[Fic] Four Finger Lengths
Author/Artist: crystaltear
Characters/Pairings:Conrad/Yuuri implied
Word Count: 433
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Notes: Written for Round 34 of kkm_challenge
The space between them is four finger lengths. His pointer finger specifically, so he guesses that is about a foot. He’s figured that out over the past hour while the room grew darker and the line of Conrad’s body moved up and down with his breathing, but nothing else. Nothing has changed now, except he has a precise measurement for the distance that somehow seems important.
No shift, no settling, not even a sneeze in the dusty room. Conrad’s body is running along an invisible line that for some reason the soldier will not cross-not a toe, not a string from his evening shirt, not even a breath.
And it’s all his own fault, of course. When the innkeeper had said the only room available had a single bed, Conrad had been perfectly content with a chair as his sleeping arrangement for the night. It had been he, Yuuri, who had insisted that sleeping in a chair was ridiculous, that the bed was big enough for the both of them. And it is big enough. Conrad, and him, and a foot of space filled with…something.
He doesn’t understand. He slept with Wolfram all the time. Wolfram, with his flailing limbs touching, smacking and harassing him in the dead of night. Conrad had to be a better bed partner than that, so that meant it should be a better night’s sleep.
He doesn’t understand, but Conrad did and does, and now he at least knows a better night’s sleep doesn’t necessarily come in the form of a quiet bedmate like Conrad. It is…strange, and stifling, and something else he cannot put a name to. He’d ask Conrad if he could, but the question seems hours too old now.
Two hours passed and the foot-four finger lengths-has not grown or shrunk. It should have, he thinks, done something. He feels like they have moved closer at some point, in the way the sheets are tangled around both of them and the room seems to keep getting hotter even though the sun has gone down.
Dark eyes open again, taking in the darkness of the room, the broad shoulders of his silent bedmate and the space between them. Yup, still four finger lengths.
A touch on the shoulder couldn’t be so bad, right? Conrad has never seemed to mind before, this should not feel any different or be any different from anything else they have done together. It’s just sleeping, after all.
Right, Conrad?
Determined fingers cross, over the threshold of an invisible line--across four finger lengths--and into the unknown.
Characters/Pairings:Conrad/Yuuri implied
Word Count: 433
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Notes: Written for Round 34 of kkm_challenge
The space between them is four finger lengths. His pointer finger specifically, so he guesses that is about a foot. He’s figured that out over the past hour while the room grew darker and the line of Conrad’s body moved up and down with his breathing, but nothing else. Nothing has changed now, except he has a precise measurement for the distance that somehow seems important.
No shift, no settling, not even a sneeze in the dusty room. Conrad’s body is running along an invisible line that for some reason the soldier will not cross-not a toe, not a string from his evening shirt, not even a breath.
And it’s all his own fault, of course. When the innkeeper had said the only room available had a single bed, Conrad had been perfectly content with a chair as his sleeping arrangement for the night. It had been he, Yuuri, who had insisted that sleeping in a chair was ridiculous, that the bed was big enough for the both of them. And it is big enough. Conrad, and him, and a foot of space filled with…something.
He doesn’t understand. He slept with Wolfram all the time. Wolfram, with his flailing limbs touching, smacking and harassing him in the dead of night. Conrad had to be a better bed partner than that, so that meant it should be a better night’s sleep.
He doesn’t understand, but Conrad did and does, and now he at least knows a better night’s sleep doesn’t necessarily come in the form of a quiet bedmate like Conrad. It is…strange, and stifling, and something else he cannot put a name to. He’d ask Conrad if he could, but the question seems hours too old now.
Two hours passed and the foot-four finger lengths-has not grown or shrunk. It should have, he thinks, done something. He feels like they have moved closer at some point, in the way the sheets are tangled around both of them and the room seems to keep getting hotter even though the sun has gone down.
Dark eyes open again, taking in the darkness of the room, the broad shoulders of his silent bedmate and the space between them. Yup, still four finger lengths.
A touch on the shoulder couldn’t be so bad, right? Conrad has never seemed to mind before, this should not feel any different or be any different from anything else they have done together. It’s just sleeping, after all.
Right, Conrad?
Determined fingers cross, over the threshold of an invisible line--across four finger lengths--and into the unknown.