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There's no telling how long he sleeps. There's never enough sun to pierce the fog that swirls slow around the mansion, let alone the heavy curtains invisible hands draw each night.
Somehow always without him knowing. Or noticing.
It makes for heavy sleep, in this heavy world, where nothing can touch him and the only thing that shakes him awake is his own restless mind.
Except this morning.
Warmth seeping into his bones. The slow spread of a summer sun, the kind that rises determined, burns off the mist lingering on the water or in the trees. The kind that used to leave him pink and tender at the end of the day, wincing under the needlepoints of cool water in the shower. And when he blinks his eyes slowly open, he sees it.
A haze of gold. Like blinking up at the sky through rippling water. Everything suffused with it in a cloud of light, until he blinks again and it resolves.
Into the slope of a bare shoulder. Her arm the gentle sweep of the shore. And tendrils of pale hair caught against the pillow. (Tangled with too-dark brown, that still edges wrong, even as he pushes the thought away.)
Skin sun-warm, peach-soft, as the tips of his fingers just brush over it. All comfortable curves and blunted edges in her sleep. Her features lighter than he's seen them in months.
(He hasn't seen her in months.)
He doesn't want to wake her. She needs to rest.
But he can't help leaning into her warmth, the whisper of rustling cloth against bare skin, to brush the tip of his nose against the back of her shoulder, brush his lips across the same spot. Hand sliding to her waist, the rise of her hip beneath muddled sheets. Unable to do anything but breathe her in, reverent.
Maybe the closest he's ever felt to a miracle. Of all the ones she's brought for everyone else, this is the first. For them. No matter what the Rev would have called him. Degenerate. Defective. Broken. All of God's orphans, adrift just like him.
But not in this moment. Not this morning. Not when they are a miracle just starting to finally unfold.
Not when Audrey is beginning to shift under his touch, and for a few early, sun-soaked moments, everything can just be.
Perfect.
Somehow always without him knowing. Or noticing.
It makes for heavy sleep, in this heavy world, where nothing can touch him and the only thing that shakes him awake is his own restless mind.
Except this morning.
Warmth seeping into his bones. The slow spread of a summer sun, the kind that rises determined, burns off the mist lingering on the water or in the trees. The kind that used to leave him pink and tender at the end of the day, wincing under the needlepoints of cool water in the shower. And when he blinks his eyes slowly open, he sees it.
A haze of gold. Like blinking up at the sky through rippling water. Everything suffused with it in a cloud of light, until he blinks again and it resolves.
Into the slope of a bare shoulder. Her arm the gentle sweep of the shore. And tendrils of pale hair caught against the pillow. (Tangled with too-dark brown, that still edges wrong, even as he pushes the thought away.)
Skin sun-warm, peach-soft, as the tips of his fingers just brush over it. All comfortable curves and blunted edges in her sleep. Her features lighter than he's seen them in months.
(He hasn't seen her in months.)
He doesn't want to wake her. She needs to rest.
But he can't help leaning into her warmth, the whisper of rustling cloth against bare skin, to brush the tip of his nose against the back of her shoulder, brush his lips across the same spot. Hand sliding to her waist, the rise of her hip beneath muddled sheets. Unable to do anything but breathe her in, reverent.
Maybe the closest he's ever felt to a miracle. Of all the ones she's brought for everyone else, this is the first. For them. No matter what the Rev would have called him. Degenerate. Defective. Broken. All of God's orphans, adrift just like him.
But not in this moment. Not this morning. Not when they are a miracle just starting to finally unfold.
Not when Audrey is beginning to shift under his touch, and for a few early, sun-soaked moments, everything can just be.
Perfect.
