2022-05-11 - Netflix and Chill

Jules wants company. She does not want to be left alone with her thoughts, her guilt. So after nominally cleaning up the kitchen -- dirty dishes rinsed and tucked into the dishwasher, the casserole covered with clingfilm and put in the fridge -- Jules picks up her things (that damn box), hands her stack of books plus laptop to Mikaere, and heads for her room with the expectation that he's following. Her room's tidy enough that she's not embarrassed to show another person into it, not that she's in the frame of mind to particularly care. What she does care about is locking her bedroom door, because the last thing she needs is an angry roommate bursting in.

All Jules wants is company. Someone to lean against when she cues up Netflix on her laptop and puts on a fairly mindless comedy. Someone who will put an arm around her and just be, without questions or demands. Someone who will let her fall asleep against them, who's steady enough that her body will gradually relax, her breathing slow, and her head seek that perfect curve between collarbone and chest as her pillow.

At some point, after the initial exhaustion of a day gone very, very wrong, it won't be all she wants. She'll want fingers drifting over bare skin, and a mouth against hers, and the pressure of a warm body. She'll want the world to contract, pinpoint-sharp, to this moment, this sensation, with everything else banished to another time and place. As in most things, Jules can be quite direct in making her desires known, though she's more subdued about it in this night than others. Respect for her housemates, maybe.

not there, here
here

Later, sleepy and satisfied, she'll curl up with him like she's trying to make herself smaller. She takes up so much space in her day-to-day life; now, it's as if she wants to shed all that, let someone else do all the space-taking. Into that silence, she murmurs a question: "You still awake?"

Happily for everyone, even angry roommates respect the sanctity of closed bedroom doors, even if that means a night of pacing and unhappiness for some. That's beyond Mikaere's remit, though, and likely enough beyond his care: his focus is on Jules, and on following her lead. Kitchen clean up, yes (though chances are he'd not have thought of it if Jules hadn't); helpful for carrying things upstairs, yes; company, absolutely, there to hold her as she sleeps-- and later, in other, more pleasurable ways.

(Whether it is weird for him, or not, to engage in such activities in someone else's house, with roommates on the other side of the walls, well, that's a question for another time.)

Later, he's happy to be the big spoon to her smaller one, to wrap her up in his body's heat and keep her safe. "Mmm," he agrees. "You all right?"

"Mmhmm."

Even though she's asked the question and punctured the stillness, Jules doesn't immediately follow with anything further. On some level, that's all she wanted to know: are you awake, am I alone. A voice to go with the steady pulse she feels against her back.

In time, lulled by that rhythm and the dark intimacy of that shared bed, a few more words join the first. "Thanks for being here."

Mikaere doesn't need to talk, and so doesn't push for a follow-up, though his eyes are open and a light kiss gets aimed at Jules' hair.

"Of course," he tells her, then, into the darkness. "I'm here. I got you."

The response is non-verbal, a kind of snuggling back in as much as she can when they're already this close. "I'm sorry." It's been Jules' mantra today, though said this time with a slightly different meaning behind the words. She works on clarifying it; it's probably easier when she's addressing the wall. "I feel like it's just been one thing after another with me, ever since we met. I don't want to be so...filled with drama."

"Who put themselves in the hospital by walking right up to eight thugs and telling them to stop what they're doing?" Mikaere points out, with a little huff of laughter. He tucks his arm more securely around her, and then adds, "If anything, I think it's this town, not you. I mean, yes, you walk into trouble, but so do I. So do a lot of us."

Beat. "I think we could all use some quiet now, though, mmm? If we can manage it."

He does have a point. Jules smiles, and though he won't be able to see it, some of the wryness carries into her tone. "I guess we do."

Quieter, she agrees, "Yeah." It leads her to suggest, "Maybe we could go sailing soon." Apparently a dunking in the Chehalis hasn't put her off the idea of being out on the water. Then again, she wasn't the one who almost drowned.

"We'll absolutely go sailing," Mikaere promises, tracing circles into her skin with whisper-light fingertips. "Name the day. I can be flexible around classes and finals and anything else. Nice and quiet. You and me, the bay-- maybe even the open ocean."

"That sounds wonderful." She's smiling again, voice warm. "I imagine you miss sailing, after all that time at sea." It just pops out. Jules isn't angling for a particular line of inquiry; there's no question embedded in her tone, only observation.

Still. Once it's out, it's out, prompting other thoughts. That's the way of it. The past month has built up certain unanswered, unasked questions. Now, it seems, is the time for one of them to be spoken.

"Mikaere?" Jules turns over, shifting to her other side. Some questions should only be asked face to face. "While you're here, what is it that you want?"

She can't see the look on his face, the one that blooms into existence at that first comment, but it's there, in the darkness: a certain amount of wistfulness, tempered by something that is less easy to discern.

