[Eventually, the time comes when Myr cannot fight the creeping exhaustion any longer--even for all the novelty and awe of watching L at his craft. He struggles for it like a child trying to sit vigil the night before Satinalia, knowing that even though sleep will hasten morning's arrival, there's a certain magic in sitting up to greet the dawn.
But he will not, tonight, for the first time in many nights; as L promised, he'll sleep better than he has in weeks. His imagined-self's own eyes slide closed as the desert quiets and its colors fade in their intensity. (All but the eyes, reliably and startlingly green; they remain vivid until L shuts the last of them.)
In the waking world, the Faun relaxes, still leaning into the hand on his temple, his hand fallen to rest on his Bonded's knee and his expression--at last--one of slack peace. The sunbeam he'd been sitting in fades with the evening's onset, leaving the cottage in a dim gloom that seems, now, more restful than dismal.]
[L had promised his Bonded sleep, and the satisfaction of delivering feels well-earned when he lays the staff down beside the dream representation of his slumbering Bonded, then opens his eyes to where, in the soft glow of a setting sun and wrapped in a quilt, Myr is breathing softly in his chair, still wrapped in his quilt and with a hand on one of L's bony knees.
He reaches out cautiously to rest one of his atop Myr's knuckles, and he lingers for twenty minutes or so while realizing that he can't stay, not fully or truly. Like the fading golden hour outside, he, too, should depart while he is still wanted and welcome.
Telekinetically, he draws two plump throw pillows over, propping one under Myr's head and using the other as a placeholder once he's extricated from his own chair.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote2019-08-01 12:00 am
no subject
But he will not, tonight, for the first time in many nights; as L promised, he'll sleep better than he has in weeks. His imagined-self's own eyes slide closed as the desert quiets and its colors fade in their intensity. (All but the eyes, reliably and startlingly green; they remain vivid until L shuts the last of them.)
In the waking world, the Faun relaxes, still leaning into the hand on his temple, his hand fallen to rest on his Bonded's knee and his expression--at last--one of slack peace. The sunbeam he'd been sitting in fades with the evening's onset, leaving the cottage in a dim gloom that seems, now, more restful than dismal.]
no subject
He reaches out cautiously to rest one of his atop Myr's knuckles, and he lingers for twenty minutes or so while realizing that he can't stay, not fully or truly. Like the fading golden hour outside, he, too, should depart while he is still wanted and welcome.
Telekinetically, he draws two plump throw pillows over, propping one under Myr's head and using the other as a placeholder once he's extricated from his own chair.]