He's close enough that, as Louis begins unspooling the story, his voice is something felt as much as heard: a low hum in his chest, a faint vibration in his throat. It comforts him through the pangs of homesickness he can't quite dodge -- and the inner rebuke that follows each time, reminding Gaeta he wouldn't be in this position if --
Well. There are a lot of 'ifs.' Not all of which are the sole province of the mutiny.
But the comfort's what matters, even more than the story itself after a while. He listens, and feels, the words, and each one lulls him away a little farther.
This time, when he finally falls asleep, it's without pain.
no subject
He's close enough that, as Louis begins unspooling the story, his voice is something felt as much as heard: a low hum in his chest, a faint vibration in his throat. It comforts him through the pangs of homesickness he can't quite dodge -- and the inner rebuke that follows each time, reminding Gaeta he wouldn't be in this position if --
Well. There are a lot of 'ifs.' Not all of which are the sole province of the mutiny.
But the comfort's what matters, even more than the story itself after a while. He listens, and feels, the words, and each one lulls him away a little farther.
This time, when he finally falls asleep, it's without pain.