ALEX+REI; weh

[socarnivorously]

Who: Alexander & Reilanin
When: Sunday evening
Where: Stonecaster, Safta
Before/After: After Ravi's dmails.
Warnings: Passing suicidal thoughts idk



No word. Why hadn't he written her? She could have written at any time, but they were busy, and she hadn't felt it right to interrupt either of them, Ravindra or Alexander, with unnecessary correspondence. But it was over now, over for nearly two days. So why hadn't Alexander written to her?

She'd spent perhaps an hour in worried silence, unaware of Gunnar on the couch giving her baleful glances for her nabbing several of his teabags, before she decided to leave the house. Downtown Fall City. Looking for something for Ravindra, wondering, the whole time, about Alexander and if she should return. But there was no stopping it- once the idea was in her head, it wouldn't leave.

She found the vendor that sold the little dog toy to her. She searched through the toys for a cat, and found one that was orange and white. It didn't look like Mittens, but was it all right anyway? She took it and found the dragon mail office again, spending a long moment watching the dragons flit in and out overhead. She looked at the little cat, then wrapped it up and put a stamp on it with Ravindra's name attached. She could feel the connection as the dragon disappeared. In an instant, she could be there. She could see him and see he was all right-

But she knew that already. It was Alexander she didn't know about.

She left, lacking direction. She couldn't wait anymore. She had to take the chance. Reilanin almost left right there, in front of the post office, but recalled belatedly that people from Bohun could be anywhere- even Earth. She forced herself to return to the apartment building, but she didn't return to Theresa's apartment. Instead she activated the bind in the elevator on the way up. The elevator dinged and opened, empty.

Returning to a bind was easy. No drain, not like teleportation. She could still sense her bind on the other side. She looked around the study and saw the curtains were shut. That was good. But the house itself was empty. That was not so good.

She left the study quietly, carefully moving down the hallway, checking the bedroom, looking down the stairs before she went down them. She glanced around at the bottom and with a short spell shut all of the curtains. The kitchen, empty. Living room, empty. Bathroom, empty. She managed a quick peek outside. Blue duck and Pendleton were visible in the pond. Small relief.

She returned to the living room, catching sight of the table. A bottle, half-drunk, of whiskey. She picked it up, sniffed it, put it back down. It took a moment for her to recognize the things she'd sent Alex, all set out on the table. Hesitating, Reilanin sat down on the couch, reached out and picked up the little dog, twin to the little cat she'd just sent Ravindra. She leaned back into the couch, tugging the dog's little ears, and settled in to wait.

By the time Alex was permitted to leave, dusk had fallen. He wore the clothes of another and bore little visible evidence of his time in Bastan. The burns he sustained from setting the mage on fire had completely healed. His headache from the gunshot on Saturday morning had faded to an annoyance that existed only when he remembered it. What remained most notably of Bastan were the gashes delivered by the mage's holy-tipped staves, angrily red and scabbed over.

Sunday was an entirely different matter. If Friday was retribution and Saturday was proof, then Sunday was discipline. Bohun Upas was loyal to their own, but they expected that loyalty to be returned. Alex had pushed their grace too far. He wasn't surprised. He didn't hold it against them. This was how things were. They had even provided a body to sustain himself with after Annabelle was done with him. The clothes, too. She strongly suggested a bath, but he had declined.

He had his task. Carry it out or forfeit his life.

As he opened the gate to his house, Alex still didn't know which choice he would make. It wasn't a desire to die that troubled him so much as a failure to think of a strong enough reason to survive. He had no intention of making the decision tonight. He had every intention of getting himself plastered.

There was someone in the house.

He unlocked the door and opened it, then turned around, closed it, and locked it.

"Why are you here?" he asked blandly, turning to face the couch where Reilanin sat. Her presence made his chest hurt.

Several hours had been spent wondering what would happen. Would he be happy? Or angry? Would he come at all? It was a strange space to be in, not to know what to expect. Perhaps she would have to leave before he returned. He would know she was there. And what would he think then?

She could feel him the moment he pressed his hand to the door. She shifted and stood, eyes on the front door, watching him walk in, hands drawn up as she kept hold of the little dog. The look on his face made her heart sink. It seemed there was nothing there. Disappointment? He was tired. The way he moved said as much.

"I wanted to know that you were safe."

