Fic : A Mantle In The Tomb
She had not made her bed: the duvet was almost on the floor and the pillows laid in disarray. He had teased her more than once on her inability to get up in time. She used to switch off her alarm clock and go back to sleep until she was almost late. Almost. But then, she would open her eyes, jump out of her bed and into the shower in a graceful and seemingly linear movement, the over-sized cotton t-shirt she wore at night flying across the bedroom. She would come back dressed and ready to tease him, because he would have made the bed for her.
“You’re quite the domesticated man, Rupert. In fact, with these finely chiseled features of yours, I think I’m going to call you-”
“ Don’t finish that sentence. I’ve got your cup of coffee in hostage.”
“And he also made breakfast! I have to pack my things, do you think you’ll be able to iron my clothes in the meantime?”
Clothes, that’s right, you’re here for her clothes, don’t look at the bed and start searching for them. He entered the room and went to the closet. For a second, he wondered if he shouldn’t have let Buffy do this, because he certainly didn’t know a damn thing about woman’s clothing. However, he didn’t like the idea of anyone else entering Jenny’s bedroom.
His fingers brushed against the thin fabric of her shirts and the heavy softness of her sweaters. Wool and cashmere, tulle and viscose, cotton and lace, silk and leather, his hand was lost in all the sensations his touch evoked. Jenny did not pay attention at what fabric she wore, preferring to look at the colors and how she felt in her clothes.
He looked into the shelves, selecting slowly a few items and putting them on a chair nearby (not the bed, which she had not made). He looked at them, but did not manage to make a choice.
The casual white top she used to put at home after school?
The jeans she had worn so well on her beautiful body?
The short black skirt she was so fond of, especially when she discovered the effect it had on him?
The blue shirt he had taken off her body on the first night they had spent together?
The frock she had bought for him, because he had warned her to dress appropriately for the fine date he had organized?
The little black dress she had worn underneath and for which he had almost cancelled their reservation at the restaurant?
How do you choose the clothes in which your lover is going to lay forever?
He knew he was supposed to pick the black dress, because one wore black at a funeral, but it didn’t seem right. He could not imagine how a unique drab ensemble could be enough for a person who had been so bright and had so many shades. Too many, he thought, were the reason why she did not made her bed and he could no longer sleep in his.