[Fic] an aching kind of sound (Thurnley Abbey)
- Fandom: Thurnley Abbey - Perceval Landon
- Pairing: Alastair Colvin/Narrator
- Tags: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Close enough to hear other person's breath or heartbeat
- Word-Count: 935
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2024-09-04
- Disclaimer: I do not own Thurnley Abbey - Perceval Landon and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Summary:
Blinking, I heard the shift of a blanket. If I stretched out my hand, I thought, I could reach him.
Notes:
- For SweetSorcery.
- 'Delirious A only calms when holding B's hand' except it morphed sort of into 'scared character only calms when holding B's hand' and so i'm not tagging it for the exchange :D
Work Text:
Colvin did not sleep.
I woke in the middle of the night and I could hear his shivering, the faint shudders that ran through him. He went to bed easy; smiled, and politely stayed out of my way, eager to not take up too much space though in truth he rather is a man that does so naturally, I should think. After getting ready for bed he then spent some time reading in the little light available; surely, I thought, a strain on his eyes. But he did not seem to mind, and he was still reading when I succumbed to the unavoidable grasp of slumber, gaze unable to be torn away from him.
I lied awake, now, and listened to him shiver. He was still, on his bed. Little more than a cot, truly, and we were close enough that I could hear the thumping of his heartbeat, the rapid beating of his pulse. It seemed amplified in the dark; as a wave, as a trumpet, sounding in my ears just out of tune and rhythm with my own heartbeat. Truthfully, I knew not for sure how much of his fantastic tale I believed when he first told me, but it had occurred to me since, as such things often does, that I have had my fair share of unexplainable witnessing in my background. A peril of the job, one might say. So it was not disbelief that made me hesitate, lying there in the dark and hearing his fear as clear as if the room was lit up in resplendent sunlight and I could see him with my own eyes, as much as it was the stray thought that a man as proud and proper that Colvin seemed must not much relish the vulnerability of the fears that plague him.
Blinking, I heard the shift of a blanket. If I stretched out my hand, I thought, I could reach him.
But what good would that do?
I knew not the fear that plagued, not truly. I could hear it, I could feel it in every faint shift of the air echoing his movements, but I did not know it. He had told me he was better now, and I thought it rather clear it was a lie; perhaps a kind one, or a cruel one, depending on one's view. I rather thought cruelty of it, though, because it seemed quite clear it ailed him.
I listened and I listened and I listened, and at last there was a whimper. Faint, as faint as dust, but, indeed, I reached out through the dark before a better thought could occur. My palm struck the padding of his cot with a thud that seemed to ring around me, and I could feel the lack in the air as he froze. "Alas," I said, attempting for a wry wit that might me seem less a besotted fool, "We are but mere humans, and some sleep should do us good."
"Am I keeping you?" Colvin asked, and he sounded remarkably steady but for the hoarse strain in his voice. A good man, I thought he was, and it only made it crueler then to know the torment he was under. "I did not intend to-"
"It is of no consequence," I said, no interest in what excuse he might come up with. "You are not alone. Sleep, Mr. Colvin, and have a good dream."
"...I don't suppose it would surprise you if I said I can't recall one," Colvin offered after a long moment, and I must confess to a huff of laughter, an amusement straying through me. Clever, I thought he was, too. Clever and good and kind, in his regard. Oh, fearless, one must say, too. For he approached me, a stranger, for support, and it is hard enough to ask support of friends, I thought. But perhaps the indignity was easier to bear, too, with a person one does not have intimate memories of, a life lived with.
"I am here," I said, and I could see the outline of him, the silhouette of his body. The shapes and shadows twisting through the room, and how he turned toward me. I could not make out the details of his face, but I thought maybe he preferred that. Still, I smiled, trying to inject the expression into my voice. "I'll keep watch, and you can go to sleep."
My hand still rested upon his bed, and truthfully I almost forgot so---so close at hands were the beds---until I felt the fainted touch of a finger. It trailed over the back of my hand, soft and gentle both, and I drew in a sharp breath. Abruptly, I recalled how handsome I thought Colvin was the first time I saw him. That thought never really went away, no matter his tale. And I held my breath as he closed his hand around mine, holding tight.
A tremor swept through him, and I could feel the beating of his heart in the pit of my throat. I attempted to move my fingers to hold onto him, in turn, but he squeezed my hand tight and I thought better of it. It was no hardship, anyway, to let him hold as he pleased. As he needed.
I should hope he got some sleep, at last; I confess I fell back into slumber not long after, soothed by the sound of his breathing and his heartbeat and the warm touch of his hand.
In the morning, I thought in that half-sleeping state of a half-delirious mind, I would ask.