Her voice was quiet in the house, still and low, blending into the sounds around them and doing little to stand out. She looked away, down to her fingers.

"Ravindra said you'd gone missing. I didn't..." Her voice faltered and she continued, "I didn't want to risk sending a letter."

Instead she would risk this? It made no sense. She knew that. Not a good idea, but it was done.

He couldn't think of a reply, so he didn't say anything. Gone missing, and she'd come to see for herself despite his request-- no, his order to remain on Earth. He wasn't angry or disappointed. He did not feel happy. He felt... concerned. Worried, a bit, that she might have been noticed.

He walked through the house, not bothering to remove his boots. "How long have you been here?"

He intended to pick up the bottle of whiskey, but stopped at the coffee table in hesitation. Rei's presence. He felt something like shame at the thought of drinking to forget around her.

She didn't look up to him again, as though she were aware she was seeing something she shouldn't, some side of him she hadn't been meant to see. She thought she would be relieved to see him, whatever condition he was in, just to see him alive. But there he stood in front of her, alive, well (?), and she felt no such thing.

"...I lost track," she murmured after a moment. Her eyes came up a little to notice his boots were still on. Ah, well. So were hers.

The pants he wore were too short for him. The shirt- not one of his. When his hand started to reach out for something on the table, hesitated by his side, she noticed his rings were missing.

She looked up to his face. His earrings were gone, too. The subtle magic, the patterns that were uniquely hers, all missing.

"Your enchantments...?"

His hands clenched into fists, but relaxed on his exhale. Shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast, he was the picture of defeat.

"The mage. She was in Bastan." Ravindra had told her he'd gone missing? His visceral reaction to her presence was exactly why. "But she's dead now. I took hers away, too."

After a beat, he said quietly, "I'm sorry."

The mage?

Jordan's mage?

Like a dog with its hackles raised she seemed to straighten, her expression narrowing, suddenly taut. But it faded after a moment, realizing it had nowhere to go. No, that wasn't right. That wasn't fair. She'd never gotten to her. She'd never gotten to hurt her.

The apology caught her off-guard. She hesitated, looking down again. She bent down to the table, putting the little toy back there. "...it's all right," she said as she straightened again. Her hands raised, but remained in the air, fingers curling in, uncertain if she should- if she could- touch him. Instead she pressed her hands to her abdomen. "I'll redo it. I'll replace all of it." No protection. The one thing she could do for him, stripped, gone. But when, when could she do it? She hadn't the means on Earth. She shouldn't go back to the Library, either, not yet...

"...come on," she said, reaching out, but waiting for him to take her hands. She sat down slowly. "Don't keep standing."

He looked at her hands, then belatedly took one, one small hand, in his. His thumb pressed into her palm and his fingers pressed up against the back of her hand, as if he were proving its existence.

But he did not sit. "I haven't bathed since Friday," he said candidly, though he still refused to look her straight in the eye. He was still staring at her hand in his. "Why you haven't set up a barrier yet..."

It was meant to be humorous, but his bleak tone ruined the effect.

She pressed her lips together, her free hand dropping to her lap, the other still held in his hand. Warm- too warm- reassuringly, painfully there. She held on.

"I don't smell very well," she admitted a little shamefacedly. Even at his best she would have taken it seriously. She looked at their hands, then with a sound got up from the couch again, standing up close to him. She looked at him consideringly, then sniffed. Smell wasn't an issue when you didn't breathe.

"...you do smell terrible," she confirmed, a little apologetically. "Do you want to bathe now, or...? I can heat the bath..."

"Blood, dirt, ash, smoke. Sweat, grime. That's what I smell like. That's what I am." He loosened his hold, then let go of her hand completely, his own dropping to his side. He looked away again, focusing on stairs. His chest still hurt, but the acute constriction upon seeing her had turned into a dull ache.

He smelled terrible -- not only his outside, but his inside, too. He turned and walked sluggishly down the hall to the bathroom, expecting her to follow.

The list did nothing to settle her fears, buried deep inside but slowly, surely rising to the surface, the longer she looked at him, the more he spoke. She wanted to reach out for his hand, but he turned and walked away from her, towards the bathroom. A few short, hurried steps, and she was behind him. Gently she reached out and touched the small of his back, pressing her hand there firmly as though to steady him.

