He lets loose a small exhaled oof, Gwenaëlle’s weight (slight but not nothing) pressing some air out of his lungs. It’s like having a weighted blanket, and so, still quite nice and oddly soothing, even with his chin pressed into the mattress and her hair ticklish across his bare skin.
This is a lot to be bombarded with, when she’s clear-eyed and alert and has the advantage of him and he’s still sleep-addled, but:
“What?” Stephen asks, slowly coming awake. “That’s… absurd. You know everything that matters about me.”
— does she, though? He’s starting to wrack his mind to recall details before there’s a thoughtful pause, then an amendment, “You know more about me than anyone else here. But I can… What would you like? My middle name’s Vincent.”
(Small pieces of trivia, innocent factoids, I wanted to be a guitarist. He’s always been incredibly open with her about his life as a sorcerer, the pivot from surgery to sorcery, but there are long gaps and swathes on that canvas which remain blank. The earliest years, in particular.)
no subject
This is a lot to be bombarded with, when she’s clear-eyed and alert and has the advantage of him and he’s still sleep-addled, but:
“What?” Stephen asks, slowly coming awake. “That’s… absurd. You know everything that matters about me.”
— does she, though? He’s starting to wrack his mind to recall details before there’s a thoughtful pause, then an amendment, “You know more about me than anyone else here. But I can… What would you like? My middle name’s Vincent.”
(Small pieces of trivia, innocent factoids, I wanted to be a guitarist. He’s always been incredibly open with her about his life as a sorcerer, the pivot from surgery to sorcery, but there are long gaps and swathes on that canvas which remain blank. The earliest years, in particular.)