocket for his keys, which immediately slipped from his grasp. Ducking his head down to get them triggered a dizzying, pounding pressure in his temples. He staggered forward and braced himself against the hood of Joseph's car. “Ah, fuck.”

“You're not okay,” Joseph said. Not a question. A statement of fact.

“S'fine,” Robert mumbled. He was exhausted and not at all in the mood for this. “Go home to your wife.” Joseph flinched at this and even as sick as he was, Robert couldn't keep the ugly smirk off his face as he poured salt in the wound. “Isn't Mary going to wonder where you are? Go home to her. I'll be fine.”

He staggered to his front door and had to lean against it to catch his breath before he could even think about maneuvering the key into the lock. It took a long while to recover, several minutes filled with gasping pants and painful coughs.

Then there was a hand between his shoulders and Joseph's voice in his ear. “I called Mary. I told her the truth.”

“What's that?”

“That you're very sick and I'm staying here tonight to make sure you don't get yourself killed.”

“I don't need your help,” Robert spat. He shook Joseph’s hand off and promptly dropped his keys again. “Fuck.” To his horror it came out broken and cracked, more of a dry sob than a true exclamation. He dived down to grab the keys before Joseph could react and managed to stay conscious through sheer force of will. Pushing through the dizziness, he threw himself through the front door and collapsed onto the couch without even bothering to take his shoes off. “This is it, I'm sleeping. You can go home.”

Joseph flicked the lightswitch and cringed audibly, sucking in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Do you have medicine?”

The sudden light sent a flash of pain through Robert's head, which he resolutely ignored. “Sleeping. Don't need your help.”

“Alright.” Joseph's footsteps thudded away, but the front door didn't open. Instead, Robert could hear him clattering around in the kitchen and then the bathroom. Thoroughly annoyed, Robert kept his eyes shut and tried to fall asleep through pure spite, but as tired as he was, he couldn't manage it. He was sweating under his jacket and his skin crawled with a tight, almost painful heat. Worse still, he had the spins something fierce. It was like being drunk and hungover at the same time and it was awful. The fact that he had to keep stifling his coughs in his chest so Joseph would stop worrying and go away wasn't helping matters either.

In fact, he was almost grateful for the exasperated sigh that would have ruffled his bangs had they not been plastered to his forehead with sweat, because it meant that Joseph was near, and he probably had painkillers.

“Can you sit up?” Joseph asked.

“I'm sleeping. Go away.”

“You're shaking.”

“I'm having this awful nightmare about a home invader who keeps trying to make me open up emotionally.” Another coughing fit threatened to tear up Robert's chest, but he managed to stop it by clearing his throat.

“Will you just sit up, please,” Joseph said, sounding a touch exasperated.

Robert couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off his face. He cracked his eyes open and inched partially upright, propping himself up on the armrest. Even that small movement made his head spin. Determined not to show it, he kept grinning at Joseph until his cheeks hurt. “Sure thing, Nurse Goodbody.”

Joseph stared at him for a moment. He had a few things in his hands which he set down on the coffee table once he was done trying to be judgy. “Jacket off.”

“You'd do that for me?”

Joseph looked at him blankly until the double meaning sank in, and then he turned red from ears to chest. “I-- That's n-not what I…”

Robert couldn't help but laugh at this, a few coughs slipping past his lips as well. He cut off the fit before it could build into something more intense and wiped his watering eyes as surreptitiously as he could. “You make it so easy.” He leaned forward and slipped his leather jacket off.

Joseph took it from him and folded it up, finding space for it on the coffee table amid the empty bottles. “Shoes too.”

“Fine, but those aren't going on the coffee table,” Robert grumbled. Leaning forward seemed like too much of a task, so he wrestled his shoes off with his toes and kicked them onto the floor. “Now what?”

“Now this.” Joseph unfolded the blanket he'd placed on the coffee table and all but swaddled Robert in it.

“...I can't move my arms.”

“Wiggle a bit.”

Robert wiggled. When his arms were out, Joseph handed him a glass of water and some painkillers. “Uh, thanks.”

“I can't believe you don't have cough medicine. Or a thermometer.”

“I don't get sick that often.” Robert shrugged. “I don't make a habit of hanging around little kids.”

“That's true,” Joseph said, looking a touch sad. “Are you okay now? Will you sleep?”

“I was sleeping,” Robert said. “Before you came in and started fussing all over me.”

“Of course you were,” Joseph said. He flicked the lightswitch off and Robert closed his eyes and lay still for a few minutes.

It was better now, with his jacket and boots off, but the painkillers hadn't had time to kick in and he couldn't keep shoving coughs down in his chest forever. In fact-- A few coughs wrenched their way out of his chest almost involuntarily and Robert rolled over to try to muffle them in the back of the couch.

God, his chest hurt and he could barely breathe, all his joints ached and the room spun and there just wasn't enough oxygen. He was dizzy when the coughing fit finally ended, and silver spots were winking in his vision. He waited for them to fade and then swung his legs over the edge of the couch.

“What are you doing?” Joseph asked. In the dark, Robert could just see his huddled form on the floor.

“Medicating,” Robert replied hoarsely. He started to walk toward the kitchen.

Joseph followed. “I thought you didn't have any medicine.”

“I don't.” Robert yanked open one of his cabinets and studied the contents for a moment before grabbing a bottle of cheap whiskey. He unscrewed the top and took a swig, then turned around for a glass.

“Absolutely not,” Joseph said. “You're going to make yourself worse. You need water.”

“Water's not gonna help me sleep this off.”

“Well, then--” Joseph sighed. “I'll go to the store.”

“Don't bother. Go home. I don't need to be looked after.” Robert held a steely silence for a brief second before it was undermined by spastic, convulsive coughs that had his shoulders shaking. He let Joseph take the whiskey bottle from him and sank to the kitchen floor. “Throat hurts,” he said pointedly.

“Whiskey's not gonna help.”

“Might.”

“Do you have any tea or anything?”

“No.”

“Why are you being so-- Ugh.” Joseph sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Come on, let me take you to bed.”

“I thought we weren't doing that any more,” Robert said before he could stop himself. He let his eyes slide shut and could hear Joseph taking deep breaths.

When he spoke again, his tone was measured and calm. “I'm helping you up.” He hauled Robert to his feet and steered him toward the bedroom. “At least it'll be more comfortable than the couch. Maybe you'll be able to get some sleep.”

“Mm,” Robert managed. He said under the covers and closed his eyes. “This is better,” he said hazily.

“I'm staying. Let me know if you need anything.”

The phrase “I won't” didn't make it through Robert's lips. Neither did “thank you.”

Maybe in the morning.

#ethereous writes #2////////#3////////#4////////////#5/////////#ddadds #robert s

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