"Nothing as of yet"
Clark
"Clark?" "Mmmph?" I pretend to be half asleep as she shifts in my embrace. "Clark, where are we? I can't see a thing." "Mmm, dunno. G'back to sleep." I can tell that this answer doesn't satisfy her. "Clark, why are you in my bed?" Crap. She's figured out that we are, in fact, in her room still. She must have felt me stiffen, because she turns around so that she is facing me. I blearily open my eyes and look her in the face. She regards me steadily, a strange look in her eyes, clearly waiting for me to answer. I sit up, pretending not to notice the tiny involuntary whimper she gives as I remove my arms from around her. I rub my face with my hands, then run my fingers through my hair, which is probably sticking out in all directions. She sits up next to me, still looking at me. "Well," I start, already blushing, "I had a really bad day. I did something stupid and got into a huge fight with my parents. When I got here, you were already asleep, and I was so upset, and. well, I dunno, snuggling up to you seemed like a good idea at the time. I fell asleep, I guess." I blushed even harder. "Sorry if I scared you or weirded you out." She was /still/ looking at me, and it was making me nervous. I begin to shift uncomfortably as I study the comforter I can feel but can't see. She lays a hand on my arm, causing me to look up into her face, expectant, waiting for. I'm not sure what. She still doesn't say anything, so I begin to swing my legs over the edge of the bed in preparation for leaving. I mumble, like the idiot I am, "Sorry. I'll just go find somewhere else to sleep for the rest of the night." She surprises me completely when she lays a hand on my arm, stopping me from getting out of bed. "Stay?" she asks me, hesitant, pleading almost. I know I should go, should make an excuse and extract myself from this situation that is getting out of hand, but I have no power to do what my rational mind is telling me to, so I lay back down, pulling the comforter up with me. She lays down next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. I can feel her crane her head to look into my face as she says, "I'll be here when you want to talk about it." That's just like her. Most people see her as a talkative person that never shuts up. She has this way of reading me, though. She doesn't need to ask me if I want to talk about it because she knows that I don't, and she doesn't waste words. Sometimes, when I am in one of my contemplative moods, I think that the talkative person that she is in the daytime is just a front to the real her, to keep the world from seeing her. I don't tell her that; I know that she would just give a snort and go back to whatever she happened to be writing that day, not even gracing my comment with one of her own. She's like that. She gives a contented, sleepy sound, and I look down at her and realize that my hand has been unconsciously tracing patterns on her upper arm while I think. She is not yet asleep though, so I move my hand and begin making slow, lazy circles on her back. She gives that little murmur again and snuggles her body closer into mine, and I finally feel her body relax completely as she drifts off into the abyss that is sleep. I long to let myself drift off beside her, into my own oblivion, but I know that neither her dad nor my parents would be pleased to find us like this. Her dad because, well, her dad hasn't realized that his little girl is not so little anymore. My parents because they probably believe that I am still in my Fortress of Solitude, fuming. If my mom comes up in the morning and discovers that I am not there, she'll freak out. And my dad. well, I don't want to think about him. He's the base of all of this angst.
So, I lay there next to her for the rest of the night until the last possible moment. As the sky begins to lighten, I know that my parents will be up soon and that I need to go back. As much as I don't want to, I slip out of her embrace, forcing myself to ignore her small sounds of discontent, give her a kiss on the forehead, then speed off into the morning.
Clark
"Clark?" "Mmmph?" I pretend to be half asleep as she shifts in my embrace. "Clark, where are we? I can't see a thing." "Mmm, dunno. G'back to sleep." I can tell that this answer doesn't satisfy her. "Clark, why are you in my bed?" Crap. She's figured out that we are, in fact, in her room still. She must have felt me stiffen, because she turns around so that she is facing me. I blearily open my eyes and look her in the face. She regards me steadily, a strange look in her eyes, clearly waiting for me to answer. I sit up, pretending not to notice the tiny involuntary whimper she gives as I remove my arms from around her. I rub my face with my hands, then run my fingers through my hair, which is probably sticking out in all directions. She sits up next to me, still looking at me. "Well," I start, already blushing, "I had a really bad day. I did something stupid and got into a huge fight with my parents. When I got here, you were already asleep, and I was so upset, and. well, I dunno, snuggling up to you seemed like a good idea at the time. I fell asleep, I guess." I blushed even harder. "Sorry if I scared you or weirded you out." She was /still/ looking at me, and it was making me nervous. I begin to shift uncomfortably as I study the comforter I can feel but can't see. She lays a hand on my arm, causing me to look up into her face, expectant, waiting for. I'm not sure what. She still doesn't say anything, so I begin to swing my legs over the edge of the bed in preparation for leaving. I mumble, like the idiot I am, "Sorry. I'll just go find somewhere else to sleep for the rest of the night." She surprises me completely when she lays a hand on my arm, stopping me from getting out of bed. "Stay?" she asks me, hesitant, pleading almost. I know I should go, should make an excuse and extract myself from this situation that is getting out of hand, but I have no power to do what my rational mind is telling me to, so I lay back down, pulling the comforter up with me. She lays down next to me and lays her head on my shoulder. I can feel her crane her head to look into my face as she says, "I'll be here when you want to talk about it." That's just like her. Most people see her as a talkative person that never shuts up. She has this way of reading me, though. She doesn't need to ask me if I want to talk about it because she knows that I don't, and she doesn't waste words. Sometimes, when I am in one of my contemplative moods, I think that the talkative person that she is in the daytime is just a front to the real her, to keep the world from seeing her. I don't tell her that; I know that she would just give a snort and go back to whatever she happened to be writing that day, not even gracing my comment with one of her own. She's like that. She gives a contented, sleepy sound, and I look down at her and realize that my hand has been unconsciously tracing patterns on her upper arm while I think. She is not yet asleep though, so I move my hand and begin making slow, lazy circles on her back. She gives that little murmur again and snuggles her body closer into mine, and I finally feel her body relax completely as she drifts off into the abyss that is sleep. I long to let myself drift off beside her, into my own oblivion, but I know that neither her dad nor my parents would be pleased to find us like this. Her dad because, well, her dad hasn't realized that his little girl is not so little anymore. My parents because they probably believe that I am still in my Fortress of Solitude, fuming. If my mom comes up in the morning and discovers that I am not there, she'll freak out. And my dad. well, I don't want to think about him. He's the base of all of this angst.
So, I lay there next to her for the rest of the night until the last possible moment. As the sky begins to lighten, I know that my parents will be up soon and that I need to go back. As much as I don't want to, I slip out of her embrace, forcing myself to ignore her small sounds of discontent, give her a kiss on the forehead, then speed off into the morning.