On that front, at least, Alistair has succeeded. Cullen's too occupied with maintaining some kind of equilibrium, some kind of control --
-- because it's dangerous to lose control, especially in an unfamiliar place where you're vulnerable and where demons burst out of rifts nastier than anything the Inquisitor's seen thus far --
-- and when you know what demons would do with you, given a sliver of a chance --
-- to think about his desk, or maps, or intelligence reports in from the distant camps regarding the movements of the Jaws of Hakkon.
Cullen has found that rest and proper vigilance are mutually exclusive states of being.
Perhaps someone somewhere has managed to wholly separate mind and body; it's not Cullen, at any rate. When he comes, it's with a great shuddery breath. He presses his hands to his eyes, drags them down.
Reaches out, after a moment, and cups the back of Alistair's head, fingers sliding into his hair. Aims a warm, foolish smile at Alistair as though no one else exists in the world.
no subject
-- because it's dangerous to lose control, especially in an unfamiliar place where you're vulnerable and where demons burst out of rifts nastier than anything the Inquisitor's seen thus far --
-- and when you know what demons would do with you, given a sliver of a chance --
-- to think about his desk, or maps, or intelligence reports in from the distant camps regarding the movements of the Jaws of Hakkon.
Cullen has found that rest and proper vigilance are mutually exclusive states of being.
Perhaps someone somewhere has managed to wholly separate mind and body; it's not Cullen, at any rate. When he comes, it's with a great shuddery breath. He presses his hands to his eyes, drags them down.
Reaches out, after a moment, and cups the back of Alistair's head, fingers sliding into his hair. Aims a warm, foolish smile at Alistair as though no one else exists in the world.
(For a moment or two, there isn't anyone else.)