Unreality [DawnsLight]

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Flinne's eyes followed the sweats as they landed on the bed. Another wave of melancholy washed over him. His gathered trinkets, the little pieces of his old life, they were all gone. As was his rifle. And his identity. For a mad little moment, the problems of existing in this reality struck him as funny, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing. He knew it would have had an edge of hysteria in it, and he was sorely trying to hold onto himself.

He gave himself a shake, and gave Aria's all too lovely legs a searching glance, before pulling his eyes away. He slipped out from under the sheets, and turned his back on Aria like the gentleman he was. He wasted no time in bending to step into the pants. He was lean, and defined, and he had a thousand little marks and scars. None were prominent, or disfiguring, but each told a story.

The sweats turned out to work, although Flinne felt silly wearing them. The kept him covered, but they were just a bit short. They left his ankles exposed. He pulled the drawstring in front tight -just in case- and turned to wait for Aria. She looked as pretty as ever. He joined her in the kitchen, standing a few feet away as she began to prepare the tea. He felt like a refugee. Like he was imposing.

Swallowing, he spoke hoarsely again. "You don't need to keep me, if you don't want to." That didn't sound quite right. "I'd like to stay, but I don't want you inconvenienced by my..." <i>By your what? By your <b>existence?</b></i> He trailed off. He had nothing in the world. Just Aria, and whatever kindness she deigned to visit upon him.
 
Aria was brought out of her thoughts abruptly when Flinne spoke. She frowned deeply, turning to face him fully before she spoke; "Keep you? Flinne, you're not some puppy that's followed me home." She sounded exasperated, dark brows arching high in her disbelief and hands going to her hips. "I did think a little bit about this, you know. It wasn't some snap decision, even if it didn't exactly go as I thought it would. It's not an inconvenience and you're not imposing., so put that out of your mind."

"It's going to be weird for a while; I know that. But it'll be alright." Stern eyes softened before she looked away, moving to pass him a steaming cup. Aria blew on her own mug to cool it before taking a slow sip. She set the mug down again with a wince, the handle having rubbed her raw knuckles. As if her pain were a reminder of his, Aria reached across the counter and slid a bandage to her guest. "For your shoulder..." she said, her voice soft.

The past few days had been so busy and so charged with emotion that Aria was at a loss and frankly still reeling from the events of the past two night's dreaming. The highs and lows of hope and grief left her feeling shaken, anemic on an emotional level. It had been little more than a week since the young man before her had made his first appearance in that made-up wood. It seemed longer somehow. Her attachment to him was strange in this context and frightened her suddenly.

"Do you remember what sizes you wore? I could probably guess, but I could be off." she asked dryly and the words sounded wrong to her. Distant. She hoped he wouldn't notice and began to get ready to go out.
 
Flinne looked chastened at Aria's scolding, and he turned his eyes down to the mug she'd handed him, grateful for the distraction that the liquid provided. He rather felt like a puppy that had followed her home. He didn't even know if he could use his own name. He had no social security number. No driver's license. No passport. No <i>identity</i>. Which was fine, as long as he didn't get arrested. Or need a gun. Or a job. Or... <i>No. Enough of that. You'll deal with it when it needs dealing with.</i>

He let out a sigh, and shook his head as Aria spoke again. He glanced up from the tea, and used his free hand to pull the bandage nearer. "Thank you," He murmured, as he set the tea aside. He pushed off of the counter, and moved to the sink once more. He took a paper towel from a nearby roll, and he wiped away the trickle of blood that had leaked across his chest when he'd slept. He gave the bite a gentle scrubbing as well, trying not to grimace as he did.

"Most medium clothes will fit me loosely. Or... They did before it..." He shook his head. "I'm not sure on my sizes. Hell, I don't know that my sizes still fit. I haven't been precisely well-fed." He frowned, glancing up from the now-pink paper towel. "You might be better off guessing until I can come with you." He let the damp wad of paper fall to the sink, and he turned to Aria in full. He stepped nearer. He should have hugged her. He wanted to hug her. But he couldn't. "I want you to be careful." He said again.
 
He looked like he was going to hug her, but she was somewhat relieved when he did not. She was confused and the undeniable attraction that Aria felt towards Flinne would have muddied the water further. Instead she smiled to cover her tension and touched his arm as a way of acknowledging his request. "I'll be fine," she reassured.

