1375. The Insomnia Meme
the i n s o m n i a meme
It happens to everyone - sometimes, you have nights where you just can't fall asleep, no matter what you do. It could be for a number of reasons, or no reason at all. And this is what's happened now: you've been laying in bed for what feels like hours, just tossing and turning, and nothing seems to help. So what's left to do ( Read more... )
Dorothy does a lot of things to him, to his mind. He's never been so easily or hopelessly taken with someone in his life, but the times that came close never ended well. He was a businessman with a company and a reputation to build up and he'd just dropped it all for a girl he barely knew. He can't sleep, he can't even breathe, wondering what on Earth had made him think this was a good idea.
When she knocks he almost doesn't answer. He's a bad influence. He's an atheist and an alcoholic and nearly twice her age. He's just going to corrupt her and ruin her if he keeps up this obsessing over her. And he doesn't want to hurt her. Feelings aren't like science. They don't make sense, they don't follow patterns. He's so out of his element all he can do is take in a deep breath and knock on the wall in return. He's certainly not about to sneak into her room. Even he has some idea of what's proper.
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This is something like courting, isn't it? A romantic affair of sorts? She lets those thoughts fill her head when he knocks in return. But then she's not sure what to do. Does she knock again? Is there a code or a set of rules for knocking on a wall?
Oh, dear. Dorothy pushes her blankets away, standing up from her bed. She knows, even through the wall, he can hear the squeak of the floor under her feet even as she pulls her robe around her shoulders and tiptoes to her door. It takes a few moments, long and uncertain and-- for some strange reason-- terrifying, before she opens her door and waits patiently in the hall.
Maybe she should knock on his door next. Maybe she should tell him they should talk. Or maybe she knows when the door opens, she'll forget any discussion and throw herself at him for a warm embrace. Words don't necessarily matter, and even hushed, her aunt or uncle could wake up and ask questions even they don't yet know the answers to.
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For now he just cautiously emerges into the hallway, silent as a ghost, well aware his hair's a mess and he probably looks exhausted. When he got so self conscious, he didn't know, but here he is, studying the way she looks with her hair out of its pigtails. It's not fair that she gets prettier when she's undone and he just looks worse.
Somehow he comes much closer than he means to, and his hands find their way into her hair, fingers carding through it. He looks at her eyes in the dark. Somehow, he just doesn't have the words for this moment.
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She really isn't sure what to say, so she sets a hand in the crook of his elbow, not to push it away or decline his advance, but only to touch. Her other hand moves behind his back, knotting up in his shirt as she steps closer. And without warning, her mouth opens to whisper simply, "I can't sleep."
Although, that much is obvious, and apparently, he can't either. And even looking as if he hasn't slept in days, she doesn't feel her chest slowing in its quick pitter patter or her head pulling from the clouds. She likes how this feels, and it worries her a bit. That doesn't mean it stops anything, and she moves closer to press her ear to his chest, briefly wondering if she's forcing his heart to drop and quicken in the same manner he's making hers.
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"I can't either." It's a stupid response, but it's strange how when she was in New York he slept better than ever, secure somehow in the knowledge she was nearby. Now that same thought has an entirely different effect on him - but back then he didn't realize what he felt for her. Honestly, he didn't realize it until about twelve seconds ago, which seems like a distant lifetime that belongs to someone else.
He doesn't know what to say. He would love to lay down beside her, wrap his arms around her, but he's not about to risk ruining this right out of the gate. He could get lost in just an embrace with her. It's a dangerous level of intoxication he's never felt before.
All he ends up doing is steeling himself and pressing his lips to hers firmly, waiting silently for a response. It feels a little bit like plunging off a cliff.
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It is a cliff. She can definitely attest to that, as can her stomach. The flip-flops, the butterflies, the knots all seem to untangle and stop for a moment when his mouth finds hers. It all seems to pause for one deliriously happy moment, and then it's back and the fist in his shirt only seems to tighten.
The only thing she can think is again, but she pauses and takes a moment to think, as she has been the entire night and into the morning. She ought to, after all, if kissing him again is in her priorities somewhere. She lets her eyes open, the hand on his arm moving to cup his cheek, when she decides that it doesn't matter why. He did it, and she decides to press another kiss to his lips a bit more soft than their first.
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There were no ulterior motives to Dorothy. There was nothing to be afraid of. This was the one person he could trust not to burn him. He drinks in every detail of how she looks right now and takes a half step closer, so he can feel how warm she is against him. Everything is finally right with the world.
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Nothing is more important to her right now than him holding her tight or the way he looks at her like she's the prettiest and most special young woman he's ever seen before. It's as if a light switch has been flicked on, and it's put a grin on her face. "Oh, Howard," she murmurs into his shirt, because it's all she can think to say right now.
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Well, that just fell out of his mouth. But he can't take back the truth.
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