The water she turned on, letting it pour in. She set a sigil underneath to heat it, then turned back to him. A strange look, like determination, set her features, and she reached up to undo the buttons of the shirt, to help him shrug out of it. She saw the wounds, still unhealed, along his arms, his torso. She did not linger on them. She crouched to undo the laces on the boots, an arm to help him step out of them and the too-short trousers. She kicked them aside. Perhaps she would burn them later.

She settled by the side of the tub when he got in, watching him with a wary protectiveness.

The clarity of the water was spoiled the moment he sunk into the bath. Dirt and ash, and the black flecks of singed skin that hadn't fallen off over the weekend detached from his body and floated into the water. The water felt ten times hotter against his holy-inflicted wounds; he sucked in a sharp breath, teeth clenched as he acclimated himself to it.

He sagged forward, shoulders hunched and arms resting between his legs, and stared at nothing. Reilanin was here. Reilanin came to check on him. He wasn't happy, but he didn't want her gone. No, he didn't want her gone. He wanted her to stay, even if it meant fighting against Ravindra some day. It was inevitable. His 'request' that she remain on Earth was only prolonging the inevitable.

If that was the case, why not have her back now? Everything about her was so simple, so straight-forward. He didn't have to prepare himself for her in the way that he did everyone else, no matter how little or how subtle. He just... was. But even with Reilanin, Alex did not trust himself to be one-hundred percent open. Likely there never would be a person he would. Akhilendra had been the closest and he'd-- he'd gotten burned for it.

She watched him settle, resting her arms on the edge of the tub. He stared at nothing, and realized he would sit there without a word, without doing anything, if she let him. She timidly flicked some water at him, smiling wanly. "Do you want me to wash your hair for you?"

Already she was standing, pulling her sleeves up, fussing with buttons and hooks, baring her arms. She settled behind him, her hands on either side of his face. She tilted his head back gently, looking at him, before she kissed his forehead lightly, sharp and cold for all its gentleness.

He hadn't been kidding. It was amazing how dirty he was. She touched the surface of the water, and the dirt repelled away from her touch, moving to the edges of the tub. She dipped her hands into the cleared water and, shielding his eyes, began to wet his hair down. There was no rushing to her actions, no desire to talk. There was a sadness to her still expression, to see the way that defeat permeated his body. She had never seen him so run down, so hard used. In contrast with the Alexander she used to know, he looked so... tired.

She took up the soap and started to massage it into his scalp, going from his forehead down towards his ears, then down towards the nap of his neck. Meticulous, but careful, as though she were afraid she might break him.

He gave her no answer, for she was already moving about. He was malleable in her hands, as if he, strangely, was the doll. There was a comfort in being guided by someone he loved, in being cared for despite the fact that he was a grown man. Her gentle massaging loosened not only the filth in his hair but the numbed layer around his heart. It wasn't something to be glad for; the removal of that layer left his exhaustion rawly exposed.

He was betrayed, and he would betray. That was the requisite to living.

He closed his eyes and swallowed back a ball of unhappiness. It leaked out of his eyes, instead.

"If I were gone, would you be all right?"

Was it an arrogant question? Perhaps she couldn't be called a grown woman, but she was a capable mage. It was a moot point. She would suffer a rift between herself and Ravindra regardless of his presence. It was inevitable. He wouldn't leave her to the league, not alone.

She slicked his hair back, beginning to rinse his hair in the same manner she had wet it. The water stayed warm despite her presence. A small cabinet to the side with towels and facecloths stacked up was reached for. Who had done the laundry? Akhilendra, probably.

How had that gone? She did not want to ask.

She wet the facecloth, got more soap. It was as she washed the back of his neck that the question came, and she hesitated, her movements stalling, but ultimately continuing.

"Yes..." Why was he asking? "Without complications..." She could live for centuries, so long as her crystal went untouched. The rest of her could break down and decay... ah, but that was going too far.

She settled her hands on his shoulders, leaning over to look at him. His face was wet. She had not yet washed it.

"Is it the league?" she asked softly, smoothing his hair back to plaster it to the side of his head while she went to scrub at his forehead.

Internally wondering if the matter was worth clarifying, he took a moment to answer her question. "One of."

His hands shifted underwater, right covering his left, rubbing the area where Annabelle's knife had been with his thumb. "There's something I want to do, but--" He pressed down on the back of his hand, then sighed. "Forget it."