Without much more than that she grabbed her purse and slipped on her shoes. Her tea was still hot and steaming when she walked out the door.
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Well this is a 180-degree change from two days ago. Aria muscled her way through the door and up the stairwell back to her apartment, arms laden with her shopping and a bag of Chinese takeout tucked under her chin. And leaking onto her chest if that spreading warmth meant anything. The trip out hadn't given her the clarity that she needed and instead only made her worries worse. Compounding this, was the fact that those odd shadows were still around; she had almost managed to forget them. Hunger and worry gnawed at her belly.

What were my true intentions here? Pity? Is that so bad though? This cyclical thinking had plagued her as she looked for things for Flinne to wear and hoped that her choices would meet with his approval. Or maybe it's just been so long since you were able to feel comfortable with another man enough to actually want to get laid, a wicked voice resounded in her head. She couldn't deny is but she also didn't fully accept the idea. The attraction was undeniable and some of her behavior was downright... Stupid? the voice offered. She couldn't deny that either. Shoving these thoughts aside, Aria resolved to walk back in smiling again. Flinne was going to be having enough of a hard time adjusting without her moping and questioning herself. It might even be a blessing to not be fawning all over him.

It certainly might save her some embarrassment.

Performing some kind of elaborate one-legged juggling act, Aria was able to turn the key in the lock and lean against the door to open it. She stumbled into her apartment, grinning. "Hey! I got some food; is Chinese okay?"
 
Flinne watched the woman go longingly. He was very certain as to what he wanted when it came to the lovely brunette, but he wasn't at all certain as to how he was going to go about it. With a shake of his head, he meandered into the bathroom to begin binding the wound. His own tea was left still-steaming next to Aria's.

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While Aria was gone, Flinne had managed to bind the wound, although the nature of it's location meant that he had needed to wrap the bandage both under his arm, and around his chest to keep it from exposure to grime. He still wore the sweat pants Aria had given him and -apart from the bandage- not a stitch more. Presently, he was in the middle of pulling the sheets off of Aria's bed. When he heard the door to the apartment open, he dropped into a crouch. His hand flicked to his hip, expecting to find the familiar handle of a hatchet. It wasn't there.

Luckily, then Aria stepped in through the door. Flinne straightened, his cheeks going pink. His stomach rumbled at the sound of Chinese, and he blushed further still. "I love Chinese. What did we get?" He asked, abandoning the pile of sheets and comforter that now lay at the foot of the naked bed. He moved to help Aria with the burdens. "You're leaking," He pointed out.
 
Ah food, it really is the way to a man's heart. Passing the bags over gratefully, she set the soggy bag on the counter and pointed to various spots on her shirt, adopting the tone of a haughty waiter: "This afternoon's selections include a lovely won-ton soup currently running down my stomach, General Tso's chicken along my collar, and beef in black bean sauce decorating my left- ah..." Aria trailed off, feeling a little silly. It felt good. There was a light in her eyes and she was pleased to feel that the smile she wore was genuine.

Pulling the sticky garment away from her chest, she started down the little hallway to her bedroom. "You feel free to check out what I brought and change if you feel like it. I'm going to have to change myself, it seems."

She felt pleased with her purchases even if she did go a little overboard. She just kept thinking of more things he might need; besides clothing were undergarments and socks, a pair of shoes that she hoped would fit, a less feminine set of toiletries, and a shaving kit and toothbrush. I think that covers all the basics.

Aria stepped over the bedclothes on the floor and looked at them quizzically she shucked her shirt. She called from the bedroom as she pulled on another; "Was something wrong with the sheets?" There was no offense in her tone, just curiosity. She pushed them items in question aside with her foot to clear the way around the bed. Adjusting her hair out of her collar and making sure the v-neck wasn't too low cut, she made her way back into the living area to get Flinne's answer.
 
Flinne let a smile slip up onto his face, and -for a change- it stayed there as Aria moved off. He began to rummage through the bags of items she'd bought him, and he wasted no time in selecting a pair of boxers, and a pair of jeans. He doffed the sweats in no time flat, and he had wriggled into the boxers just the same. He had the jeans in hand when the question came from the bedroom, and one leg of the pants on when Aria came back out. "I bled on the sheets," He explained, apologetically. When he had the pants on firmly, he dug about for the belt. That too went on to hold his pants about his hips, before the scents of dinner drew his attention. He first pulled out saucers -if they were available- to set the leakiest of containers on.

