Re: [(After)Life]
She waited and watched and Lear knew it. He could feel her gaze on him, and it was familiar, comfortable even. Not that comfort mattered a lot to Lear. He didn't give a fuck about it, really, but it was nice now. Like the drink and its blend of spices. It was deeper than even the belly of sea Lear had been dropped into as a kid. He probably wouldn't say it that way, but he felt short of that kind of articulation.—What he could articulate was his want for something more. He didn't necessarily need anything stronger than a cigarette, but he wasn't going to turn it down. It was why he didn't specify. Nel would deliver.
Cool eyes watched her leave, and Lear waited in the semi-silence of falling water on stone. It was lulling. He didn't realized he'd closed his eyes until they opened again, this time on Nel returning. Her shoes were gone and she stepped fully into the shower. She sat next to him in the back, and Lear didn't bother with hesitation or second thoughts. He took the pipe and the lighter. He took a good two or three hits, long and lung-filling, before he nodded, letting the silk of smoke thread out from nostrils and the part in his lips.
Then, still holding the pipe, he shifted until he was sitting on the floor of the shower, practically at Nel's feet, and he put his head in her lap. If he'd been anyone else, it might have been deferential or soft. But, Lear's eyes were open, gazing up through the hiss of water, like a shark with an eye on prey, and he took another toke with the pipe tucked inward slightly.