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xp_logsAfter Doug finds the letters (all the letters.), he and Marie-Ange inadvertantly find themselves both in the sunroom - without noticing each other quite at first. (Doug is asleep, and the lights are off.). Things are not better, but its a start.
Doug sat quietly in the sunroom, a small collection of envelopes on the bench beside him. He gazed out the window, pondering the identical contents of the envelopes. He was still slightly angry, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to be held in Marie-Ange's arms. He had gone to her room first, but she had not been there. He'd checked a few other places, finding the other copies of the letter that had been pushed under his door, but Marie-Ange was nowhere to be found. So he'd finally settled in the sunroom, figuring that sooner or later, she was likely to appear. After the events of the day, he was pretty sure neither of them were going to get much sleep.
After writing and placing all the letters, Marie-Ange had gone outside to stare at the sky, half-hoping that the stars would have something to tell her. Or that possibly a large asteroid would fall on her, though, that would be a waste of all that letter-writing. After deciding that no, the stars weren't helpful at all, and that a large space rock would just make things worse, she went back inside.
She half-considered going back to her room and sleeping, but she was fairly certain that sleep, if it came, would not come easily. Splitting the middle between trying to find somewhere to attempt to worry less, and staring out at the sky, she headed for the sunroom.
The padded benches on the window seats seemed too close to the outside - too close to the world where a university campus was attacked and where more than twenty-five people died. Too emotionally drawn to give more than the barest glance at the furniture in the unlit room, she picked an overstuffed armchair, facing one of the windows and curled up, tucking her feet underneath her.
For all his plan to stay up and wait, the emotional wringer of the past two days had exhausted Doug, and coupled with the fact that he had declined to turn any of the lights on, he had fallen asleep curled up in the corner of the bench seat. One of his hands flopped down from where it had been resting on his knee, spilling a few of the letters to the grown with a soft sound of rustling paper.
Marie-Ange almost did not hear the dry noise of falling paper, too caught up in staring out at the yard and watching nothing. Turning her head, she saw a shadowed figure, curled into a tight ball on one of the bench seats. Doug. Asleep. With her letters. All of them.
Which meant he had read them, which told her nothing about his reaction to her words. But then, if he had reacted badly, she supposed - hoped - that he would have retreated to his room, instead of risking a sore back and a bad night's sleep on a bench.
Sliding her shoes off with her toes, so she could move and make a little noise as possible. Marie-Ange crept over to Doug, and sat down on the floor, leaning her back up against the bench. She
didn't want to wake him, or disturb him, and sitting down next to him was just too much of a risk - if he was going to be upset, at least this way she could move away easier.
Doug shifted slightly in his sleep, trying to get more comfortable in the awkward position his body was currently in. His dangling hand swung slightly, brushing up against Marie-Ange's arm. He made a vaguely curious, inquisitive noise in his sleep, then slouched down even farther, rolling onto his side and attempting to use his forearm as a pillow.
Protective instincts growing far too strong to ignore, Marie-Ange decided she could at least get Doug a pillow. Moving slowly and quietly, she took one of the throw-pillows from a chair, and laid it down on the bench next to Doug's head. Biting her lip, hoping that he would not react badly, she nudged the pillow towards him gently, brushing it up against his fingers.
The strange rhythmic brushing against his fingers was finally enough to wake Doug from his doze, and he blinked confusedly, forgetting for a moment where he was. His eyes finally focusing, he saw Marie-Ange, and he bit his own lip with a nervous expression that was a mirror for hers. He plucked the pillow out of her hand and replaced it with his own hand, squeezing gently.
"I.. " At the slight shake of Doug's head, Marie-Ange stopped trying to speak. She glanced down at the bench, too unsure to sit down without knowing it was not too much, too fast. Without realizing what she was doing, she placed her free hand over Doug's, effectivly holding his hand in both of hers gently.
At Marie-Ange's attempt to speak, Doug had realized that words were entirely superfluous. Between the letters and her body language, he could see that she was sorry and sincere, and while it wasn't enough right away, it was a start. He gently placed a finger over her lips to signify that there was no need for talk. Standing up, he pulled the large throw pillow down to the floor. Then, lifting the bench seat, he dug a blanket out from the space underneath it. Spreading it out, he gently directed Marie-Ange to the floor, where he pulled the blanket over them both. Then, still without having said a word, he curled up under her arm, his head resting against her shoulder. Tears began to slowly leak from his eyes and onto the University of Colorado sweatshirt that Marie-Ange had worn outside. Slowly, he raised a hand to rest softly on her chest, his thumb, index finger, and pinky extended in the sign for "I love you."