There was no point in airing this grievance to her. What if she, like Akhi, disagreed? What if she didn't stop him, but left him? Oh, but that would solve the problem for him. It would.

"Will you go back?"

Unaware she hadn't answered the question with the right context in mind, she went over his shoulders with the cloth, uneasy with his silence but saying nothing to it. The cloth was already filthy.

She stood, using the small moveable step to sit on the edge of the tub beside him, dunking the cloth under and wringing it out before dunking it again. His words brought her eyes to him and she waited, patient, looking away briefly when he told her to forget it. She twisted the cloth a little again, expression mild, eyebrows raised slightly as she leaned over some. "Look at me," she instructed, though all she did was tilt his chin up and begin to wash his face. What could she say? She had secrets too.

But hers did not feel like the burdens he carried.

She liked the bathroom. Quiet, a little stuffy with the steam from the bath, the sound of water being moved, dripping onto the floor. Relaxing, in its own way. His question received a small sigh.

"I don't want to," she said, resting the wet cloth and her wet hands in her lap. "Not yet," she clarified, though it wasn't really an answer, either.

'Look at me', only to make him look up instead. Ah...

He turned his neck, looking straight into her eyes. "Would you work against him?"

She stared at him, hand still hovering below his chin where he'd wrested it away from her, at first uncomprehending.

Comprehension came with her still staring at him, and her expression did not seem to change with it, remaining neutral, though she leaned back from him. Her head tilted.

"Will you be?"

He continued to stare at her, into her, as if he meant to see through her skull. "I asked you first."

A moment passed before she looked away. "I wouldn't want to."

Not yes, or no.

"Nothing has been asked of me. Yet."

She looked at the grime pressed against the edges of the tub. Had all this come as part of the price he'd paid for helping Ravindra? But she felt no fear for herself. She looked back at Alexander.

"...it has of you, though."

There was a readjustment of thought, impression. The look she received in turn was unchanged.

"No," he said, lowering his eyes and returning his attention back to the front of the bath. "Not yet. I wish you wouldn't go. That's why I asked."

But she would go back, and he would be left with this decision. Left with Ravindra... and Akhilendra. His stomach tightened. He did not want tomorrow to come, or the next. Even if he couldn't meet Ravindra, he would have to make a decision. He would have to act on that decision. He didn't want to.

Not yet. But he was expecting it. It had been made clear what his choices would be.

If she could bring him with her... if there were some way they could just leave... not worry about anything... she ran her fingers through his wet hair again.

She dipped the cloth back into the water. She took his arm and rubbed it down, focusing on his fingers when she came to the end. She'd always liked his hands. She repeated the process silently with the other arm, the other hand, bent over as she scrubbed at his knuckles, the pads of his fingers. She forced herself to think about it, instead of letting the matter pass. She had to. And no answer was satisfactory. None ever could be.

When she thought of Ravindra, she thought of those who knew him. What was important to him. His sister. His guild. She could not imagine him being alone.

She turned Alexander's hand palm-up, massaging her thumb into the center while she thought, her dress wet as she rested his hand on her knee, eyes unseeing. She wanted to stay. She wanted to be here. Even if it meant betrayal. She didn't want to leave Alexander alone to do it. Reilanin brought his hand up, pressing the back to her mouth, simply resting it there while her fingers gripped his. She didn't know what to do.

There was nothing she could do about it. It was a very simple, albeit hard to swallow, truth.

Alex looked at her hand around his, her lips pressed against it, and felt so guilty. The unhappiness on her face was his own doing. He should have been happy to see her. How selfish was he, to want her here, but act indifferent when she actually was?

Eyes falling, he tugged his hand out of her grip. He did want her here. She would go back. He didn't want her to. He lifted himself forward, wrapped his arm around her small waist, and dragged her into the water. His other arm wrapped around her as he settled back against the end of the tub, holding her against his chest.

He was selfish, and he would be a little more. Her clothes could be dried and washed. If she was touched by his own filth in the water, well, it wasn't much different from his own influence on her life.

There was no warning except the pulling away of his hand, the lean towards her, and she didn't understand any of it until she hit the water. She yelped, automatically wrapping her arm around his neck, as though she could keep herself from falling in.

