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[belovedcorvidarchive2024]

[ silence ] sender and receiver comfortably exist in silence together, both of them working or reading or focusing on something different // ( smoker )

❣ | Memes :: This One | Prompts for Ordinary things that feel Intimate

This was basically retirement, wasn't it ? Between a horribly botched mission and the resulting lingering injury that had nearly been fatal and permanently altered his gait, Rocinante had been placed indefinitely on reserve - reserve of reserve even, he mused to himself. Permanent grounding was a gift considering that he probably should have been fired, he knew that, but it still was . . . odd. Odd to get comfortable somewhere, to get used to seeing the same people all the time without lying to them about who he was, a calm that didn't really feel deserved. It had taken weeks, months - infinite patience on Smoker's part, he was sure - for ingrained hypervigilence augmented by a long and painful recovery to wear down into something genuinely restful: safe enough to chance a nap. He'd draped his entire ridiculous frame over their comfy sectional, propped up on a pillow or two to avoid disturbing the thick bandages still looped around his chest, and elected to take this particular afternoon to rest.

Even if he didn't sleep deeply, it was still soul soothing to shut his eyes and just bask in the soundscape of their living space. He could feel the sun, hear the breeze and seagulls not too far from the open window near where he was resting - Rocinante had not yet brought them a snack today, and they weren't exceptionally pleased. He could both hear and feel the dog currently curled up and snoozing on his chest - how this otherwise quiet little creature could snore so loudly if resting at the wrong angle was beyond him. Maybe it just seemed loud because the room was peacefully quiet, even with the both of them here. A companionable silence wreathed in the scent of cedar and smoke and coffee. Briefly shaking off drowsiness, he paused in a reflexive scan of the room to see what Smoker was doing; eyes lingered on broad shoulders now free of characteristic lingering tension, the lines of his face and jaw drawn not with stress but with sharp focus. He'd known the other man for years, but sometimes it struck him how nice it was to see him in a context outside work.

' I like getting to see you look less stressed. '

The thought lingered, itched to be said, but he held it for now - letting his eyes drift back shut with the intention of going back to sleep.

In the midst of all this, Rocinante noted the clack of rock against rock on the other side of the room, then the sound of rocks colliding with the wooden table, then finally a soft curse escaping as a hiss from the other man. Wordless storytelling. A singular soft huff of mostly stifled laughter escaped the dozing blond. Amusement aside, he made a mental note to give that table a wide berth if there were stones stacked on it when he woke up. His clumsiness and this art form didn't always occupy the same space well, if memory served.