like real people do | c.g [#wattys2019]

S E R E N E

IT'S ALWAYS SO SERENE, the first day Carl gets here. Because he mostly just spends it with me, whatever afternoon hours that we waste just catching up and holding each other seem almost frozen in time. The disturbances and complications that could be arising all stay outside that door, locked behind the four off-white walls that line the room around us.

All I feel are his fingertips dotting patterns across my spine, delineating my ribs, outlining my hipbones. His heart beats right underneath my ears, chest rising and falling against me. It's my favorite sound in the world, the drumming of his pulse. He looks so peaceful, so effortlessly beautiful, almost like someone painted him into place and all that's missing is the frame. The sun pours from the half-open shutters and casts a golden hue across the whole bedroom, making his pale skin glow and his cheekbones stand out as the light reflects off the bone.

I stare at him indiscriminately, observing the curve of his jaw and the slope between the indentations of his collarbones. Bite a smile over the slight stubble he's too lazy to shave and let the usual relief wash over me as my gaze trails over his healed wound. It's forever tinted red, the skin scarred and pulled from the bullet, creasing over his eye-socket. The redness fades, however, a couple inches down his cheek, returning to what the gun never touched.

That relief is a product of the remnants of pain from that night. I still remember it so vividly no matter how hard I try to erase it from my memory. The way his body fell, the sickly paleness that he radiated, all of the blood and all of the tears. It makes me shudder and it hurts to remember, but he's here. He's still here. And the sunset's rays are catching on his eyelashes and making his freckles stand out. His body's pressed tightly against mine as he holds me, all warmth and softness and sweat and it feels like home. He's home and he's here.

And he's so serene indeed that the only indicators I have that he's not asleep are the movements of his hands and his voice as he speaks. "Stop staring at me," Carl demands, laughter hidden in his raspy tone. My own giggles escape me as his fingers clutch my waist and pull me up and away from his chest where I laid.

"Make me," I challenge, muttering as he finally meets my gaze. There's a smirk on his face but he stays still, an eyebrow quirked up. There's a moment of silence where I allow myself to pull his hair back, softly drawing it away from his face. "What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" I ask him, words barely above a whisper.

"Are you saying I'm the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" He groggily mumbles, making me chuckle. I figure he won't answer my spontaneous question, instead burying my face in the crook of his neck. But he takes a moment, feeling my lips press against the skin before he replies. "You. Whenever and wherever."

It's supposed to be a tender moment but I ruin it by snickering. "That's too cheesy, come on. Besides me." He scoffs at this, offended, and asks what my response is. "Well... The awfully corny thing to say would be you. But, I think it's Hershel's little face when he was first born. He was all scrunched up and he was crying but he relaxed when I held him. And he clutched onto my finger and opened his eyes to look back at me and I just wanted to protect him so badly, you know?" Thinking back to his own little sister, Carl nods, smiling. "And, also you."