Oz grips the arm of the couch and pulls himself to his feet. Leaving the blanket down here suddenly feels like an unbearable idea, akin to sliding off his own skin and stepping away. So he wraps it tightly under his arms and shuffles toward the stairs, picking up the trailing blanket between his fingers like a society lady at a ball in an old movie.
Giles shadows him, hovers awkwardly, and Oz feels cold, slick and tight and hollow inside, at how awkward he's made everything. How Giles can hardly bear to touch him, how every gesture -- touching his head, his shoulder -- seems like it's premeditated. Like it's something Giles is doing because he *ought* to, not because he wants to.
On the landing, Oz has to pause for breath. He leans against the wall and Giles waits with him. Always at a respectful distance.
"Giles?" he asks as he moves up the last part of the stairs. His muscles feel like they're clacking together, cold metal against colder. Then he doesn't have anything else to say. He sits on his side of the bed -- he has a *side*, and that has never felt quite as strange and odd as it does right now -- and Oz shivers, hard.
Giles stands right at the stairs, gripping the banister. Oz can't see his eyes behind his glasses.
Oz keeps pulling that blanket tighter around himself, like it's the only warmth and safety left in the world. It strips a little warmth from Giles every time, leaves him barer and colder. Oz doesn't trust him. Instead of opening, he hides, buries himself in blankets and silence and lies.
It's only a few feet to the bed. Giles could go to him, hold him, coax him, kiss him. Bare him, bare them both down to skin, down to bodies that don't lie. Only they do. Bodies hide secrets, hide wolves. Oz's body isn't the same anymore. Maybe it will feel different, smell different, taste different, and if it does Giles isn't sure how he'll cope. How he'll survive.
Oz kicks off his shoes and lies down on top of the quilt, with his back to Giles. He's shivering. "Oz," Giles says. "You're cold. Get into bed, you'll feel better." There's no answer; Oz just curls up, pulling his feet under the gray wool cocoon.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me." It seems like a very long walk down the stairs, and a longer one to the sofa. He's cold, too, and Oz has all the blankets.
Giles' voice is flat. Like old silverware, buffed and scratched, no shine left it, and it clinks against Oz's back, rattles his spine, thuds dully in his ears.
He takes a breath, holds it, and hauls himself over onto his back. Everything hurts, every shiver, every breath, and the blanket tangles around his legs.
"Do you have to?" he asks. Keeps his eyes closed, because maybe Giles is already gone. He doesn't want to know that just yet. He can't remember asking like this, asking Giles for something he can't give, but if he doesn't do this now, he knows, down to the cold marrow in his bones, that it's already over. "Maybe -" He swallows, tastes brown sugar and blood, and tries again. "Maybe you could stay for a little bit?"
If Giles is already gone, he hasn't lost anything by asking. If he's still here, then either he's trying to make up his mind, or he's shaking his head slowly, regretfully, the way Giles does when someone talks nonsense. Oz is too tired, too cold, to analyze fully just what he's risking right now.
"Don't have to," Oz says. "Just - it'd be nice?"
Questions feel like hyperventilating. Short, pointless breaths that make him dizzy.
Giles shadows him, hovers awkwardly, and Oz feels cold, slick and tight and hollow inside, at how awkward he's made everything. How Giles can hardly bear to touch him, how every gesture -- touching his head, his shoulder -- seems like it's premeditated. Like it's something Giles is doing because he *ought* to, not because he wants to.
On the landing, Oz has to pause for breath. He leans against the wall and Giles waits with him. Always at a respectful distance.
"Giles?" he asks as he moves up the last part of the stairs. His muscles feel like they're clacking together, cold metal against colder. Then he doesn't have anything else to say. He sits on his side of the bed -- he has a *side*, and that has never felt quite as strange and odd as it does right now -- and Oz shivers, hard.
Giles stands right at the stairs, gripping the banister. Oz can't see his eyes behind his glasses.
"Thanks. I know this sucks."
Reply
It's only a few feet to the bed. Giles could go to him, hold him, coax him, kiss him. Bare him, bare them both down to skin, down to bodies that don't lie. Only they do. Bodies hide secrets, hide wolves. Oz's body isn't the same anymore. Maybe it will feel different, smell different, taste different, and if it does Giles isn't sure how he'll cope. How he'll survive.
Oz kicks off his shoes and lies down on top of the quilt, with his back to Giles. He's shivering. "Oz," Giles says. "You're cold. Get into bed, you'll feel better." There's no answer; Oz just curls up, pulling his feet under the gray wool cocoon.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me." It seems like a very long walk down the stairs, and a longer one to the sofa. He's cold, too, and Oz has all the blankets.
Reply
He takes a breath, holds it, and hauls himself over onto his back. Everything hurts, every shiver, every breath, and the blanket tangles around his legs.
"Do you have to?" he asks. Keeps his eyes closed, because maybe Giles is already gone. He doesn't want to know that just yet. He can't remember asking like this, asking Giles for something he can't give, but if he doesn't do this now, he knows, down to the cold marrow in his bones, that it's already over. "Maybe -" He swallows, tastes brown sugar and blood, and tries again. "Maybe you could stay for a little bit?"
If Giles is already gone, he hasn't lost anything by asking. If he's still here, then either he's trying to make up his mind, or he's shaking his head slowly, regretfully, the way Giles does when someone talks nonsense. Oz is too tired, too cold, to analyze fully just what he's risking right now.
"Don't have to," Oz says. "Just - it'd be nice?"
Questions feel like hyperventilating. Short, pointless breaths that make him dizzy.
Reply
Leave a comment