quietmounds | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHAT in person
WHERE wherever there's a street :)
WHEN Day 27

[ Wherever you are there is a somewhat ominous ice cream truck nearby. Playing its ominous music. Driving slowly. If you try to approach though, it vanishes, leaving your fingers feeling weirdly sticky as if you had been eating the most delicious ice cream drumstick in your life.

and you crave ... something... what, well, that probably depends on the person, hm? ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No day will ever be that day.

Your loss.

I'm not saying I wouldn't love that, I'm just a very quick draw when it comes to soothing my own ego.

Don't I know it.

[shoulder pat]

You should get some rest.

You're not going to make me go home to do that, right? I'm so very weak.

[making his best pitiful face (it's not convincing) and slouching into the couch]

And the elevator is so very, very far.

I don't mind if you crash here, no.

[grinning and shifting into a more comfortable position on the couch]

Have I told you yet that I love you?

[getting up and taking his plate back to the kitchen]

Take a nap, Tony.

[closing his eyes, fully exhausted]

Yes ma'am.

[she's just puttering around quietly for a bit, washing up his breakfast dishes before she comes back into the living room to settle down in an armchair and mark some papers, keeping him company but letting him sleep.]

[Tony doesn't manage to stay awake much longer than it takes her to walk to the kitchen, out like a light by the time she makes it back]

[honestly that's a relief. she'll just hang out at home and keep an eye on him, then, working in silence.]

[not waking until pretty far into the evening, disoriented when he does]

Shit, what did I do. Where is this.

[looking up from the book she's reading. she hasn't stayed in one spot all day she got up and made herself lunch and watered her plants and stuff. she has a lot of plants, although not enough to make it weird.]

You fell asleep on my couch. How are you feeling...?

[looking around and getting his bearings, sort of blinking awake]

Like I've been hit by a truck. A small truck.

[putting a glass of water and an advil on the coffee table near him]

No surprise there...

[realizing something and touching his chest]

...right.

You were out most of the day.

[grabbing for the water and pills]

It feels like it. Ugh. Sleeping is the worst.

I think you needed it.

[sitting up at last]

...maybe.

[sitting beside him now that there's room on the couch, giving him an assessing look]

I'm fine.

[he does, on fact, look significantly better]

[fine fine, she drops her gaze, with a quiet chuckle]

God forbid I show concern.

[scrubbing his face with his hands]

Sorry.