[ It should not sink in him, the sight of McGillis's foot retreating. Afterall, he could not feel it. Not when the contact lingered, not when taken. McGillis retreats with more than that shift of his foot and seat, his attitude itself changing, cooling. When Gaelio settles his eyes on that familiar face, hoping to take shelter in it against the dismayed miasma that would spread for his dying legs and the lost touch he'd become insensible too, there is less comfort there to be found.
That smooth dispassion looks so like a mask.
Yet, Gaelio persists.
He doesn't know what else to do, where else to look. There is nothing and no one else, and from the moment he met McGillis, he had become heliotropic. In the dream, that is the light he sees, encouraged by the air's shimmer. It lends actuality to that golden halo, stretching into a soft outline. Such warmth in that, in disarming contrast to that smile. Gaelio wishes he could reach, could press the tips of his index fingers to the corners of McGillis's mouth and push up, petulant but insistent.
Meanwhile, he can't feel the tray on his knee and shin, and less and less of its weight on his thigh.
Gaelio watches the twirl of that bang, nostalgia keeping him light, but levity struggling against the rest. At least nothing to doubt in his answer, something easy and obvious. Tempting, to close his eyes and listen only to the rich purr of his voice, to imagine a less obscure expression.
He keeps his eyes open. ]
Perhaps that. But, perhaps something else. What if, instinctively, I understood it was plenty sweet, and I was too cowardly to risk it? To truly grasp that freedom, and venture for what I shouldn't have, but wanted?
[ Cookies and chocolates and a more deliberate turn of his hand, a more decisive touch -- ]
Even so, there are more important things. We might disagree.
[ His smile digs more into his cheek than he means, than he can control, and it makes another layer of bodily disjointing. Gaelio cannot completely ignore it, that whatever has crept from foot to ankle to whole leg, and then the next, has stopped at his hips. If McGillis were to ask him to move to free the tablet, he's not sure he could.
Still not yet having eaten his own selection, or touched his tea, Gaelio leans forward, over the tray, closing his left hand around McGillis's ankle.
Abrupt, as much as the fade of his smile, the confusion in his eyes that nears but does not yet break into fear. ]
no subject
That smooth dispassion looks so like a mask.
Yet, Gaelio persists.
He doesn't know what else to do, where else to look. There is nothing and no one else, and from the moment he met McGillis, he had become heliotropic. In the dream, that is the light he sees, encouraged by the air's shimmer. It lends actuality to that golden halo, stretching into a soft outline. Such warmth in that, in disarming contrast to that smile. Gaelio wishes he could reach, could press the tips of his index fingers to the corners of McGillis's mouth and push up, petulant but insistent.
Meanwhile, he can't feel the tray on his knee and shin, and less and less of its weight on his thigh.
Gaelio watches the twirl of that bang, nostalgia keeping him light, but levity struggling against the rest. At least nothing to doubt in his answer, something easy and obvious. Tempting, to close his eyes and listen only to the rich purr of his voice, to imagine a less obscure expression.
He keeps his eyes open. ]
Perhaps that. But, perhaps something else. What if, instinctively, I understood it was plenty sweet, and I was too cowardly to risk it? To truly grasp that freedom, and venture for what I shouldn't have, but wanted?
[ Cookies and chocolates and a more deliberate turn of his hand, a more decisive touch -- ]
Even so, there are more important things. We might disagree.
[ His smile digs more into his cheek than he means, than he can control, and it makes another layer of bodily disjointing. Gaelio cannot completely ignore it, that whatever has crept from foot to ankle to whole leg, and then the next, has stopped at his hips. If McGillis were to ask him to move to free the tablet, he's not sure he could.
Still not yet having eaten his own selection, or touched his tea, Gaelio leans forward, over the tray, closing his left hand around McGillis's ankle.
Abrupt, as much as the fade of his smile, the confusion in his eyes that nears but does not yet break into fear. ]
Can you feel this?