He took a plate for himself, and served himself up some General Tso's with rice. Chinese food almost always came with rice. Food won out over decency, it seemed, as Flinne didn't look as if he was going to so much as think about doing anything but eating 'till his plate was clean. He even snatched a pair of the cheap chopsticks to eat with.

As it turned out, The Survivor had rather poor dinner skills. He held the plate with one hand, and leaned a hip against the counter while the other wielded his chopsticks expertly. He practically inhaled the chicken, and the rice wasn't far behind. At the very least, he didn't spill any. He paused long enough to grin at Aria. "Never thought I'd eat Chinese again."
 
Aria watched Flinne eat with wonder, but at least had the sense to try and be covert about it. His grinning comment made his poor manners forgivable, and she found herself standing to eat alongside him, even if she didn't quite share his level of enthusiasm or skill with chopsticks.

When the Survivor had cleaned his plate for what she was expecting to be the first time of many, she took the opportunity to check the fit of the jeans he was wearing. At least that's what she told herself, even if her appreciation of the fact that food had lured him away from the clothing before he could don a shirt couldn't be overlooked. "Those seem to fit well," she commented lightly.

As she studied him, picking at her plate of beef and rice- Chinese food did indeed always include some form of the grain- clumsily. Aria began to see the light scars that marked him here and there. She found herself wanting to touch them.

Quelling the urge and finishing her meal, Aria contented herself with tidying the kitchen and starting the washing up once Flinne had gotten his fill. Her throat constricted slightly at the memory of doing something similar in a dream and how she had pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth in a half-kiss. He said he wanted to do it again, she thought hopefully. It didn't last long. She scrubbed at a particularly stubborn grain of rice for almost five minutes, waiting for the flush to leave her cheeks.
 
Flinne did indeed go back for a second plate, although he managed to stop himself for going for a third. Chinese was his weakness. At least the girl hadn't gotten him fried dumplings. He could eat those things all day long. He glanced down at his jeans curiously, and shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he tested the fit. "That's about right," He agreed. They were a bit tight across the hips, but he liked them that way. There was less a chance of getting snagged on something that way. The inseam wasn't too baggy either, although it wasn't constricting. He could move in the pants, which he appreciated more than the way they looked on him.

He scraped the last of the rice to the edge of his plate with his chopsticks, and pushed them into his mouth with a piece of chicken. It left his plate -mostly- empty. He set it down, as he glanced at Aria who'd begun to wash the dishes. She was blushing. He pretended not to notice, when he set his plate down beside the sink for her to wash. "Do you want me to stick the leftovers in the fridge with the saucers, or do you think they're finished dripping?" He asked, turning to fetch one of the tees from the bag of belongings she'd brought back.

He stuck his arms in first, leading with the left -injured- and following with the right, before he pulled it over his head and thusly down to his waist. He looked almost like a normal man, and not some post-apocalyptic hero. The scruff on his chin didn't help, nor did his faintly luminous green eyes. "And do you have a spare blanket around?"
 
"Oh, that's right. The bed." She said a little absently. She asked Flinne to put the food in the fridge still on the saucers that kept them from getting too messy and dried her hands. "I'm afraid I don't have a linen closet, so everything is in mine with my clothes. Feel free to take whatever you need. What's the blanket for?" Aria spoke as she made her way to the bedroom and its closet, opening the doors wide. Among the clothes hanging, and stacks of towels and extra blankets and sheets hung a compound bow from pegs in the back of the closet. Aria ignored it, but instead pulled out the neatly-folded linens.

This is feeling more and more normal...thank goodness. She relaxed a bit more and began re-making the stripped bed, frowning at the long gouge running down one side of the mattress and the visible foam within. She covered it quickly, a mirthless chuckle on her lips. "I'll flip the mattress soon. I keep forgetting that's there."
 
Flinne tucked the food away idly, feeling rather suddenly out of place all over again. Although being nomadic for the entirety of the year before had prepared Flinne to survive on very little, and had prepared him to live with as few belongings as he needed to live, it had <i>not</i> prepared him to move in with a woman. He'd never <i>lived</i> with a woman before. Not apart from his mother, who had passed away years before the Unreality took everything.

