"Daniel," Jack murmurs, wound around him in a way sleep will untangle in a series of small separations. "Daniel, I -- "
He's so sure of what Jack's sleepy mouth is garbling ('I love you'; has to be) that he says, "Tell me tomorrow". He can wait.
Then they wake and the words (Jack) have been overwritten, expunged.
And he says it to Jack, over and over, desperate even for a parroted echo.
Stupid of him.
But waiting for what he wants is a habit (a bad one).
And he's left hoping, not knowing, not sure, after all.
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