Don't know about horses – I'm thinking pancakes. And bacon, there's still some in the fridge if I'm not fully wrong.
⟪ she'd been mulling over asking bill, when bill had made the choice for her. sent her a clean, quick text, letting her know that sam needs a few days. clear his head. she thanks her for telling her, and... and that was that. there's no need to prod, she's got the answer she wants from anyone not sam: that he's... if not okay, at least trying to do some form of taking care of himself. space is good sometimes, she's not begrudging him that. much as she wants to help him, much as she'd like to be able to ease his mind always, she knows that's not realistic, and it's not how these things work.
what she has accepted a while ago, about sam and about people in general, is that the past does and doesn't matter, both at once.
it doesn't matter when she kisses him, when she feels his morning's stubble against her cheek, when his hand's on her hip and she's thinking of the breakfast she'll make, of going on just from where they'd left of. doesn't matter what he's been through. doesn't matter that breakfast, for years, was something she had to dig out of dumpsters in her fox form, mindful of bleach and glass and all the other shit people tossed in there.
but she sees the sores on his hand. sees the way his expression closed, just for a moment, when he saw her. the past is part of the sum of their parts. ⟫
You know, your timing's pretty great. ⟪ she says it with a warm smile, as she steps on over and into the kitchen, much as she'd rather stay tucked close against him. ⟫ One of the guys on Jace's team cracked his ankle, so he's off the bench and playing on Saturday.
⟪ this feels like the kind of news he'd want to hear first. after all, the fact that jace is back in school at all, never even mind playing sports, is in part all due to sam. ⟫ If you're up for it, we should go see him play.
no subject
⟪ she'd been mulling over asking bill, when bill had made the choice for her. sent her a clean, quick text, letting her know that sam needs a few days. clear his head. she thanks her for telling her, and... and that was that. there's no need to prod, she's got the answer she wants from anyone not sam: that he's... if not okay, at least trying to do some form of taking care of himself. space is good sometimes, she's not begrudging him that. much as she wants to help him, much as she'd like to be able to ease his mind always, she knows that's not realistic, and it's not how these things work.
what she has accepted a while ago, about sam and about people in general, is that the past does and doesn't matter, both at once.
it doesn't matter when she kisses him, when she feels his morning's stubble against her cheek, when his hand's on her hip and she's thinking of the breakfast she'll make, of going on just from where they'd left of. doesn't matter what he's been through. doesn't matter that breakfast, for years, was something she had to dig out of dumpsters in her fox form, mindful of bleach and glass and all the other shit people tossed in there.
but she sees the sores on his hand. sees the way his expression closed, just for a moment, when he saw her. the past is part of the sum of their parts. ⟫
You know, your timing's pretty great. ⟪ she says it with a warm smile, as she steps on over and into the kitchen, much as she'd rather stay tucked close against him. ⟫ One of the guys on Jace's team cracked his ankle, so he's off the bench and playing on Saturday.
⟪ this feels like the kind of news he'd want to hear first. after all, the fact that jace is back in school at all, never even mind playing sports, is in part all due to sam. ⟫ If you're up for it, we should go see him play.