The normalcy of the day was... Outlandish. Unsettled, Flinne meandered back towards the bedroom when he'd finished squaring away the leftovers. "I'm not big on soup," He said, leaning his shoulder against the doorway. He didn't enter the room however. "So you can eat your fill of it." He frowned, puzzled at the question over the blanket however. "I assume you'll want me to sleep on the couch." He said, his inquisitive tone making the statement a question. "I'm a guest here, after all. I don't expect to put you out of your bed."

His eyes flicked to the bed, as she began to make it all over again. He started into the room on his bare feet, and moved to the side of the bed opposite Aria. "I'll give you a hand."
 
She smiled up at him, pulling the fitted sheet on hurriedly. "I actually thought I might sleep on the couch tonight. You looked like you were sleeping so well this morning and I just thought, y'know, it'd be nice..." She faltered before adding quickly: "I've slept on that couch plenty of times anyway; I don't mind it, Flinne."

When he made his way over and offered his help, Aria accepted. Looking up at him, she couldn't help laughing. "Oh god, this is weird, huh?" It felt good to admit, but she found herself rushing to explain before her words offended her guest. "I don't regret you being here. It's nice to have company..." She trailed off, looking up at Flinne while her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. "It's just that all of these normal activities seem so strange when I do them with the man who until recently lived in my dreams."

"I'm afraid that I'm a little at a loss. Please forgive me, Flinne." She sat on the bed, avoiding the beautifully luminous green eyes. Her own locked firmly on the hands in her lap. She bit her bottom lip lightly.
 
Flinne saw to his side of the sheets, smoothing them out with the flats of his hands, and making sure they squared up with the rest of the bed. When he'd finished, he glanced up from the sheets. He didn't feel right putting the girl out of her own room. He felt rather like an intruder. Some sort of brute, to make the beautiful dreamer a refugee in her own home. She was avoiding his eyes. That troubled him. Quietly, he stepped around the bed on bare feet, before he leaned down to ease himself onto the edge of the bed beside her.

"It would be nice," He agreed, "But it wouldn't be right." He ducked his head, trying to catch the woman's eyes with his own. An idea struck him, and he blushed for it, his cheeks going red right across the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't sleep well knowing I'd put you out of a bed."

<i>Go on lumphead, ask her. You're alive. She's alive. You both deserve some happiness.</i>

"We could both sleep in the bed," He suggested, his eyes staying firm on Aria's expression. "We're consenting adults. I'd keep to myself, and I wouldn't put so much as a finger where it wasn't wanted." As much as he ached to. God, how long had it been since he'd felt a woman's touch?
 
The problem is that I want those fingers in so many places. She blushed furiously at the thought, and found herself looking through her lashes into those eyes. Aria nodded slowly. They had slept like that this morning, she reasoned. It would be fine, like he said. He's just so nice; at turns a gentleman and a wild man. I really shouldn't agree- weak. I'm so weak.

She took a deep breath; when had her breathing become so fast and shallow? The low huskiness of her voice surprised her when she answered him, "Sounds fair, the bed's plenty big."

How she wanted to kiss him again! That in combination with the slow burn spreading through her abdomen indicated that she'd get no peace tonight. Heaving a little sigh, she reached up and pressed her hand to his stubbly jaw for a moment before standing. "Come on, we'd better finish."

Despite an outward calm complete with a quirked smile, Aria reeled with excitement and anxiety, the two singing her blood as her pulse thundered in her ears. Heaven and earth, what am I doing?
 
For a moment, he thought she might very well go through with kissing him. His breath caught in his chest, and his ears prickled with the tone of her voice. The hand at his jaw felt right in all the ways it ought to, and his body raged at him to take her in his arms. To give in to the need he'd thought had abandoned him during his flight through Unreality. And then Aria was standing, and walking past him. It took all of the Survivor's restraint not to let out a long-suffering sigh of his own as he pushed himself to his feet. "Of course," He agreed.

He bent to take the corners of the comforter in hand, and he began to pull it over the bed. Up and down the bed he smoothed the comforter, making quick work of the chore. His hands rose to settle on his hips as he studied the work. Again, his mind ran to Aria.

<i>She touched my face. What if she doesn't like stubble?</i> The thought was silly -he knew- even as it formed. Even so, he stiffened abruptly, and swept towards the door again. "I'm going to shave." <i>Smooth.</i>
 
Aria nodded in satisfaction as Flinne finished smoothing out the comforter. Once more she found herself fascinated with his hands, how they moved and worked. She could almost imagine them trailing their way over her. She suppressed a little shudder. His sudden announcement shook her from her thoughts and she looked up, puzzled.

