[It's possible, maybe even likely, that Junpei falls asleep before the whole world blinks. Gab has tried to eat this very long list of things, and he's just filling the air for Charles' sake, but he's so very comfortable like this that the relief buzzing through him has finally settled into tiredness— so, yeah, very possible that Junpei dozes off in earnest before the whole thing resets.
To stir once more and find he's somehow migrated into being the little spoon, well, that's just- that's just what's happening, isn't it? He wiggles a foot first- Gab check, Gab has left them for his own dog bed- then turns over to look at Charles, right after he rubs his free hand over his face to wake up more quickly. The sluggishness of a surprise nap, ugh—
But he's greeted with this particular view of Charles up close, still wrapped around him and mesmerizingly sleep-tousled (how? worth repeating-), and, huh. Huh!
He could get used to this, Junpei thinks, and he's not shaken the sleep off enough to feel embarrassed. No, all he has the capacity for in this state is open fondness and the lingering confusion of waking from an unplanned sleep— one much more prominent than the other.
Not for the first time- today, even- he thinks about just tilting that much further towards Charles and kissing him like he should have days ago, when the world really was (theoretically) ending, but instead,]
Hi.
[And he'd be content to leave it at that masterwork and simply admire Charles from this close, think all the saccharine, sentimental things they think in all those big, classic romances - did Ovid ever write letters about the crinkle at the corners of the eyes in every smile, Junpei wonders, the kind that could undo him in a fraction of a second? Maybe he could ask when he's done looking.
But the memory of a world outside his bedroom brings him back down to earth, and he glances away from Charles' face towards where the arrow had hit.]
Are you doing better now? There's not, like... ghost tetanus, is there?
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To stir once more and find he's somehow migrated into being the little spoon, well, that's just- that's just what's happening, isn't it? He wiggles a foot first- Gab check, Gab has left them for his own dog bed- then turns over to look at Charles, right after he rubs his free hand over his face to wake up more quickly. The sluggishness of a surprise nap, ugh—
But he's greeted with this particular view of Charles up close, still wrapped around him and mesmerizingly sleep-tousled (how? worth repeating-), and, huh. Huh!
He could get used to this, Junpei thinks, and he's not shaken the sleep off enough to feel embarrassed. No, all he has the capacity for in this state is open fondness and the lingering confusion of waking from an unplanned sleep— one much more prominent than the other.
Not for the first time- today, even- he thinks about just tilting that much further towards Charles and kissing him like he should have days ago, when the world really was (theoretically) ending, but instead,]
Hi.
[And he'd be content to leave it at that masterwork and simply admire Charles from this close, think all the saccharine, sentimental things they think in all those big, classic romances - did Ovid ever write letters about the crinkle at the corners of the eyes in every smile, Junpei wonders, the kind that could undo him in a fraction of a second? Maybe he could ask when he's done looking.
But the memory of a world outside his bedroom brings him back down to earth, and he glances away from Charles' face towards where the arrow had hit.]
Are you doing better now? There's not, like... ghost tetanus, is there?