I woke up in my traditional, habitual position. Holding on to Lochlan for dear life, arms tight around his neck, foreheads pressed together, breathless from the lack of oxygen as he runs hot in perpetuity, such as he is, the fire eater, thrower, juggler, maker.
The moment I breathe weird he is awake, jolted out of his dream-filled sleep into whatever moment he thinks he needs to save.
Hey. Hey. It's okay. He's calming me down, I'm just trying to catch up on air here so I don't say much and then he decides I'm hyperventilating and we're sitting up now, waking up Ben, being overly concerned about nothing. It takes a few minutes, I've been sick, after all, and then I'm good.
You'd be gasping for air too if you had your face in someone's mouth all night. Ben doesn't like to be woken up by Lochlan's wolf cries. Ben has had probably two hours sleep.
I didn't-aw, for fucks sake. Lochlan doesn't argue. We've been told this before. We sleep like sea otters. Hamsters. Kittens. We curl up together as close as we can get and we don't move. At all. Ever. It comes from summers sleeping in the camper in the tiny cot, without heat, without any sort of comforts at all save for each other and the radio.
We head downstairs for breakfast, Loch in his old pajama pants that now border on indecent but also I can't look away, and me in yesterday's leggings and Ben's super-huge Goatwhore (heh) hoodie because it's roughly in the same condition of worn-ness as Lochlan's pants. Softer is better when it comes to clothes. And who doesn't like comfort?
Ah yes, here he comes now.
Caleb whisks into the kitchen, looking at us with mild disdain as though we're supposed to be ready or something. It's six in the morning. Why the hell is he up and bright? Did I forget something?
I just came to borrow some eggs until I can get out and replace them.
Just put them on the list-
And give you more to do? Speaking of which, we need to have a discussion.
Lochlan rolls his eyes. His voice is scratchy. Can I please have my coffee first?
It doesn't include you so sure, go ahead. Caleb has little patience for Lochlan's little patience. They'll forever be posturing greasers. He turns back to me. We need to talk about a little break for you.
I just got home and I don't want to go anywhere.
Yes and you also didn't have the rest and relaxation you desperately needed before and now you're so far overdue for it you've given up on it and I'm here to fix that.
Not going to hap-
SHUT UP LOCH. Caleb turns on him finally, going from annoyed to angry.
Loch puts his mug down and steps in front of me. Oh shit. She's staying put.
She decides.
She wants me to decide.
Caleb looks around Lochlan at me. You want him to decide you can suffer here for all eternity or do you want to get on a plane and go rest somewhere warm?
I am warm. And I've had rest.
You're waking up holding your breath again. That's not the trait of someone who is relaxed. Bridget-
Not now, Diabhal. Please.
Good job, Dóiteáin. Make her suffer for your rules. Good job. Bridget, I want you at the boathouse at eight sharp tonight. If he isn't going to spoil you, I will look after it.
He does! You just can't-
That's the point. I can.
The moment I breathe weird he is awake, jolted out of his dream-filled sleep into whatever moment he thinks he needs to save.
Hey. Hey. It's okay. He's calming me down, I'm just trying to catch up on air here so I don't say much and then he decides I'm hyperventilating and we're sitting up now, waking up Ben, being overly concerned about nothing. It takes a few minutes, I've been sick, after all, and then I'm good.
You'd be gasping for air too if you had your face in someone's mouth all night. Ben doesn't like to be woken up by Lochlan's wolf cries. Ben has had probably two hours sleep.
I didn't-aw, for fucks sake. Lochlan doesn't argue. We've been told this before. We sleep like sea otters. Hamsters. Kittens. We curl up together as close as we can get and we don't move. At all. Ever. It comes from summers sleeping in the camper in the tiny cot, without heat, without any sort of comforts at all save for each other and the radio.
We head downstairs for breakfast, Loch in his old pajama pants that now border on indecent but also I can't look away, and me in yesterday's leggings and Ben's super-huge Goatwhore (heh) hoodie because it's roughly in the same condition of worn-ness as Lochlan's pants. Softer is better when it comes to clothes. And who doesn't like comfort?
Ah yes, here he comes now.
Caleb whisks into the kitchen, looking at us with mild disdain as though we're supposed to be ready or something. It's six in the morning. Why the hell is he up and bright? Did I forget something?
I just came to borrow some eggs until I can get out and replace them.
Just put them on the list-
And give you more to do? Speaking of which, we need to have a discussion.
Lochlan rolls his eyes. His voice is scratchy. Can I please have my coffee first?
It doesn't include you so sure, go ahead. Caleb has little patience for Lochlan's little patience. They'll forever be posturing greasers. He turns back to me. We need to talk about a little break for you.
I just got home and I don't want to go anywhere.
Yes and you also didn't have the rest and relaxation you desperately needed before and now you're so far overdue for it you've given up on it and I'm here to fix that.
Not going to hap-
SHUT UP LOCH. Caleb turns on him finally, going from annoyed to angry.
Loch puts his mug down and steps in front of me. Oh shit. She's staying put.
She decides.
She wants me to decide.
Caleb looks around Lochlan at me. You want him to decide you can suffer here for all eternity or do you want to get on a plane and go rest somewhere warm?
I am warm. And I've had rest.
You're waking up holding your breath again. That's not the trait of someone who is relaxed. Bridget-
Not now, Diabhal. Please.
Good job, Dóiteáin. Make her suffer for your rules. Good job. Bridget, I want you at the boathouse at eight sharp tonight. If he isn't going to spoil you, I will look after it.
He does! You just can't-
That's the point. I can.