[ There’s a dim blue light shinning on Cadence’s face when she blearily opens her eyes. As her vision comes back into focus, so too does the light’s source: a sleek alarm clock resting on the side table reading 01:37.
She shoots up with a jolt, yanking some of the covers with her movement as she does. She’s slept over, at least partially, and the idea alone sends her into a silent panic. She looks around for her dress, but the clock’s light isn't enough to make out anything more than a foot or so from the side table. She starts moving toward the edge of the bed, trying to feel around with her feet for crumpled cloth. ]
[ Clay was lying back in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness when Cadence started and forced him toward the latter. He reached for her, his fingers looking her wrist. The first came with a sleepy depth to it, but he quickly becomes more alert. ]
[ Cadence nearly jumps when she feels the fingers closed around her wrist; her face is a vision of open anxiety before it shutters back into a neutral expression as she quickly regains control of herself. ]
Later than I expected, that’s all. I should grab my things are head out—watch your eyes, I’m going to turn on the light.
[ Clay makes a noncommittal noise and watches her expression shift. Half-intoxicated with the lingering endorphins, he wonders if those has to do with his reply even as he hears it being offered. Maybe it’s a response to the mirrored trepidation, and not wanting to be alone with his. ]
You might as well stay. It’s Friday night.
[ He trails his fingers over her wrist as he withdraws his hand back to him. Clay is halfway up now, leaning his elbow on the pillow to prop his upper half. Amber eyes follow her movements carefully- warily- unconscious of the bit of pleading there, too. ]
[ Cadence’s fingers linger on the switch of the bedside lamp while she sits in silence. It’d be easy to ignore him, gather up her things; she’s got enough cab companies’ numbers saved that she should still be able to grab a cab this late.
After an impossibly long couple of minutes, she slides back down, pulling the sheet over her shoulder. She keeps her back to Clay while she tries to tamp down her fight-or-flight instincts. ]
[ It truly is a long couple of minutes, and he spends it trying to figure out what’s going through her mind. Clay doesn’t move. Perched against the pillow, he watches her, making a mental map of the way her the silhouette of her back curves into shoulder blades and to her waist.
Clay is about to tell her it was a stupid idea (What were you thinking?) when she speaks. Something feels like it rose into the base of his throat, making him unable to respond right away. It worked in his benefit, as he almost had the childlike reaction of joy like your mother said your friend could spend the night. He swallows the lump and that idiotic feeling. ]
Okay. [ The feeling re-emerges half heartedly, but thankfully it’s dark; human eyes couldn’t see the relief that unfolded the creases in his forehead. His free arm taps the mattress in front of him softly. ]
[ Cadence feels the vibrations on the bed from Clay’s pats, but keeps herself rigidly faced away from him, eyes closed while she tries to parse out how she’s feeling and comes up empty.
She’s dealt just fine with bad situations and nervous gut feelings before; several lifetimes of betrayal and disappointment have honed her instincts well enough, and the beast-like instincts given to her by her curse have filled most of the remaining gaps in her survival instincts quite well.
She’s never dealt with an active contradiction like this before, at least not in a very long time: the same drive to grab her stuff and call a cab is now fighting against the urge to roll over and pulling him closer, breath him in a little more.
The latter wins out; wordlessly she rolls to face him, trying to make out his features in the darkness. ]
[ It’s going to be a long game if it continues like this: trying to figure her out is harder than Clay ever expected. He fully expected an excuse, she always had one. He fully expected her to lie down with her back to him- he would tentatively put an arm around her to keep it in a semblance of post-second or -third date bedroom pillow talk.
Instead, she stays. She turns. She’s facing him. Clay smells the vague sea washed salt of her scent, and he breathes it gratefully. She lies on his maroon sheets, on his mattress, and puts her arms to him- not without hesitation- but on her own terms, nonetheless.
The glow of the alarm clock is now casting her face into shadow, making a hazy blue follow around her blond hair mussed from sleep and tumbling around.
He cups her face, thumb pushing a loose few hairs to her ear. There’s no expression to find in this lighting, but he imagines through her pauses in decision making: she’s unsure, nervous, and she needed to know she’s holding cards. He knows enough to guess that much, even if he has no idea what’s she’s thinking or going to do next. ]
I’m happy you’re here.
[ A pause and he moves his pillow-propped head toward hers a fraction. ]
[ Most of what Clay envisions is pretty close to the mark; the silhouette of the alarm clock shields Cadence’s facial expressions, sure, but there’s a tension in her posture that’s still visible in the low light. She doesn’t shirk away from Clay’s touch at first, but doesn’t lean into it either, her mind trying to parse together how to her (metaphorical) grounding back.
Clay’s expression doesn’t help the sinking feeling in her gut: while her body blocks some of the light, she can still make out the half-hope in his eyes and it makes her want to break something, anything to get him to stop. ]
If I’m staying, I need to get some rest.
