Under Control.

chapter twenty one.

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Everything was quiet. The snow outside had calmed it's fierce squall, dulled now to a swirling mass of playful whiteness under the fuzzy orange of the city lights. The makeshift blizzard party that had been raging on outside Julian's bedroom door for the better part of the night had wound down, too. Assumedly, the boozy excitement had inevitably given way to sleep. And the air in this room, the one populated by Julian and Nora alone, was dazed, and satisfied.

From the bed and beyond, pressed against bare backs and flushed faces, misty windows and strewn clothes, stretched an afterglow. It was clarity and joy and satisfaction. The whole room and both of the bodies in it were overflowing with it, a low hum that lived behind their dozy eyes and wandering hands.

There was a newness to this, between them. They and the moment both were vulnerable and laid bare.

Julian was beside her now, with one arm hooked under his pillow while the other traced a lazy pattern over the crest of her hip. But not too long ago he had been hovering over her and watching in rapt fascination as Nora had let the last of her doubts about him and them together fall away, her body tucked beneath his own, her chest pressed to his with their hearts galloping in heady syncopation. He could see the whole of her now, and the hint of shyness that lived behind her wide grey eyes. And, he could feel the responsibility of what it meant to have had her let him in, and ask him to him stay.

For her part, Nora was busy piecing together all of the parts of Julian that he'd given to her in bits as a means of trying to make sense of the whole of him as he was here and now, naked, beside her in his messy bed. She was aligning all of the stories he'd let her know about his childhood, his nerves about his work and being on stage, and his fears about who he might be and because of whom, what, and why.

He was a riddle, an enigma, and there was something precious, Nora knew, about having Julian let her know him. Because, the truth was that Julian hid so much of himself away. He was at once a walking heart, raw and exposed, and all seeing of the world and all the ways it could inflict hurt. But at the same time, he was afraid. He was afraid of loving in case he didn't get it back in return. He was afraid because he had been taught he should be. He was reluctant to be himself, because he didn't like himself, and so often, Nora had found, the way he was, was informed by his stubborn disbelief that he deserved much of anything good.

But was all of that about him contrasted with the way he touched her — surely but carefully, mindful never to hurt her or make himself unwanted, let Nora be sure, even if Julian couldn't be.

Sometimes, when Nora would love him with her own touch, he'd flinch first. He knew her now and so it almost never happened anymore, but every so often, she'd catch him off guard and there'd be a flicker of something in him that gnawed at her heart. He was a walking juxtaposition, was Julian. When he'd smile, he'd smile wholly, his whole face, his whole body sort of reaching outwards towards happiness, even if only for a second. But then other times, he'd correct himself, like he felt guilty for allowing himself to be that way and he'd settle back into a shadowy unease.

Occasionally, usually when he was outside of himself, he'd reach for her — towards warmth, and comfort — and he'd nestle her hand between his own and trace the lines on her palm. Or, he'd just grab on to her out of nowhere, like he was anchoring himself. He'd slip by her in packed rooms and let his touch rest on her shoulder or her back, reminding himself that she was there, and himself to take a breath. And the further he could escape from the echo that lived inside his head, the more he'd indulge in the comfort of other people. He'd become a hugger, and dole them out generously. He'd kiss and pat and touch and be, and he wouldn't judge himself for it. And with her, with Nora, he'd rest — a head in her lap, his hands on her body, his lips on her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. And when they were alone together he'd do the same, but more.