On an awful night after long hours thinking their brother might die, and the smell of hospital seeped into their clothing, and now in need of comfort, a well-adjusted person probably would've offered a reassuring hug. Or even just his arm around her shoulders. Or just sitting there together, in companionable silence, staving off the darkness a little longer. Or, at least when leaving, perhaps delivering a friendly kiss to the top of her head before drawing away.
But the Academy hadn't been trained that way.
So Luther finishes off his whiskey — one glass, even neat, isn't enough to make a dent in him — and slowly rises to his feet again.
(Maybe someday, he'll linger; he'll stay just for the sake of staying, for the low murmur of conversation, for being near each other. But he's been awake too long and there's that exhaustion buzzing in his wrong shape, so recently disoriented, and this house is alien and unfamiliar too — not decked in their childhood posters and magazines, all the old comforting touchstones gone, and the only thing that's right is Allison, here, in front of him.
The silence lingers, not long, before Luther is pushing himself to his feet, and Allison takes a moment before deciding to even let her gaze travel all the way back up to the top of his height, as he says those words. There's something she can't really parse. Whether it's a sting or an ache, or just the inflation of exhaustion, that knows he's right, knows they both should sleep.
This place never lets itself lull long, and they'll need to see Klaus again, and the house has to be seen to.
Still, she finds herself swallowing and only nodding. Not reaching even for the four letters of any sort word. Okay. Good. Fine. Right. Allison just nods, against the weight of her eyelids and the unshaped one inside of her chest. She wonders how many minutes this even really was. Should be, is, grateful he felt he could, but there's something sore in it, too. A door opened and closed so quickly.
She has to remember she started this, too. With only two words.
(She could blame Klaus, but it's not what started this.)
And besides, it got started years ago, a snowball tipped into motion and rolling inexorably down the mountain, gathering weight and heft with every year. Even with those years apart, they hadn't lost any of it.
Luther can't tell how long this little meeting had taken, either: it simultaneously felt too brief and too small, and also like it had dragged on forever, the awkward lurch of the conversation intolerable. Moreso for how conversations between them had never been awkward before.
He lets himself back out of Allison's room, and closes the door behind him. Pauses there on the landing, listening to the house settle around them. Wonders if he's made a mistake.
But in the end, Luther turns and goes back to his room.
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obediences) wrote2019-03-28 10:51 am
no subject
On an awful night after long hours thinking their brother might die, and the smell of hospital seeped into their clothing, and now in need of comfort, a well-adjusted person probably would've offered a reassuring hug. Or even just his arm around her shoulders. Or just sitting there together, in companionable silence, staving off the darkness a little longer. Or, at least when leaving, perhaps delivering a friendly kiss to the top of her head before drawing away.
But the Academy hadn't been trained that way.
So Luther finishes off his whiskey — one glass, even neat, isn't enough to make a dent in him — and slowly rises to his feet again.
(Maybe someday, he'll linger; he'll stay just for the sake of staying, for the low murmur of conversation, for being near each other. But he's been awake too long and there's that exhaustion buzzing in his wrong shape, so recently disoriented, and this house is alien and unfamiliar too — not decked in their childhood posters and magazines, all the old comforting touchstones gone, and the only thing that's right is Allison, here, in front of him.
Which means he should stay.
But he doesn't know how to.)
"I should let you get some rest," he says.
no subject
This place never lets itself lull long, and they'll need to see Klaus again, and the house has to be seen to.
Still, she finds herself swallowing and only nodding. Not reaching even for the four letters of any sort word. Okay. Good. Fine. Right. Allison just nods, against the weight of her eyelids and the unshaped one inside of her chest. She wonders how many minutes this even really was. Should be, is, grateful he felt he could, but there's something sore in it, too. A door opened and closed so quickly.
She has to remember she started this, too. With only two words.
(She could blame Klaus, but it's not what started this.)
end
Luther can't tell how long this little meeting had taken, either: it simultaneously felt too brief and too small, and also like it had dragged on forever, the awkward lurch of the conversation intolerable. Moreso for how conversations between them had never been awkward before.
He lets himself back out of Allison's room, and closes the door behind him. Pauses there on the landing, listening to the house settle around them. Wonders if he's made a mistake.
But in the end, Luther turns and goes back to his room.