[ The best she can come up with is her tried and true default: let her words form the protective barriers she needs as she shifts back, still facing him but further towards the edge of the bed. She may stay, but it won’t be filled with sweet nothings. It’s just about her trying to get a longer stint of sleep, plain and simple: she tells herself freaking out suggests that there’s more to it, which there isn’t. ]
[ A very small, amused smirk crosses his face in the dark. Clay lifts and repositions the pillow to not draw attention to his backing away to where he was before she lay down. ]
Mmkay. Wake me up if you need anything. I’m usually up by 8.
[ He blearily looks at the clock and back to Cadence. ] ‘Night.
[ Cadence doesn’t like the look of that smile on his face at all, and she accordingly meets him with silence as she adjusts her pillow and closes her eyes.
An early riser, Cadence should be more than capable of getting up and out by the time he says he wakes, and the knowledge calms her slightly as she drifts off again; it’s just a night, she can pump the breaks at any point. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
She shoots up with a jolt, yanking some of the covers with her movement as she does. She’s slept over, at least partially, and the idea alone sends her into a silent panic. She looks around for her dress, but the clock’s light isn't enough to make out anything more than a foot or so from the side table. She starts moving toward the edge of the bed, trying to feel around with her feet for crumpled cloth. ]
no subject
[ Clay was lying back in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness when Cadence started and forced him toward the latter. He reached for her, his fingers looking her wrist. The first came with a sleepy depth to it, but he quickly becomes more alert. ]
Cadence- you all right?
no subject
Later than I expected, that’s all. I should grab my things are head out—watch your eyes, I’m going to turn on the light.
no subject
[ Clay makes a noncommittal noise and watches her expression shift. Half-intoxicated with the lingering endorphins, he wonders if those has to do with his reply even as he hears it being offered. Maybe it’s a response to the mirrored trepidation, and not wanting to be alone with his. ]
You might as well stay. It’s Friday night.
[ He trails his fingers over her wrist as he withdraws his hand back to him. Clay is halfway up now, leaning his elbow on the pillow to prop his upper half. Amber eyes follow her movements carefully- warily- unconscious of the bit of pleading there, too. ]
…If you want to.
no subject
After an impossibly long couple of minutes, she slides back down, pulling the sheet over her shoulder. She keeps her back to Clay while she tries to tamp down her fight-or-flight instincts. ]
…Okay.
no subject
Clay is about to tell her it was a stupid idea (What were you thinking?) when she speaks. Something feels like it rose into the base of his throat, making him unable to respond right away. It worked in his benefit, as he almost had the childlike reaction of joy like your mother said your friend could spend the night. He swallows the lump and that idiotic feeling. ]
Okay. [ The feeling re-emerges half heartedly, but thankfully it’s dark; human eyes couldn’t see the relief that unfolded the creases in his forehead. His free arm taps the mattress in front of him softly. ]
C’mere.
no subject
She’s dealt just fine with bad situations and nervous gut feelings before; several lifetimes of betrayal and disappointment have honed her instincts well enough, and the beast-like instincts given to her by her curse have filled most of the remaining gaps in her survival instincts quite well.
She’s never dealt with an active contradiction like this before, at least not in a very long time: the same drive to grab her stuff and call a cab is now fighting against the urge to roll over and pulling him closer, breath him in a little more.
The latter wins out; wordlessly she rolls to face him, trying to make out his features in the darkness. ]
no subject
Instead, she stays. She turns. She’s facing him. Clay smells the vague sea washed salt of her scent, and he breathes it gratefully. She lies on his maroon sheets, on his mattress, and puts her arms to him- not without hesitation- but on her own terms, nonetheless.
The glow of the alarm clock is now casting her face into shadow, making a hazy blue follow around her blond hair mussed from sleep and tumbling around.
He cups her face, thumb pushing a loose few hairs to her ear. There’s no expression to find in this lighting, but he imagines through her pauses in decision making: she’s unsure, nervous, and she needed to know she’s holding cards. He knows enough to guess that much, even if he has no idea what’s she’s thinking or going to do next. ]
I’m happy you’re here.
[ A pause and he moves his pillow-propped head toward hers a fraction. ]
…I’m glad you stayed.
no subject
Clay’s expression doesn’t help the sinking feeling in her gut: while her body blocks some of the light, she can still make out the half-hope in his eyes and it makes her want to break something, anything to get him to stop. ]
If I’m staying, I need to get some rest.
[ The best she can come up with is her tried and true default: let her words form the protective barriers she needs as she shifts back, still facing him but further towards the edge of the bed. She may stay, but it won’t be filled with sweet nothings. It’s just about her trying to get a longer stint of sleep, plain and simple: she tells herself freaking out suggests that there’s more to it, which there isn’t. ]
no subject
Mmkay. Wake me up if you need anything. I’m usually up by 8.
[ He blearily looks at the clock and back to Cadence. ] ‘Night.
no subject
An early riser, Cadence should be more than capable of getting up and out by the time he says he wakes, and the knowledge calms her slightly as she drifts off again; it’s just a night, she can pump the breaks at any point. ]