Slowly -- being careful not to disturb her hand in his hair -- he untangles from around her and works his way back into a lying-down position, his head resting in her lap. It almost makes him feel like a little kid but not quite; when he was a little kid, he never let his mother do this. She'd call his hair a mop or a mess or a tangled jungle and try to get him to comb it or cut it or get him to let her do those things, but he never did. When he got sick of it, he'd cut it himself but never, never let anyone else touch it.
And now, all these years later, he both wonders why and he knows why: no one but Beth can make him feel this content just by curling her fingers in his hair, playing with it, making it feel like a part of him instead of just the thing everyone stares at because it's kind of green.
He wonders if he'd known her back when he was a kid, would that have kept him from running away? Overnighting in that abandoned mine, the one that altered his DNA just enough to make his hair the shade it is now? It's never really bothered him and it doesn't now, either. It's just something to think about, and he likes to tell himself if he'd known her then, his life would have been real different and he would have been crazy about her from the start, but... that's idle fantasizing. His life wasn't different, and he loves her both because of and in spite of everything he's done.
Lying there, his head on her lap, he lets his eyes close all the way. He can't see her, but he can feel her fingers in his hair and the rhythm of her breathing.
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And now, all these years later, he both wonders why and he knows why: no one but Beth can make him feel this content just by curling her fingers in his hair, playing with it, making it feel like a part of him instead of just the thing everyone stares at because it's kind of green.
He wonders if he'd known her back when he was a kid, would that have kept him from running away? Overnighting in that abandoned mine, the one that altered his DNA just enough to make his hair the shade it is now? It's never really bothered him and it doesn't now, either. It's just something to think about, and he likes to tell himself if he'd known her then, his life would have been real different and he would have been crazy about her from the start, but... that's idle fantasizing. His life wasn't different, and he loves her both because of and in spite of everything he's done.
Lying there, his head on her lap, he lets his eyes close all the way. He can't see her, but he can feel her fingers in his hair and the rhythm of her breathing.
It's really nice.