[ She isn't the same restless, energetic sort that Jaime is, even under stress; are her movements are deliberate, and the positions she takes are stable. She remains with her head against his shoulder, posture angled to accommodate the arm around her shoulders, her own arms slack with her hands at rest against the sleeping dogs. There's no more idle fussing or lazy affection; just the slow swell and compress for tired breathing. With the way she's curled, and folded, and — if not relaxed, then at least for how less tense she holds herself, she seems smaller, more delicate. After the fracture of crying not so long ago, it shouldn't seem so surprising, but for all that she always confesses her weaknesses, and calls herself frail, she rarely looks that way. Her rigidity, and her affected indifference, and her deliberate distance — they'd formed a sort of exoskeleton of some quality that's absent now.
She doesn't notice his scrutiny. The gentleness of approach reverberates in every point of contact; it smooths, and quiets, and comforts. ]
The air was cleaner. And bright. Like the good part of summer. [ Her speech drops around the edges of words, the sounds softened. She answers Jaime, but it doesn't seem like she's talking to him — caught up in memory, and fatigue. ] We were so close to the sky, it felt like you could... reach out, and touch the sun. Or the stars...
[ It's a strange feeling, thinking about that old house. That old world, that old life; it's so far away, and so long ago, now. It's strange, too, — after everything that's happened since then, over these past years, and months, and these last weeks, and hours — to feel safe.
[ Jaime's a people pleaser. He cares. And that means, sometimes, his immediate response is to try to smooth things over and make them better, figure out ways to tar up whatever holes he can find, replace them with brighter things. He resists suggesting anything straight off the bat, but he's already thinking of ways to find something a little like it for Ruka, some place cool and clean and bright, just for a while.
He could take her flying somewhere, like he'd taken her before. To some other mountain, maybe. It'd be nice to do it for some reason that isn't unfortunate port-ins or recently suffered traveling. And besides, he loves to fly.
Jaime glances down at her, her expression a little lost. He almost thinks that she'll fall asleep at any moment, and he won't mind if she does; she could probably use the sleep, and his shoulder used to be a popular pillow, not so long ago. He keeps his voice soft and gentle, urging more conversation if she wants to talk, but not demanding it.
Considering the regular timbre of his voice, there's not a huge change. ]
Did you live somewhere with a lot of skyscrapers? Or on a mountain?
[ Self-debate looks to have lost him the open window: there's no answer. The slip into sleep is a quiet, unremarkable thing. No sudden slump for legs falling off the couch, no shifting of weight to dislodge her position. Tension remains. It seems it always does.
The real miracle is that, once asleep, she's asleep — for better or for worse. The comings and goings and the repositioning of dogs won't disturb her, and even Jaime's inevitable restless movement could be endured. It had been troublesome, when she lived with Karkat — he could always tell when rest inevitably made its turn into the net of nightmares, and waking her back out of them could be an ordeal all its own. Here and for now, though, the quiet remains tranquil, TV still droning in the background. It may only be a momentary peace, but that has to count for something. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She doesn't notice his scrutiny. The gentleness of approach reverberates in every point of contact; it smooths, and quiets, and comforts. ]
The air was cleaner. And bright. Like the good part of summer. [ Her speech drops around the edges of words, the sounds softened. She answers Jaime, but it doesn't seem like she's talking to him — caught up in memory, and fatigue. ] We were so close to the sky, it felt like you could... reach out, and touch the sun. Or the stars...
[ It's a strange feeling, thinking about that old house. That old world, that old life; it's so far away, and so long ago, now. It's strange, too, — after everything that's happened since then, over these past years, and months, and these last weeks, and hours — to feel safe.
She can't remember the last time. ]
no subject
He could take her flying somewhere, like he'd taken her before. To some other mountain, maybe. It'd be nice to do it for some reason that isn't unfortunate port-ins or recently suffered traveling. And besides, he loves to fly.
Jaime glances down at her, her expression a little lost. He almost thinks that she'll fall asleep at any moment, and he won't mind if she does; she could probably use the sleep, and his shoulder used to be a popular pillow, not so long ago. He keeps his voice soft and gentle, urging more conversation if she wants to talk, but not demanding it.
Considering the regular timbre of his voice, there's not a huge change. ]
Did you live somewhere with a lot of skyscrapers? Or on a mountain?
no subject
The real miracle is that, once asleep, she's asleep — for better or for worse. The comings and goings and the repositioning of dogs won't disturb her, and even Jaime's inevitable restless movement could be endured. It had been troublesome, when she lived with Karkat — he could always tell when rest inevitably made its turn into the net of nightmares, and waking her back out of them could be an ordeal all its own. Here and for now, though, the quiet remains tranquil, TV still droning in the background. It may only be a momentary peace, but that has to count for something. ]