[ Bastien looks at By's face while By looks at his hand. He's well past the point of memorization. He used to sneak it in during glances up from letters or reports. More recently he's had mornings. Not all that many of them, but a few, when there were no scheduled meetings or pressing matters or restless, busy moods to prevent Bastien from holding very still and keeping very quiet for a little while to watch him sleep.
Other lovers—because there have been others, some of them lasting a year or more, even if the shallowness of feeling makes lover a misleading label—he'd have felt finished looking at, around now. Stories that were only as good as their twists and unresolved questions, without any humor or elegant phrasing or varying interpretations to reward revisiting them.
But he's as fascinated by the length of Byerly's eyelashes as he was a year ago.
no subject
Other lovers—because there have been others, some of them lasting a year or more, even if the shallowness of feeling makes lover a misleading label—he'd have felt finished looking at, around now. Stories that were only as good as their twists and unresolved questions, without any humor or elegant phrasing or varying interpretations to reward revisiting them.
But he's as fascinated by the length of Byerly's eyelashes as he was a year ago.
And then he's grinning. ]
I am not getting a tattoo.