TWH: Word Prompt Challenges

February Flash Fic - Day 17 - sleep

Another day has left his hands cramped from filling out paperwork. As he walks to his car he flexes his fingers before splaying his hands wide and then rolling his wrists. It helps a little, but not enough. He momentarily considers going to the gym. It's early enough, yet, that he could zen out while lifting weights, or utilizing the punching bag. Day he's had? It's necessary. He could hit the gym and then go home and fall gratefully into bed.

The thought of going to the gym is tempting, but it also makes his shoulder twinge. It still does that, occasionally. Pulls when he moves just right, or after a strenuous workout. (But was there really any other kind?)

She always scolds him about that. Pushing so hard. Like she's any less guilty of it.

Thoughts of her bring a smile to his lips, and as he makes the final approach to his car - hunting in his jacket pocket for his fob - he feels an overwhelming urge to call her. Even goes so far as to get his phone out and then sense stalls him. She just worked a double. She's probably passed out. More than likely on The Comfiest Sofa in Existence (his title for the monstrosity that takes up roughly half of the floorspace in her studio apartment).

A press of the button on his fob brings his car to life, the machine ready for action even if he's slowing down. Tossing his bag in a light arc to land in the passengers seat, he slides behind the wheel with a light ooomph escaping him. Though the car is idling, ready to begin the journey home, he's conflicted. Stuck. Double just worked or not he has to hear her voice. HAS TO hear the groggy way she'll answer the phone. Has to confirm she's still breathing and making the world a better place just by existing in it. After that - after that he'll be able to drive home and fall into bed. The rest of the world will still be askew... a wild, dark place, but she'll still be illuminating his small slice of it.

" 'lo?"

He leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes, answering her quietly. "Hey."

"Unf." She exhales. Inhales. And then sighs, "Time is it?"

"Early. Late. Just. Was thinking about you. Wanted to hear your voice." Wanted. Needed. Same thing. And had he meant to admit that? He blinks his eyes open, looking at nothing in particular through the windshield. He hears her yawn, how she tries to stifle it and fails. And the tiny noise she makes as she stretches. His mind wanders, filling in further details.

"Gotcha." She exhales another of her - I just woke from the dead and am stretching out all the sores spots - noises. "You make it home, yet?"

Doesn't he wish. He sits, unfocused in the drivers seat of his car, wishing he didn't have to navigate the traffic to make it back to his place. Where are those cars of the future? Blink and you're home, having been driven there by the vehicle itself. "Nuh-uh. In the garage still. Just got out to the car."

For a second he thinks she might have fallen asleep on him but then she utters two soft words, "Come over."

He should argue against the suggestion but the desire to hear her, to be around her, was exactly what had driven him to make the call in the first place. He'd like nothing better than to accept, to wrap her up in his arms and just SLEEP.

Frowning, he closes his eyes. He's exhausted, and she is too. Their schedules made it difficult to always find time to see each other, particularly with the overtime they both work. But he's got a change of clothes in his bag. No things of his at her place, not yet. But maybe they're building towards that?

"My place is closer." He hears her move again, probably rolling over to try to find that comfortable position she'd abandoned in order to answer the phone when he called. "Bed is already warm, too."