2 Nuke Drabbles
So, I don't do drabbles often, but sometimes you just got things in your head that you need to write down, am I right? Hehe. So I wrote two Nuke drabbles concerning Noah's blindness, both completely AU. One from Luke's POV, one from Noah's. Both are PG. :-)
Hope you like!
~G
The first day Noah cried over losing his eyesight was the day he was discharged from the hospital.
He and I had walked outside together, out into the sunshine and the cool breeze, past the trees where the birds were chirping and right on by the man-made flowerbed in the parking lot. He sat in the passenger seat of my car, in his denim jacket, the sunshine glinting off his hair, and said nothing while I drove home. To any other person, it would have been just another Tuesday morning. But to Noah, it was the first day of the rest of his life.
At home, he’d begged for the stench to go away; for the horrid smell of the hospital sheets that clung to his body to disappear, and I’d immediately helped him into the shower. It was only after he’d shampooed and rinsed that I realized, as he turned to face me, that it was not water from the showerhead that was running down his face.
I’d held him close; wet warm body pressed against wet warm body, and he let his silent tears roll down my back. That was the first day he and I accepted our reality together: that we two were powerless to change the truth, and that the magnitude of pain we felt was unrecognizable to others.
But still, we had each other.
*
Luke liked to talk in his sleep.
I hadn’t ever taken notice of it before, back when I was too preoccupied with my own rest; back when my eyesight was still something I took for granted. Losing one of my five main senses opened sounds and movement and feelings to me; they presented as if they had been magnified just for my own pleasure.
Which is why I deliberately stayed up at night, to watch - or rather, to listen - to Luke sleep. Some nights we would cuddle until morning, wrapped into one another limb for limb, and others we would say our goodnights with a kiss and settle into our own side of the bed. And those nights, when Luke would press his lips to mine with so much emotion that I never really needed to hear him say the words, those were my favorite. He would roll over directly thereafter and settle on his stomach, his cheek pressed into his pillow, his face angled towards mine in restful slumber.
I could see all of this without even seeing.
Sometimes Luke would just sigh contentedly as he slept; other times he would grunt in disapproval or laugh in amusement at whatever images danced through his mind. Some nights full sentences would slip out of that perfect bow of a mouth - I distinctly remembered him asking me if I’d gotten the mail at three a.m. one particular night - and other times it would only be one word drifting through his lips. Noah.
Sometimes I let him sleep, and other times I would try my best not to stir him as I pressed close to him, reaching to bring his rumpled heat and never-ending embrace back to me at whatever ungodly hour surrounded us. He would half-wake drowsily, and I could hear his smile breaking across his face, feel the love that emanated from him, and thanked whoever was responsible for ensuring that this beautiful creature was still by my side as we hunkered down into the covers together and slept our fears away.
Hope you like!
~G
The first day Noah cried over losing his eyesight was the day he was discharged from the hospital.
He and I had walked outside together, out into the sunshine and the cool breeze, past the trees where the birds were chirping and right on by the man-made flowerbed in the parking lot. He sat in the passenger seat of my car, in his denim jacket, the sunshine glinting off his hair, and said nothing while I drove home. To any other person, it would have been just another Tuesday morning. But to Noah, it was the first day of the rest of his life.
At home, he’d begged for the stench to go away; for the horrid smell of the hospital sheets that clung to his body to disappear, and I’d immediately helped him into the shower. It was only after he’d shampooed and rinsed that I realized, as he turned to face me, that it was not water from the showerhead that was running down his face.
I’d held him close; wet warm body pressed against wet warm body, and he let his silent tears roll down my back. That was the first day he and I accepted our reality together: that we two were powerless to change the truth, and that the magnitude of pain we felt was unrecognizable to others.
But still, we had each other.
*
Luke liked to talk in his sleep.
I hadn’t ever taken notice of it before, back when I was too preoccupied with my own rest; back when my eyesight was still something I took for granted. Losing one of my five main senses opened sounds and movement and feelings to me; they presented as if they had been magnified just for my own pleasure.
Which is why I deliberately stayed up at night, to watch - or rather, to listen - to Luke sleep. Some nights we would cuddle until morning, wrapped into one another limb for limb, and others we would say our goodnights with a kiss and settle into our own side of the bed. And those nights, when Luke would press his lips to mine with so much emotion that I never really needed to hear him say the words, those were my favorite. He would roll over directly thereafter and settle on his stomach, his cheek pressed into his pillow, his face angled towards mine in restful slumber.
I could see all of this without even seeing.
Sometimes Luke would just sigh contentedly as he slept; other times he would grunt in disapproval or laugh in amusement at whatever images danced through his mind. Some nights full sentences would slip out of that perfect bow of a mouth - I distinctly remembered him asking me if I’d gotten the mail at three a.m. one particular night - and other times it would only be one word drifting through his lips. Noah.
Sometimes I let him sleep, and other times I would try my best not to stir him as I pressed close to him, reaching to bring his rumpled heat and never-ending embrace back to me at whatever ungodly hour surrounded us. He would half-wake drowsily, and I could hear his smile breaking across his face, feel the love that emanated from him, and thanked whoever was responsible for ensuring that this beautiful creature was still by my side as we hunkered down into the covers together and slept our fears away.