I guess there really is no rest for the wicked, huh.
[But even as he says it, throwing his suit on and getting back to business feels like a distant concept even for him, a force of nature like himself with no patience to stand still for long. He's warm and fed and only just beginning to settle back into his own skin, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that he is really home and not in immediate danger of being torn away from everything he loves, hauled back, thrashing, into his cell.
He chews a ragged shred of lip-skin, wondering if he should ask about the music box that he's sure Ed'll tell him about anyway, eventually. But he's only half-interested in it, if that. Unwilling to talk long into the night about work when he's desperate to make up for lost time in other ways, more meaningful ways, his chest knotting with a sharpening sense of urgency and all the things that go unsaid and with the fear that this relaxed moment of closeness and mutual enjoyment will slip away too soon if he sits and does nothing.]
As... fascinating as I'm sure your intentions are for the box, however, perhaps hearing about it can wait until tomorrow? [A frown wrinkles his brow.] I figure it's only fair that I give your thoughts my full and undivided attention.
[He looks between them, at their hands, and then back to Ed, unsure. It has suddenly become hard to swallow, spit sticking in his throat.]
Forgive me. [He attempts a smile - flickery-nervous and apologetic.] I suppose it's all still a little overwhelming for me, having come home to all this. ...And to you.
[It's no accident, when his fingertips skim the cushions, slowly, and find Ed's hand, grazing his knuckles.]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-12-09 02:51 am (UTC)[But even as he says it, throwing his suit on and getting back to business feels like a distant concept even for him, a force of nature like himself with no patience to stand still for long. He's warm and fed and only just beginning to settle back into his own skin, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that he is really home and not in immediate danger of being torn away from everything he loves, hauled back, thrashing, into his cell.
He chews a ragged shred of lip-skin, wondering if he should ask about the music box that he's sure Ed'll tell him about anyway, eventually. But he's only half-interested in it, if that. Unwilling to talk long into the night about work when he's desperate to make up for lost time in other ways, more meaningful ways, his chest knotting with a sharpening sense of urgency and all the things that go unsaid and with the fear that this relaxed moment of closeness and mutual enjoyment will slip away too soon if he sits and does nothing.]
As... fascinating as I'm sure your intentions are for the box, however, perhaps hearing about it can wait until tomorrow? [A frown wrinkles his brow.] I figure it's only fair that I give your thoughts my full and undivided attention.
[He looks between them, at their hands, and then back to Ed, unsure. It has suddenly become hard to swallow, spit sticking in his throat.]
Forgive me. [He attempts a smile - flickery-nervous and apologetic.] I suppose it's all still a little overwhelming for me, having come home to all this. ...And to you.
[It's no accident, when his fingertips skim the cushions, slowly, and find Ed's hand, grazing his knuckles.]