Tell Me How It Feels

Chapter Twenty-One

A/N: Yet another transition chapter wrote on my phone, so who knows how it'll look. However the spelling should be a little better than usual since I've got autocorrect. But you know what keypads are like...

Caysie. x

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Chapter Twenty-One

It didn't happen often, but sometimes when Finlay found himself staring at nothing and thinking about everything in the mornings, he could genuinely not tell whether he had slept or not. His eyes never seemed to feel rested, but nor did they weighed down with tiredness neither, and memories of dreams or the past night were non-existent. It sometimes drove him to the point of fright, since most people could usually tell whether they had spent the last nine hours or so in slumber or staring through darkness.

This morning was one of these mornings, and once again Finlay found himself just thinking. To people that didn't know him very well, they might believe that all he did was ponder over everything, but really he was on the same thought levels as others. It just happened to be a fact that he was much more aware of his constantly wonder and worry over everything.

However, something was different now. Instead of running his mind through his usual pessimistic insights, today he could feel that somewhere within him was a burning sensation that lay like pleasure in his stomach. But lay was all it did. The feeling did not float or take over him, it was truly like lead, inferior to all other emotions, but it was still there and felt good.

Finlay rolled lazily and cautiously on to his back, now unable to smell the somewhat comforting scent that was embedded in the pillows. The ceiling seemed so high when he noticed it, and he traced his eyes around the barely noticeable darker marks on the paint. It wasn't exactly a new ceiling to him, he'd been in this room before, but the roof above him hadn't been what his eyes usually lay upon.

Directly above his head was a miniature mark that vaguely resembled a smiling face. He twinkled back at it, unaware of how odd he looked, and tried to guess what the strange thing was so happy about.

And that's when his surface thoughts turned to him. He had trailed off to wondering whether or not Ryan had ever noticed the smiling face on his ceiling, and he could immediately answer his own question. Of course he wouldn't have noticed, for it wasn't actually there. The irrelevant random mark only seemed happy because it reflected Finlay's take on the usual atmosphere of the room.

It just so happened that now was also the first time that he realised he was spending his first night in the relationship alone, but in his partner's bed nevertheless.

There was a timid knock on the slightly ajar bedroom door, and Finlay did nothing but grasp the quilt tighter and pull it over the exposed skin anywhere below his neck.

"Finlay?" Whoever had knocked spoke gently and slowly bent their body around the door .

"Morning, Timothy," he mumbled deeply and quietly.

Timothy inhaled before bringing most of his body in from behind the door, but he remained close to it, "you getting up soon?"

"Yeah, I'll do it now," he sighed, realising he should have gotten up ages ago.

"It's nearly dinner time," Timothy stated, then snorted a little laughter, "and Joel is going mental, I think he really wants to talk to you."

Finlay made an exaggerated urgh sound, probably loud enough for Joel to hear himself. He sat up straight and pulled the quilt around his back, "he always wants to talk about something."