[ He feels like he's said something wrong. More likely than that, he probably didn't say enough. Omitting a lie doesn't exactly mean being truthful either, and he realizes he's given her next to nothing on top of all that.
He tilts his head towards the glass of water and the two Advil left before him — a reprieve for the pounding in his head and the soreness in every muscle — but he doesn't move to touch it.
Instead he strains his ears and pauses, listening for Wanda's whereabouts within her apartment, paying close attention to her movements, her breathing, her heartbeat. It's cheating, sure, but Matt could use all the help he can get right now.
How the hell is he fucking this up so badly?
It's the sound of fabric rustling that he notices first — Wanda pulling his clothes from the bathroom and moving towards the closet where her machine sits. He didn't even know she had a machine. Following that is the rushing sound of water, and the machine drum beginning to spin; it's almost loud enough to deafen the soft sound of rain outside, and more importantly: the hitched breath and slow heartbeat — the release of tension, and ... hurt.
He gets to his feet, slow and deliberate, and makes his way down the narrow hallway to where he hears the washer at its loudest, and can feel the warmth of Wanda crouched right in front of it. He can smell her too, subtle florals and clean shampoo (the same shampoo he'd just used) and he can taste the salt on her cheeks from tears. ]
Wanda.
[ His voice is soft, and he stands there for a moment before he crouches, getting to his knees to be at her level, soreness be damned. ]
I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I?
[ He reaches out instead, a hand gently placed at her arm until he feels like she won't push him away (because she's well within her rights to do so), and then he leans in to press his forehead to hers, to catch her head with his other hand and draw her into him before he moves to embrace her entirely. The laundry continues to spin behind them, washing blood and dirt and violence out of his clothes, like it could be erased.
If only it were that easy. ]
I just — [ He hesitates for the barest second. ] — don't want you to think differently of me.
no subject
[ He feels like he's said something wrong. More likely than that, he probably didn't say enough. Omitting a lie doesn't exactly mean being truthful either, and he realizes he's given her next to nothing on top of all that.
He tilts his head towards the glass of water and the two Advil left before him — a reprieve for the pounding in his head and the soreness in every muscle — but he doesn't move to touch it.
Instead he strains his ears and pauses, listening for Wanda's whereabouts within her apartment, paying close attention to her movements, her breathing, her heartbeat. It's cheating, sure, but Matt could use all the help he can get right now.
How the hell is he fucking this up so badly?
It's the sound of fabric rustling that he notices first — Wanda pulling his clothes from the bathroom and moving towards the closet where her machine sits. He didn't even know she had a machine. Following that is the rushing sound of water, and the machine drum beginning to spin; it's almost loud enough to deafen the soft sound of rain outside, and more importantly: the hitched breath and slow heartbeat — the release of tension, and ... hurt.
He gets to his feet, slow and deliberate, and makes his way down the narrow hallway to where he hears the washer at its loudest, and can feel the warmth of Wanda crouched right in front of it. He can smell her too, subtle florals and clean shampoo (the same shampoo he'd just used) and he can taste the salt on her cheeks from tears. ]
Wanda.
[ His voice is soft, and he stands there for a moment before he crouches, getting to his knees to be at her level, soreness be damned. ]
I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I?
[ He reaches out instead, a hand gently placed at her arm until he feels like she won't push him away (because she's well within her rights to do so), and then he leans in to press his forehead to hers, to catch her head with his other hand and draw her into him before he moves to embrace her entirely. The laundry continues to spin behind them, washing blood and dirt and violence out of his clothes, like it could be erased.
If only it were that easy. ]
I just — [ He hesitates for the barest second. ] — don't want you to think differently of me.