"Nothing As Of Yet"
Chloe
I drift into wakefulness to a wonderful sensation. I am warm and comfortable all over, without my usual cold feet and hands, and it is a delicious feeling. I try to turn over, and pop awake when I realize that there are arms around me. Big, strong arms that are attached to an equally large and very warm body, one that is currently wrapped around me. "Clark?" I ask hesitantly. I am not completely sure that it is him, but it is a reasonable assumption. "Hmmm?" he asks, sleep making his voice thick. "Clark, where are we? I can't see a thing," I say, even though I am pretty sure that we are still in my room- my mattress is so old that the springs have given out in certain places to make a perfect hollow for my body, and I am still snuggled into that hollow. "Mmm, dunno. G'back to sleep." I am pretty sure that he is faking the sleep thing now- when we used to have sleepovers as kids, he would pop awake immediately if I shook him. I decide to stop dancing around things and just ask him. "Clark, why are you in my bed?" he stiffens, so I know that I was right- he was awake. I turn in his embrace, never breaking it, and look up into his face. I can tell from his body language that there is /something/, some good reason that he is here, so I look at him and wait, knowing that he will tell me eventually. Suddenly, he sits up, and I curse myself for the whimper that I cannot contain, although I am relieved that he doesn't notice it. It is hard for me to believe that I like his closeness that much, but in order to preserve it, I sit up next to him. A cynical thought crosses my mind, something about darkness being the place under which one could do anything, and it would not have any consequence in the real world; would even be forgotten in the light of day. My mind snaps into focus on him as he tells me that he had a fight with his parents. This is new, his being here. Usually, fights in the Kent household only lasted for one day, and everyone cooled off by after dinner. For Clark to have split meant something big. He is looking at me now, and I don't have the faintest clue what he wants from me, so I look back at him. I can tell that there /is/ something he wants when he takes interest in my comforter and begins to pick at imaginary lint on it, so I put my hand on his arm- I don't know why; for comfort, for assurance, I have no idea. But he looks up at me with his puppy dog expression, hopeful and bright, and my heart begins to crumble as his face falls when I don't say anything. He begins to swing his legs out of my bed, muttering something about places to sleep, and I realize that if I don't act now I will never get this chance again, never be at this point again, and will live the rest of my life longing after him. Impulsively, I grab his arm. There is a little voice in my head that sounds a lot like Dad, telling me that I am being impulsive and that I didn't know what I was doing, but I go with my instincts and utter the first thing that comes to my mind. "Stay?" I am appalled at myself for how pathetic that sounds, but he seems to be fine with it. I am ecstatic when he lays back down and pulls me down with him. I cuddle up next to him, put my head on his shoulder and my arm across his chest (with my hand conveniently over his heart so I can feel his heartbeat). My instincts are telling me that I shouldn't press him for details about the fight with his parents, even though my journalist's mind is burning with curiosity. My deeper instincts have not steered me wrong so far tonight, so I look up at him and simply say, "I'll be here when you want to talk about it." I am only slightly put out when he visibly relaxes. Okay, well, not visibly, because it was dark, but he relaxed a great deal after I said that. Oh, my. I don't know if he knows that he is doing it, but his hand has begun to move along my arm, up and down, around, up and down. It relaxes me a bit, and I begin to drift off to sleep. I must have made a sound or something, because that wonderful hand stills for a couple of seconds, then moves to my back, and that is the last thing I remember. My pillow smells like Clark still, but I am not surprised in the least when I wake up in the morning to find that I am alone in my cold, empty bed.
Chloe
I drift into wakefulness to a wonderful sensation. I am warm and comfortable all over, without my usual cold feet and hands, and it is a delicious feeling. I try to turn over, and pop awake when I realize that there are arms around me. Big, strong arms that are attached to an equally large and very warm body, one that is currently wrapped around me. "Clark?" I ask hesitantly. I am not completely sure that it is him, but it is a reasonable assumption. "Hmmm?" he asks, sleep making his voice thick. "Clark, where are we? I can't see a thing," I say, even though I am pretty sure that we are still in my room- my mattress is so old that the springs have given out in certain places to make a perfect hollow for my body, and I am still snuggled into that hollow. "Mmm, dunno. G'back to sleep." I am pretty sure that he is faking the sleep thing now- when we used to have sleepovers as kids, he would pop awake immediately if I shook him. I decide to stop dancing around things and just ask him. "Clark, why are you in my bed?" he stiffens, so I know that I was right- he was awake. I turn in his embrace, never breaking it, and look up into his face. I can tell from his body language that there is /something/, some good reason that he is here, so I look at him and wait, knowing that he will tell me eventually. Suddenly, he sits up, and I curse myself for the whimper that I cannot contain, although I am relieved that he doesn't notice it. It is hard for me to believe that I like his closeness that much, but in order to preserve it, I sit up next to him. A cynical thought crosses my mind, something about darkness being the place under which one could do anything, and it would not have any consequence in the real world; would even be forgotten in the light of day. My mind snaps into focus on him as he tells me that he had a fight with his parents. This is new, his being here. Usually, fights in the Kent household only lasted for one day, and everyone cooled off by after dinner. For Clark to have split meant something big. He is looking at me now, and I don't have the faintest clue what he wants from me, so I look back at him. I can tell that there /is/ something he wants when he takes interest in my comforter and begins to pick at imaginary lint on it, so I put my hand on his arm- I don't know why; for comfort, for assurance, I have no idea. But he looks up at me with his puppy dog expression, hopeful and bright, and my heart begins to crumble as his face falls when I don't say anything. He begins to swing his legs out of my bed, muttering something about places to sleep, and I realize that if I don't act now I will never get this chance again, never be at this point again, and will live the rest of my life longing after him. Impulsively, I grab his arm. There is a little voice in my head that sounds a lot like Dad, telling me that I am being impulsive and that I didn't know what I was doing, but I go with my instincts and utter the first thing that comes to my mind. "Stay?" I am appalled at myself for how pathetic that sounds, but he seems to be fine with it. I am ecstatic when he lays back down and pulls me down with him. I cuddle up next to him, put my head on his shoulder and my arm across his chest (with my hand conveniently over his heart so I can feel his heartbeat). My instincts are telling me that I shouldn't press him for details about the fight with his parents, even though my journalist's mind is burning with curiosity. My deeper instincts have not steered me wrong so far tonight, so I look up at him and simply say, "I'll be here when you want to talk about it." I am only slightly put out when he visibly relaxes. Okay, well, not visibly, because it was dark, but he relaxed a great deal after I said that. Oh, my. I don't know if he knows that he is doing it, but his hand has begun to move along my arm, up and down, around, up and down. It relaxes me a bit, and I begin to drift off to sleep. I must have made a sound or something, because that wonderful hand stills for a couple of seconds, then moves to my back, and that is the last thing I remember. My pillow smells like Clark still, but I am not surprised in the least when I wake up in the morning to find that I am alone in my cold, empty bed.