Doug sat quietly in the sunroom, a small collection of envelopes on the bench beside him. He gazed out the window, pondering the identical contents of the envelopes. He was still slightly angry, but at the same time he wanted nothing more than to be held in Marie-Ange's arms. He had gone to her room first, but she had not been there. He'd checked a few other places, finding the other copies of the letter that had been pushed under his door, but Marie-Ange was nowhere to be found. So he'd finally settled in the sunroom, figuring that sooner or later, she was likely to appear. After the events of the day, he was pretty sure neither of them were going to get much sleep.
After writing and placing all the letters, Marie-Ange had gone outside to stare at the sky, half-hoping that the stars would have something to tell her. Or that possibly a large asteroid would fall on her, though, that would be a waste of all that letter-writing. After deciding that no, the stars weren't helpful at all, and that a large space rock would just make things worse, she went back inside.
She half-considered going back to her room and sleeping, but she was fairly certain that sleep, if it came, would not come easily. Splitting the middle between trying to find somewhere to attempt to worry less, and staring out at the sky, she headed for the sunroom.
The padded benches on the window seats seemed too close to the outside - too close to the world where a university campus was attacked and where more than twenty-five people died. Too emotionally drawn to give more than the barest glance at the furniture in the unlit room, she picked an overstuffed armchair, facing one of the windows and curled up, tucking her feet underneath her.
For all his plan to stay up and wait, the emotional wringer of the past two days had exhausted Doug, and coupled with the fact that he had declined to turn any of the lights on, he had fallen asleep curled up in the corner of the bench seat. One of his hands flopped down from where it had been resting on his knee, spilling a few of the letters to the grown with a soft sound of rustling paper.
Marie-Ange almost did not hear the dry noise of falling paper, too caught up in staring out at the yard and watching nothing. Turning her head, she saw a shadowed figure, curled into a tight ball on one of the bench seats. Doug. Asleep. With her letters. All of them.
Which meant he had read them, which told her nothing about his reaction to her words. But then, if he had reacted badly, she supposed - hoped - that he would have retreated to his room, instead of risking a sore back and a bad night's sleep on a bench.
Sliding her shoes off with her toes, so she could move and make a little noise as possible. Marie-Ange crept over to Doug, and sat down on the floor, leaning her back up against the bench. She
didn't want to wake him, or disturb him, and sitting down next to him was just too much of a risk - if he was going to be upset, at least this way she could move away easier.
Doug shifted slightly in his sleep, trying to get more comfortable in the awkward position his body was currently in. His dangling hand swung slightly, brushing up against Marie-Ange's arm. He made a vaguely curious, inquisitive noise in his sleep, then slouched down even farther, rolling onto his side and attempting to use his forearm as a pillow.
Protective instincts growing far too strong to ignore, Marie-Ange decided she could at least get Doug a pillow. Moving slowly and quietly, she took one of the throw-pillows from a chair, and laid it down on the bench next to Doug's head. Biting her lip, hoping that he would not react badly, she nudged the pillow towards him gently, brushing it up against his fingers.
The strange rhythmic brushing against his fingers was finally enough to wake Doug from his doze, and he blinked confusedly, forgetting for a moment where he was. His eyes finally focusing, he saw Marie-Ange, and he bit his own lip with a nervous expression that was a mirror for hers. He plucked the pillow out of her hand and replaced it with his own hand, squeezing gently.
"I.. " At the slight shake of Doug's head, Marie-Ange stopped trying to speak. She glanced down at the bench, too unsure to sit down without knowing it was not too much, too fast. Without realizing what she was doing, she placed her free hand over Doug's, effectivly holding his hand in both of hers gently.
At Marie-Ange's attempt to speak, Doug had realized that words were entirely superfluous. Between the letters and her body language, he could see that she was sorry and sincere, and while it wasn't enough right away, it was a start. He gently placed a finger over her lips to signify that there was no need for talk. Standing up, he pulled the large throw pillow down to the floor. Then, lifting the bench seat, he dug a blanket out from the space underneath it. Spreading it out, he gently directed Marie-Ange to the floor, where he pulled the blanket over them both. Then, still without having said a word, he curled up under her arm, his head resting against her shoulder. Tears began to slowly leak from his eyes and onto the University of Colorado sweatshirt that Marie-Ange had worn outside. Slowly, he raised a hand to rest softly on her chest, his thumb, index finger, and pinky extended in the sign for "I love you."
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