"Oh.. Alright. Won't it just be back in the morning?" She enjoyed the roughness under her hand in that selfish touch. "I like... I was getting used to it, actually," she corrected and cursed herself for her slip. And that damn tone of voice was still there! Aria groaned inwardly.

"I'm going to change for bed, then. While you're busy." Time to collect herself, calm down a little and stop acting so ridiculous. Aria tried to look nonchalant as she turned down the bed, glancing up at Flinne where he stood. A little smile on her lips again, unbidden.
 
Flinne stopped halfway to the door at the statement. It was there, and unmistakable. <i>She likes the stubble.</i> His cheeks were hot. He'd look like a fool if he changed his mind because a girl said she liked a bit of hair on his chin. But did he really care? "I suppose," He said, turning back to the bed, and thus Aria. "That it can wait 'till morning. Let me know when you're changed," He said, before slipping out of the room, and into the bathroom. <i>What did that smile mean?</i>

He splashed cool water on his face, and gave himself a shake. "Don't let your head get all twisty over a woman." He scolded himself quietly. "She won't appreciate it any more than you do if you're all nerves and-" His teeth clicked shut. What was he thinking? Again, a hand wiped down over his face, his bright green eyes slipping closed as he listened for the call back to the bedroom.
 
The call came in short order; Aria had already slipped between the sheets and dimmed the lights in the room to a soft glow. She had taken her hair down as well and the rich, dark waves fell about her shoulders and curled against her cheeks. She was wearing one of her more modest sleep camisoles, the lace of it covering more of her chest while seeming all the brighter against her soft olive skin. She had the blankets pulled up to her waist.

Leaning back against the pillows, she bit her lip again in her nervousness. The light and her position gave it a sultry look.

"Are you ready?" Her voice was soft, husky again. This was really getting annoying but she just couldn't help it. "For bed. Ready for bed." Aria added weakly, just a beat later.

Leaning over, she pulled the sheets back beside her and gave the space a pat. She tried not to expose herself while she did it, but was quick to remind herself that it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, after all. The thought once more brought color to her cheeks.
 
Flinne meandered back into the room rather plainly, and as his eyes fell upon his bedpartner, he felt a fool for it. His mouth went dry. <i>Am I ready?</i> He asked himself, mimicking Aria's question. He dropped his eyes away, and stepped closer to the bed idly. His fingers snagged the hem of his shirt, and he peeled it up his midriff, and over his head. It froze there for a moment, accompanied by a stiffening of his shoulders as his wound pulled faintly, but soon enough the shirt was free. He dropped it by the bedside, and turned his back on the all-too-lovely Aria.

Clinking noises filled the quietly dim room as he fussed with his belt, and it thumped to the ground as his jeans fell about his ankles. He cast a glance over his bandaged shoulder to Aria, as he eased himself down into the spot she'd gestured to. Up he pulled his legs, to tuck them beneath the covers. All the while, he tried not to dwell on precisely how thin the layers of cloth between himself and his Dreamer were.

<i>There I go again. Is she really <b>my</b> Dreamer?</i> Rather than rolling away from her, to present his back to her as a proper platonic bedpartner might, he rolled onto his side facing her. She was lovely in the dimness, and her modest camisole only served to heighten his desire, bright as it was against her skin. "You're lovely when you blush," He said, his own voice a breathy whisper. "And when you don't."
 
Try as she might not to watch him undress, Aria couldn't tear her eyes from him. The way the muscles moved, the line of his back and the angle of his shoulders entranced her in such a way that she found it impossible to look away from the subtle play of light and shadow on his skin. A shuddering sigh escaped her, so soft that she didn't feel worried that he might hear. She did worry about him feeling her eyes on him, however, and Aria at last looked away.

When he lay facing her, she was surprised. But when he spoke, oh how her heart felt like it stopped. She stared at him, hazel eyes wide for a moment before becoming half-lidded. She couldn't help the shy little smile playing on her full lips. "Flinne... Thank you." She whispered back. Whatever thoughts had been holding her back before were quieted and Aria was emboldened by his words. Her hand trembled when she reached up to stroke his cheek, delighting in the fact that he hadn't shaved after all. She found that her entire body was shivering with anticipation.

She wanted him, and damn the consequences. Warm hazel eyes spoke an invitation that her lips couldn't form
 
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