find me when you wake up [closed]

[etherthief]

She's awake.

She sits up, breath catching in her throat, heart hammering, adrenaline flooding her system. It's okay, it didn't happen. Didn't happen. It was just a dream.

The sun's still rising but she doesn't care. She rolls out of bed, falls to her knees and struggles to get up, get dressed, get moving. She wraps her hijab carelessly, bullies her arm into a makeshift sling as she shoves her way out the door. She fumbles with her phone.

I'm getting on the green line, she types out to Greta. Meet me at GCT.

She breaks into a run as soon as she hits the street.

Comments

[andhiswife]

Greta starts when Iman pauses the movie, both relieved and bereft by the interruption, and then mortified when she realizes why it's happened. "No, it..." this isn't Iman's fault, there's no way either of them could have guessed it would be so familiar, fairy tale or no. She covers Iman's hand with her own, holding it in place for a beat or two as she tries to gather herself.

"It wasn't your fault," she says first, because she won't have her friend blaming herself for this. "You didn't know--you couldn't have known. It just..." she gently pushes Iman's hand off her cheek, but doesn't release it. She just takes it between her own, lowering it into their laps and turning it over between her palms as if it's a puzzle she's trying to solve. "It was just so much like home," she says with a wobbly attempt at a wistful smile. "With the-" she laughs once, heavily, as if someone had thumped their hand against her back and knocked it out of her, "--the singing and all."

[etherthief]

"Well, I'm still sorry." She smiles down at Greta's hands as they work over hers. It's a nice feeling, even if it's a bit anxious at heart. She likes it, and, cautiously, she allows herself to like it. "We can find something not-so-familiar."

She's about to tug her hand gently free before she stills, her brain catching up to what Greta just said. "Wait." She smiles bemusedly at her. "The singing. Are you telling me you lived in..." Is she really going to say this. Well, she supposes it's no weirder than 'fairy tale'. "...A musical?"

[andhiswife]

"... Yes?" Greta pauses in her absent toying with Iman's hand, looking a bit bewildered. "I suppose if that's your word for it, then yes." She'd never thought to distinguish between the way things worked at home and the way things worked here until she'd realized how different they were in this particular regard, and even then, she hadn't really thought about terminology. She just knows that people don't sing here unless they're performing, and any ambient music can ultimately be traced to speakers if you poke around for them. Back home, music was just... in the air. It would sweep you up when you were just going about your business and carry you along for a while.

Not so, here. She hasn't felt like singing - really felt like it - since she arrived.

"It wasn't exactly like that," she admits, glancing at the screen. "I mean, it wasn't often that the whole village got into it."

[etherthief]

"Whoa." Iman's eyes go a bit wide, for a moment wearing a look of pure scientific curiosity. "That's fascinating. Did you do a lot of singing yourself?" She expects Greta has a lovely voice. Does this mean she was a - a main character? This is a little too weird, the more she thinks about it.

She diverts her attention back to the computer, closing out of Beauty and the Beast and slipping back to Netflix. She scrolls through the available animated features and stumbles across one she's never heard of, The Secret of Kells. "This one looks pretty. Wanna give it a try?"

[andhiswife]

Fascinating seems like too strong a term, and Greta hikes her shoulders in a bashful shrug. "I suppose. No more than anyone else back home, but... certainly more than anyone does here. Except the Balladeer." That's probably not a fair comparison, though. Singing is his job.

She's a bit worried that Iman is going to ask for a demonstration, and is more grateful than she should be when her friend turns her attention back to the computer, instead. She doesn't know why she should feel so embarrassed by the prospect of singing in front Iman. Maybe it's just that it's hard to pull a song out of the air when it isn't already there and waiting for you. Or maybe it would just feel too exposed without the music. Or too lonely, singing in front of someone who doesn't sing back.

Well, it's a moot point, anyway. Greta resettles herself with a nod and a game little smile. "Yes. Let's try that one."

[etherthief]

Iman smiles and starts the movie, settling back cozily, curling up closer still. Greta's so nice and warm, and so willing to sit with her like this, she's a lucky little fucker, isn't she? Some greedy little part of her wonders, can't help but wonder, is it just that Greta is a naturally affectionate person, or is there something else here, some chance that she might be - and never had any way to know-

No, stop that. This is not a path she needs to wander down. Certainly not right now.

The movie, fortunately, is immediately distracting. It's beautiful - she's never seen anything quite like it. The music is charming and the art lush, the story immediately compelling. Her smile grows softer and happier as she watches, leaning against Greta, letting herself feel content.

[andhiswife]

This is a better choice than the last one. There are inklings of comforting familiarity in the accents and the music - even, a little, in the artwork itself - but nothing that hits too painfully close to home. She can enjoy it for what it is, not ache over how near it lands to what she's lost.

But the real comfort is having Iman curled up next to her. She can't remember the last time they were close like this just for the sake of it, without one or the other (or both) being completely miserable. Without it being a need and not a want.

And she does want it. It's nice and cozy and makes her feel... cared for. Safe. Things she rarely gets here. More to miss, she supposes, whenever things get sorted out and they all go their separate ways.

If they go their separate ways.

She would survive if they didn't. She could. Sometimes, as the weeks drag on, she wonders if that wouldn't be easier, or at least less complicated, than eventually making it home, after all.

She's tired. It easier to entertain the idea of not going home when she's tired, harder to feel upset beneath her haze of exhaustion and the comforting closeness of her friend.

She'll be all right, as long as she has this.

Her eyes have drifted shut, she's not even sure how long ago, but it doesn't trouble her. A soft sigh escapes her as she shifts closer to Iman and settles her head on her shoulder, unconsciously curling a possessive arm around her waist.

[etherthief]

Oh.

Okay.

Now this is happening.

Iman blinks at the computer, her eyes sliding slowly down to glance at Greta in her periphery. What is she - okay this can't be what it seems like, it's just... a place to put her arm, surely.

She draws a breath and manages not to make comment or shift in any way. She really wants the arm to stay where it is. She reaches up and resumes stroking Greta's hair.

This is normal. This is fine.

[andhiswife]

Greta's close to unconsciousness when she distantly registers the hand on her hair. It's something nice, and good, and her response is instinctive. She curls closer with a faint hum of acknowledgment, her arm tightening for a few moments in a sleepy embrace. Then she settles, slumped contentedly atop her friend, her breathing slow and even as she dozes off completely.