He still clings to him, not used to doing this, either, and certainly not used to being the one to initiate, but he can’t help it, can’t be anywhere else but here, pressed against him, clinging, holding onto him. The memory of their argument at the mirror still burns fresh in his mind.
“I’ve been better,” he finally says, still mumbling into his neck. When he finally lets go, he drops his arms at his sides, moving awkwardly, stiffly. “My head feels weird. You?”
no subject
So much patting.
It’s the thought that counts.
He still clings to him, not used to doing this, either, and certainly not used to being the one to initiate, but he can’t help it, can’t be anywhere else but here, pressed against him, clinging, holding onto him. The memory of their argument at the mirror still burns fresh in his mind.
“I’ve been better,” he finally says, still mumbling into his neck. When he finally lets go, he drops his arms at his sides, moving awkwardly, stiffly. “My head feels weird. You?”