[ The sad thing is that he does: he considers himself fortunate that anyone has the heart to be this open with him, fortunate that he's allowed to be here. For someone accustomed to swimming in tepid waters, to navigating through minutes and hours and days that are as empty as they are routine, this is the most he could ever ask for. Someone breathing calmly near him. Alive.
He waits until he's certain that Oona is fast asleep, counts the seconds until he's sure that she's too far under to register anything on the surface, before letting himself sift a long piece of hair away from her face, her eyes. The rise and fall of her chest under his jacket is a steady rhythm that beats comfortably against his own exhaustion.
If she doesn't wake up, that's fine— he'll find a quiet place for her to rest, and hopefully anyone who finds her will treat her as warmly as she deserves. ]
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He waits until he's certain that Oona is fast asleep, counts the seconds until he's sure that she's too far under to register anything on the surface, before letting himself sift a long piece of hair away from her face, her eyes. The rise and fall of her chest under his jacket is a steady rhythm that beats comfortably against his own exhaustion.
If she doesn't wake up, that's fine— he'll find a quiet place for her to rest, and hopefully anyone who finds her will treat her as warmly as she deserves. ]