No use. It took only a few seconds before she was pulled in, dress and boots and all the rest of her, into the water with him. She sputtered, the splash having got most of her hair, and blinking, she reoriented herself, pulled against him, too hot, dripping wet. The dirty edges of the water slid over the rim of the tub, along with a fair amount of the clean stuff, displaced by the sudden volume of her. (Mostly her skirts, though.)

Had the situation been any less heavy, the look of shock on her face might have been funny. It might have been anyway.

"Alex."

That was all. A flat, dumbfounded statement of his name, inches from his face.

He drew her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin, and closed his eyes. None of her coldness seeped through her clothes and into him; the water mitigated the temperature difference enough for him not to feel it.

A disgruntled noise escaped her as he ignored her- not that there had been much to answer to- and pulled her in, arms wrapped around her. A moment passed before she breathed out through her nose, a giving up, an acceptance. She shifted, dropping her arm from around his neck to rest on his collarbone, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder before she settled.

"Can I go to see him first? If I stay? Before it starts?"

He opened his eyes and kept them on the sink. His response was delayed. "Think about it."

She nodded slightly at the answer, knowing it was going to hurt either way. She drew her fingers across his collarbone, shifted up to kiss his throat lightly, settled again. She wanted to stay. She'd missed his voice. She'd missed looking at him.

Would she be all right with him gone? Did it matter? She didn't want him gone. She didn't want to find out.

"In the morning. I'll decide then."

A minor irregularity in his breathing; he swallowed, evening it out, and didn't reply. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers against the tips of her hair. Absently, he drew his fingers up through her hair, thinking of other concerns, of lesser worries or interests that undoubtedly traced back to this.

A minute passed by in silence. It was joined by another, and another, and then another still. Alex would get out eventually, but if Reilanin wanted out sooner, then she would have to take the initiative.

His fingers in her hair was soothing. Any touch would have been, any reminder that he was there. That she was not alone in wanting to touch or to be touched. Much of the tension in her frame dissipated simply because he had decided to hold her.

She made no move to leave, but soon the sigil would burn out and the water would get cold, particularly with her in it. Despite the decision she had to make, she'd ceased to think about it, allowing herself the time to be content simply hugging herself to him. She would not sleep, but there was a certain drowsiness she felt, a calm she had been lacking on Earth. She would lose it again if she left. But if she stayed...

"I fear your lover's become a raisin," was the first thing he said, after the water had crossed lukewarm into cold. There was a forced lightness in his tone that sounded not forced at all but natural, with just a hint of it to sound like a recovery rather than a lie. It was a warm up. It was the start.

Holding Reilanin against him still, Alex rose from the water. It was amazing how much of it her skirts had absorbed. He staggered, not expecting that much additional weight, and placed an open palm against the wall reflexively.

He looked down at her face, then her soaked clothes clinging to her figure and billowing out on the surface of the water.

She hummed in question, roused from whatever state she'd fallen into. She shifted a little to give him space to rise, surprised at how heavy she was, how hard it was to come out of the water. Feeling him stumble, she reached out as well, hand on the wall below his, other arm around his middle to keep herself upright.

Mystified, she looked down as well, before looking back up to him, eyes wide. That strange sensation bubbled up in her again, coming from a slightly different, not the derision and anger she had felt before, but breaking off from incredulous into the absurd. She laughed, bowing her head as she did so, pressing her forehead to his chest.

"I can't- get out-" she said between fits. She finally got the idea to reach back, to start undoing buttons. They could fish it all out after she was out of the tub.

He continued to stare at her, feeling something was amiss. It took him a good second or two to realize Reilanin had laughed. A laugh in itself wasn't surprising, but it threw him just the slightest bit off, having never heard that sound from her throat before now.

Quietly, he helped her out of her clothes, not sharing in her mirth.

Stripped down to her underthings, she was finally able to pull herself out of the tub, sitting on the edge and dragging her legs over. Her boots squelched as she settled on the ground. She felt warm and sluggish, and her crystal beat at a slowed rate. She turned to take his hand, his arm, as though she could help him out, and seeing her clothes there in the tub she started to snicker again.

A towel was grabbed, and she reached up to ruffle his hair with it, settling it on his shoulders before taking another to wrap around his waist. She hobbled to the side of the tub and set to unlacing her boots, kicking them aside to let them drain out before she reached into the tub and drained the water.

