I do what I want
Jim keeps expecting it to get boring. Loving Bones. Being loved by Bones. He’s afraid of that, really; more afraid than he can remember. He doesn’t want to lose this, the spark in Bones’ eyes or the gentle scrape of skin on skin, lingering hands on his shoulder, laughing over his shoulder at the stupidest things. Bones snoring, cooking breakfast together. Little things. Stupid things. Jim thinks that if the world ends tomorrow and he’s got one thing left, he wants it to be this.
So he waits for it to get boring, for the thrill of joy to leave. He waits for himself to stop loving Bones, and it’s thirteen years down the line when he realizes that that’s not going to happen.
"I want to stay with you," Jim blurts, like an idiot, but Bones is good at dissecting what he’s trying to say when he babbles.
"Well, good," Bones says, and Jim feels like he’s just let out a breath he’s been holding. “Never thought you’d ask." ©
я сейчас расплачусь, это так прекрасно
So he waits for it to get boring, for the thrill of joy to leave. He waits for himself to stop loving Bones, and it’s thirteen years down the line when he realizes that that’s not going to happen.
"I want to stay with you," Jim blurts, like an idiot, but Bones is good at dissecting what he’s trying to say when he babbles.
"Well, good," Bones says, and Jim feels like he’s just let out a breath he’s been holding. “Never thought you’d ask." ©
я сейчас расплачусь, это так прекрасно