stoical - l.h.

twenty-two

❀❀

His favorite hobby is, of all things, photography. And hearing him talk about it is the most lovely experience. Luke can talk about all types of things I haven't heard of all night. He mentions exposure, aperture, different lenses. I have no idea what most of the words he uses mean. Some of the words I've heard or can guess the meaning of. But I never interrupt him once, and he never stops talking. It may sound like it's annoying, but it is heavenly. Truly.

His voice takes on a different sort of tone the later it gets. I don't know how he can possibly speak for this long about one thing. Throughout it all, he doesn't falter and doesn't lose his light, his passion. For what I'm awake to hear, every word that escapes his lips is full of excitement, genuine interest. It isn't something I'm used to. I like it. I'm not doing this for me, and yet it feels like it's for me.

I thought I would feel more uncomfortable with forcing myself to talk to him, to do this again, knowing what he's capable of. I'm not saying I forgive him—I don't know about that yet—but I'm saying that maybe there was something I missed. Even if there wasn't, even if this is an act for his own personal gain, if it's not hurting me or anybody else, how could it be bad? I feel ashamed at points, like the whole situation is wrong. I guess in a way it is. But in a different way, it isn't. I can think of it simpler than thinking of it as me listening to a stranger babble on about shooting in RAW files instead of large ones even after he previously bullied me.

Consider it like this. He offered to help me at first, saw that I had a real issue. We had our differences. We both got over it, and I'm accepting his help again.

It's over-simplified, but it is the only thing that helps the situation in my mind. Otherwise, it just seems weird.

He talks and talks and talks until I am delirious. I don't know if he knows I'm delirious or sleeping or what. He doesn't pause for me to talk or ask me any questions, probably because he knows that isn't what I wanted in the first place. I wonder if this will be good for me, if this will help me out in the future if I'm ever experiencing anything real bad. Since I'm not tonight, it's sure to get me to bed, but what if one day I lose it?

The thought drifts through my brain lethargically when I'm on the brink of sleep, so close to that bliss. I feel my breathing even out, the sounds around me fading away. Such a good feeling.

And then Luke stops talking. I don't completely bounce back, don't wake up or anything, but somewhere in my half-consciousness, I get scared. A few seconds of silence pass before the message gets into my tired brain and I shoot awake, panicked for no particular reason.

"Luke?" I say into the phone. I feel my heart beating in my chest and dizziness swims my vision briefly, likely because I woke up so quickly. "Luke, are you there?"

"I'm here, Lavender," he says. The softness of his voice makes a lump form at the back of my throat. I don't know why. "I asked if you were sleeping, and I figured you'd fallen asleep."

I settle back down, taking a deep breath. Why had that startled me so much? "Oh. I-I'm sorry, I just...I got scared, I don't know—"

"Don't worry about it," he says kindly. He doesn't even sound remotely tired. Again, I wonder where he is. Laying in his bed, leaning against the calming blue walls? Sitting on a couch in his living room? "I'll keep talking for you."

"You don't have to," I whisper quietly, "if you don't want."

"Well," he replies, sighing deeply, "it's getting late, and there's school tomorrow. I don't want you to stay up too late."

I stare out into the darkness of my bedroom and take in the shadows, the strange way lights from outside create patterns against the floor, the wall. "Me? What about you?"