It shifts, though, as she does, his gaze flicking from whatever point on the wall he'd been considering so that he can meet her gaze, his brow furrowing as he attempts to discern the specifics of her train of thought. "In general?" he prompts. "Or more specific... with you? What I want out of this?"

Jules slings one arm over his hip, where it's most comfortable. "Both, I guess," she responds, "though I was thinking about the latter." Her expression remains calm, without the tension that could so easily be there when asking this kind of question. Instead, she adopts a line that's more humorous, good-natured. "Whatever it happens to be -- I'm a grown-ass woman. Pretty sure I can handle it."

Mikaere adjusts his position on the pillow, shifting his head so that he can better look at Jules, and not at the pillowcase instead.

"I don't know," is the honest answer. "And as much as anything, that's because I don't know what I'm doing at all. I like you. I like you. And I'm enjoying this. I'm not seeing anyone else, and I'm not planning to. I also can't promise how long I'm here for... I try not to make promises I can't keep. Does that help at all?"

None of this outwardly seems to upset or disappoint Jules; she's maintains that same thoughtful, easy expression as Mikaere speaks. "Yeah," she replies after thinking about it for a minute. "I think so. Just something I've been thinking about." Hospital trips and unexpected possibly-fatal excursions through the Veil will do that to a person. As do friends pairing up, prompting inevitable comparisons.

"I like you too," she says then, returning his honesty in kind. "And not just because I enjoy the sex. I like talking to you. I like that you ask me questions that make me think." It's her turn to trace little circles on his back. "I feel like society wants to give everything a definition, and I don't know that I can do that right now. I was somebody's girlfriend for almost my whole adult life, and now I feel like I don't even know what that word means, outside of all the connotations it has from the past. Right now, I just want to be myself. Does that make sense?" It's a real question, one she asks earnestly. "I don't want any promises. But I do want to keep seeing you."

It's inevitable-- and none of what Jules says seems to cause Mikaere any concern in response.

"I like talking to you too, and I like spending time with you, and yes, I like the sex, but--" There's a crooked smile there. "I don't need a label like that. I don't need you to be mine like that, and the last thing I would want is for you to feel like you need to define yourself based on me. So, ok. We're seeing each other. And I can promise that I won't disappear on you without warning, not unless it's out of my control." He's watching her thoughtfully, now. "And otherwise... let's just take it as it comes, okay?"

"Okay. Good." Jules looks satisfied with the response she receives. "I just wanted it out there in the open," she states. "Better to know where you stand, right?"

"Always," agrees Mikaere. "I'd hate for either of us to be operating under a misconception. I-- well. My ex and I had pretty different ideas out of what we wanted, in the end, but I don't think we realised that for a long time, because we never did talk."

It's not the best topic for this, for right now, and so he changes it: "Do you want to talk about what happened, or do you want to leave it? No pressure."

A little dip of the chin serves as a nod, though her head stays on the pillow. Exes and miscommunication -- that's certainly something Jules understands.

As for the question-- "Not really," she openly admits. "At least, not now. Another day, yes. But not now."

Mikaere's, "Ok," is calm and simple and easy. Not deceptively calm: just calm.

"Think I need to sneak out the door in the morning?"

Jules can't help but grin. "No," she says, rolling her eyes. Surely they're all adults and past that point of their lives. "Though I'm probably going to get up early and go for a run, FYI. Clear my head. I don't think I want to face Una," (Mikaere surely knows her name, even if they haven't met), "before then. I know she's going to be upset. And she has every right to be. But I don't think I can deal with it first thing -- and you don't have to deal with it at all."

Mikaere's a good person, a supportive person-she's-seeing, but... volunteering to help deal with an angry woman he's never met is not on the cards, not even a little. "Ok," he says. "We can both leave together, then. And you can always come to the boat, if you need to get away from it all. I'm going to head back there, I think. I'm mostly healed."

He is: just some bruising and scarring remains, there on his bare chest.

"Thanks. I'm going to have to suck it up and talk to her and Della at some point, though, and the longer I wait, the madder they're likely to be." It isn't just Una that Jules is thinking of, now; she remembers just how Della left the kitchen this past evening. "I just want to try to make sure that when they yell at me, I don't yell back." She'll try not to, at least. All those involved have a pretty good idea of Jules' temper by now.

Since he's mentioned his own injuries, his own moment of stupidity, Jules looks down at his chest and brings her arm up to lightly touch one of those scars. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Sometimes yelling can be cathartic for all involved," he points out, though it's not entirely an encouragement to proceed with the yelling. There's sympathy there; perhaps, too, an acknowledgement that there are probably things to yell about (though whatever it was that Della was pissed at seems to have gone straight over his head).

There's no wince at that touch of his scars, though there is the faintest pebbling of his skin at the sensation of her fingers on it. "And I'm glad you are."

"Me too." This simple agreement is enough for tonight. Jules seals it with a soft kiss before she rolls over again: talk concluded. Now it's time for spooning and sleep.