He hadn't washed down the rest of his body, but he followed her lead without complaint. The hot water had broken down the grime on his skin. He wasn't pristine, but he was no longer filthy.

It was truly a shame, a waste, that he couldn't appreciate cold, factual Reilanin laughing and snickering at her sopping wet clothes. It was a shame he was surprisingly aware of. He turned away while she drained the tub, drying his hair vigorously, then turning around again to wrap the towel around Reilanin and dry her off, too.

"I am sorry. About the boots."

She lifted her arms slightly as he towelled her down, cinching the cloth about her and she had control of it. Lacking the height the boots had given her, she leaned up, hands on his shoulders, to kiss him lightly.

"It's all right. They'll dry." She'd dry them later. Things like that were rarely ruined in the hands of a mage. She did not comment on his lack of amusement, let it be as it was and did not demand a change of attitude. "Help me get my dress out."

Lips around human flesh, tongue that lapped human blood. Alex kept his lips flat against Reilanin's kiss.

He bent down to grab her dress, expecting the weight this time. He lifted and wrung it out, twisting once this way, then the other the next, and tighter once more, but the thing about wet clothes was that they never felt much lighter until they were fully dry. "I'll put it in the kitchen?"

Reilanin watched him wring her dress out, somewhat concerned with the process, as though the roughing up of her clothes was of importance to her. Satisfied, she stood back and tilted her head at the question. "...yes, that's fine. I'll be out in a moment," she said, crouching down to pick up her boots.

With him out of the bathroom, she also bent down to pick up the borrowed clothes. She put them in the tub, and with a vicious snap, set them ablaze. All of five seconds and they were nothing but ash.

She turned on the tub again to wash the mess down the drain before she turned her attention to her boots.

The smell of burned material rolled lazily into the kitchen as he adjusted the corner of Reilanin's skirt, after the ash had already swirled down the drain. Alex wondered what she could have wanted to burn in there, but was not concerned enough to see for himself. The dress he had laid over the kitchen table was mostly straightened out; his hand lingered on that corner before smoothing it out.

She'd make her decision tomorrow. She meant to stay the night.

He exhaled with a heavy sigh, weary gratitude flooding his bones. Retrieving the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table, he used it to rinse his mouth, sloshing the liquor around before spitting it into the sink. He knocked back three gulps before slamming the bottle onto the counter, relishing the burning sensation as it traveled down his esophagus and into the pit of his stomach.

No more thinking. Not tonight.

She joined him a moment later, running her fingers through her hair- clasp off, left in the bathroom by the sink- to smooth it down after a rather vigorous rubbing. The bottle on the counter made her jump a little, but she approached regardless, passing close by him to go to the table, to look at her dress there. She'd take care of it in the morning, she supposed. Get the wrinkles out of it, any of the grime it had soaked up from the bathwater. She picked at a sleeve with a brief glance over the material and then let it go, turning back to him. She took up the bottle herself, looked at it, took a sip. She ended up coughing and put it back down, looking vaguely embarrassed, an impression compounded by the way she seemed to pretend it hadn't happened at all, even though she coughed a little again a few moments later, taking herself by surprise with the need to.

It was dark out now. He'd arrived at dusk- she didn't know how long they'd lain in the bath, but long enough for the sky to go pitch black. She could tell, even with the curtains closed. She looked back up to him from one of the covered curtains, and wordlessly took his hand. Out of the kitchen, up the stairs she lead him, down the hall, into the bedroom. She dug in the closet, offering pants or a shirt or any other thing out of it for him, settling on one of his shirts for herself once she'd taken off her underclothes, still damp. He'd sat down to watch her, pulled her in before she'd turned back, drawing her up onto the bed with him.

She didn't know what her decision would be. Or, perhaps, she feared that she did, and simply wished to give the illusion of needing to think longer on the matter before she came to her decision. Either way, he draped his arms around her, finding her hands, linking their fingers together, unprepared to let go of her anytime soon- or, as the case seemed to be, totally prepared to keep hold of her.

She was still slightly warm from the bath, not as cold as she normally was. She did not mind his silence, did not question his sullenness. Perhaps he would feel better in the morning. Perhaps not. But when he fell asleep, she remained awake, simply to hear him breathing, and to feel him around her, as though she were the one afraid he would be gone when the sun rose.