[ Typically, the second standard he sets for himself, and the irony which comes with it, occur to him casually. Some idle thought, a passing realization. Some notion folded into another's words, hidden until he unwraps and thinks on it. Very rarely has the sight of his own standards against his standards for another confronted him so.
He can see the sentiment Gale expresses so clearly; the sense of diminishment. That a person leaves slivers of themselves in others as their lives touch against the lives of others, pieces which could not be restored or retrieved. It's a feeling Godfrey has often existed alongside; it often felt as though he could feel the broken edges of the pieces he'd lost of himself. The pieces he'd entrusted to his husband. They'd been buried with him.
Godfrey had just been running his fingers along those edges, as it turns out, as Gale expresses the very same sensation. His thoughts immediately recoil against the idea he had just spent so many years fostering, disbelieving the very ragged seams he had just been contemplating. It all suddenly seemed ludicrous; that the man before him, storied and intelligent and kind and careful, could have been diminished by anything.
But this was not a train of thought Godfrey would follow; not now, blighting into a world after that breathless admission. And nor was it a point he would argue with words - Godfrey knew that debate would not be what disproves this thinking to him. Godfrey brings his hand to his lips and presses into it a kiss, exhaling slow and warm across the back of his hand.
Willing that uncomfortable pressure, still building steadily, to settle one last time before he slips his hand from Gale's and relaxes his posture to offer to him his strong, broad chest, his smile touching his eyes in the soft light. ]
no subject
He can see the sentiment Gale expresses so clearly; the sense of diminishment. That a person leaves slivers of themselves in others as their lives touch against the lives of others, pieces which could not be restored or retrieved. It's a feeling Godfrey has often existed alongside; it often felt as though he could feel the broken edges of the pieces he'd lost of himself. The pieces he'd entrusted to his husband. They'd been buried with him.
Godfrey had just been running his fingers along those edges, as it turns out, as Gale expresses the very same sensation. His thoughts immediately recoil against the idea he had just spent so many years fostering, disbelieving the very ragged seams he had just been contemplating. It all suddenly seemed ludicrous; that the man before him, storied and intelligent and kind and careful, could have been diminished by anything.
But this was not a train of thought Godfrey would follow; not now, blighting into a world after that breathless admission. And nor was it a point he would argue with words - Godfrey knew that debate would not be what disproves this thinking to him. Godfrey brings his hand to his lips and presses into it a kiss, exhaling slow and warm across the back of his hand.
Willing that uncomfortable pressure, still building steadily, to settle one last time before he slips his hand from Gale's and relaxes his posture to offer to him his strong, broad chest, his smile touching his eyes in the soft light. ]
Come.