[ That flicker of warmth flashes through their connection, and Faraday spends a second puzzling over it, over why the sensation is as comforting as it is frightening.
If he had more distance to this strange evening, he'd find the whole thing laughable: going from snapping and snarling at each other like caged animals, to Faraday packing up his things and attempting an escape, to easing onto unstable ground and sharing a bed. It's likely that the quickness of it all has left Faraday in something of a daze, careening from one extreme to another. How else can he explain why he's gone from stepping out onto the street, intent on hobbling his way to the closest bus station, to lying with Emma goddamn Cullen in her bedroom?
Maybe in the morning he'll feel something beyond this uncertainty, this nervousness that tells him he's bound to screw something up, as was his way. For now, though, it fills him up, drones in his ears like a second pulse.
But her question, the mundaneness of it, makes him laugh a little; that's the sort of question one asks a guest, sitting on a lumpy couch. Or an ailing friend, resting in an unfamiliar chair. Some of his anxiety ebbs, and he forces himself to relax a little.
(Maybe they're just both lonely, a small voice tells him. Would it be much of a surprise if that were true?) ]
'M just fine.
[ he makes himself settle a little further, shuffling down a ways to get comfortable. It's a little odd for Faraday, sharing a bed without expecting sex to come into the equation, but speaking that thought aloud would likely shatter the brittle truce they've formed. ]
no subject
If he had more distance to this strange evening, he'd find the whole thing laughable: going from snapping and snarling at each other like caged animals, to Faraday packing up his things and attempting an escape, to easing onto unstable ground and sharing a bed. It's likely that the quickness of it all has left Faraday in something of a daze, careening from one extreme to another. How else can he explain why he's gone from stepping out onto the street, intent on hobbling his way to the closest bus station, to lying with Emma goddamn Cullen in her bedroom?
Maybe in the morning he'll feel something beyond this uncertainty, this nervousness that tells him he's bound to screw something up, as was his way. For now, though, it fills him up, drones in his ears like a second pulse.
But her question, the mundaneness of it, makes him laugh a little; that's the sort of question one asks a guest, sitting on a lumpy couch. Or an ailing friend, resting in an unfamiliar chair. Some of his anxiety ebbs, and he forces himself to relax a little.
(Maybe they're just both lonely, a small voice tells him. Would it be much of a surprise if that were true?) ]
'M just fine.
[ he makes himself settle a little further, shuffling down a ways to get comfortable. It's a little odd for Faraday, sharing a bed without expecting sex to come into the equation, but speaking that thought aloud would likely shatter the brittle truce they've formed. ]
Get back to sleep. Mornin's not too far off.