Chapter Text
It’s funny, so laugh.
It is with trembling fingers that you trace over his cheek, his skin, his body. Your black-lined lips are thin, neutral, neither smiling nor frowning, and your violate gaze steady. Everything about you is the perfect picture of perfection. Composure. Absolute control.
Except for your shaking.
Your blonde hair is neat -- you made sure that you took the time to brush and style it accordingly -- and your clothes are smooth and fashionable. Favorable colors, too. You thought about donning some yellow, but decided against it. You felt more at home in the darker hues anyway -- purple and black. For kicks, you even added a splash of red. Your headband was red. Your shoes were red. The small ribbon on your left wrist, were red.
Even your nails were red. You had decided to take a moment to paint those as well when you woke up today. Though you did have to go through the trouble of taking off the previous coat of black that was on there. So your hands sort of smelled like nail polish remover and...well, nail polish.
You smile. Watching him, lying there, he looks so vulnerable. And it’s funny, really.
It’s funny, so laugh.
He’s always so uptight -- so wound up, you would think that he was preparing for the exact moment that someone was going to jump out and attack him and try to kill him.
It’s funny, so laugh.
But like this, lying there, it’s so different. Catching him with his guard down is pretty hard most of the time. He always had a strange way of even looking tense when he slept sometimes. As if, just knowing that someone was in the room, or that they might enter the room, was enough to keep him on a comatose high alert. Something like that seems like a bit of a contradiction, but, well.
Dave himself was a bit of a contradiction. A walking one, at that.
You wonder, briefly, if you should be touching him like this, when he is lying here like that. Probably not. Were he be aware of it, he would certainly scold you. Roll his eyes and demand that you get away, or even make some snide, sarcastic comment about you ‘never being able to get enough of him.’ For a kid who had some crippling self-worth issues, he sure did like to talk big. But that did sort of come with the territory sometimes.
It’s funny, so laugh.
You were used to it by now though.
“Dave, you are such an idiot. I hope you know that,” you say, or mutter more likely, whilst pulling your hand back away from his cheek. It is perfectly smooth, and slightly obstructed from his shades slipping down his nose slightly. Carefully, you reach forward again and take a gentle hold of both sides of his shades, and pull them slowly from his face.
His eyes are still closed, of course, but with the glasses still on his face you couldn’t really tell for sure usually.
It’s funny, so laugh.
Either way, you felt better with them out of the way. You set them down beside you, right by your right knee, one of which you were currently sitting on in your little kneeling position. Dave is still sprawled out haphazardly on the floor from the other night when he came to your place and crashed. You don’t dare move him.
Instead, you tilt your head back and stare at the ceiling, right at the light on your fan, stare until your eyes water and even then stare a little more,
and you laugh.
It’s fucking funny, so laugh.
[ r e w i n d ]