[ If Gorgug dreams, it's a mishmash of scenes that follow no particular plotline, nothing he can keep a hold on for long. There's nothing that he can recollect from before he stirs, but on the cusp of waking: either a dream or a memory, small hands brushing at his fringe during a feverish night. His body can surely remember those things.
It's not night in the real world. Nor are there tiny hands, nor a singular such one, though Gorgug doesn't open his eyes to find that out immediately. In the state between sleep and life, Gorgug lingers, unable to remember what it is that awaits him once he wakes more. While he has the chance to not feel the rising anger inside himself, he wants to linger in this in-between: the sensation of something touching him, that might not be real, and a calm that he hasn't felt without an oppressive, numbing apathy pressing down over him.
But he should look, he eventually reasons: when none of the negativity he's used to feeling stirs inside him, and so he lets his eyes open instead. Slowly, warily; the time when he last woke far from his mind, and so when he sees Fabian above him--Gorgug stiffens. Breath holding in his chest, but then his heart demanding a faster pulse, the guilt, the worry--
Gorgug doesn't hurry to move, to relax himself. He could ask what Fabian is doing, but he doesn't want to: he thinks Fabian can do whatever the hell he pleases, and nothing should be done that might stop that. Snippets of their previous exchange starts to find itself back inside his thoughts, but they don't entirely help. Tears, apologies, and reassurances--all that means anything is Fabian saying he isn't mad, even if that doesn't make everything alright.
So Gorgug watches Fabian a little, but doesn't think to watch him too closely; as if this will show that he has permission to touch or do whatever it is he wants. That he won't be interrupted. ]
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It's not night in the real world. Nor are there tiny hands, nor a singular such one, though Gorgug doesn't open his eyes to find that out immediately. In the state between sleep and life, Gorgug lingers, unable to remember what it is that awaits him once he wakes more. While he has the chance to not feel the rising anger inside himself, he wants to linger in this in-between: the sensation of something touching him, that might not be real, and a calm that he hasn't felt without an oppressive, numbing apathy pressing down over him.
But he should look, he eventually reasons: when none of the negativity he's used to feeling stirs inside him, and so he lets his eyes open instead. Slowly, warily; the time when he last woke far from his mind, and so when he sees Fabian above him--Gorgug stiffens. Breath holding in his chest, but then his heart demanding a faster pulse, the guilt, the worry--
Gorgug doesn't hurry to move, to relax himself. He could ask what Fabian is doing, but he doesn't want to: he thinks Fabian can do whatever the hell he pleases, and nothing should be done that might stop that. Snippets of their previous exchange starts to find itself back inside his thoughts, but they don't entirely help. Tears, apologies, and reassurances--all that means anything is Fabian saying he isn't mad, even if that doesn't make everything alright.
So Gorgug watches Fabian a little, but doesn't think to watch him too closely; as if this will show that he has permission to touch or do whatever it is he wants. That he won't be interrupted. ]