After everything is over, Blanc brings Jud back to the rectory.
The water is warm as it laps gently against Jud's waist. He has a vague sense of his damp shoulders shivering slightly, but there are fingers in his hair, thick and sure of themselves. They keep him grounded, secure in the face of the feeling that he might float away, and his nose is full of the scent of soap. Despite Blanc's grimace at the single bottle of generic 3-in-1 that had greeted him upon pulling back the shower curtain and his own aimless shrug in response, Jud figures Blanc could hardly disagree that it's a significant improvement. Between their combined efforts, this gift of water has sloughed off the layers of dirt and grime, freeing him of that physical reminder of what had transpired and creating him anew.
A low-grade wave of guilt washes over him as Jud watches Blanc empty the tub and then refill it. His eyes fixate on the filthy runoff circling the drain before fresh, clean water takes its place. But the idea of water-waste is so small in comparison to the crushing weight of everything else on his conscience that he doesn't say anything. He hasn't said a word since Blanc eased him into the tub.
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Once the EMTs had pulled Martha's body from his arms, everything that followed had become a blur. He'd been pulled off his aching knees and the next thing he knew he was being led into the station and sat down to give his statement. The officer across the desk from him had been annoyed that Jud could only give him so much without violating the seal of confession, but Jud had told him repeatedly that he could refer to Blanc and Geraldine's statements for anything else. He didn't know what else he could do. By the time Blanc had managed to convince them to let Jud go, that Geraldine would be able to talk to him all she wanted another day, Jud's words had already begun to fail him.
He'd croaked out a hollow "Thanks…" as Blanc ushered him out of the station—a profoundly insufficient expression of his gratitude in light of all Blanc had done for him. But Blanc hadn't seemed to mind. He'd shrugged off Jud's thanks with an uncomfortable grimace, busying himself instead with tucking Jud into the passenger seat and taking off in the direction of the rectory. After the chaotic noise of the station, the car was eerily silent without Blanc's cassette tape blaring as they cut through the dark streets of Chimney Rock. And, as Jud's forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, smearing it with mud, he'd glanced at Blanc out of the corner of his eye.
Street lamps illuminated his profile in flashes—the glow from the passing sodium bulbs caught in the curtain of graying hair that draped across his brow. Even after all the chaos, Blanc still managed to present himself with an intentional, artfully disheveled air. Sitting next to him, Jud was uncomfortably aware of the filth clinging to every inch of him. He could hardly do any more damage to the upholstery than he had no doubt done last night. The mud he'd been tracking in then had been fresh, but… he supposed it didn't matter. Blanc, though… he found himself (not for the first time) in awe of Benoit Blanc, and thanking Christ for sending him to Jud's side.
And, as if he'd said this aloud, Blanc glanced back at him. Only for a moment before returning his gaze to the road, but Jud had seen the fond, worried crinkle around his eyes as he'd caught Jud staring. It was like being met with the benevolent face of God, Himself. Jud shook off the blasphemous thought, looking away as a tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over him.
"Nearly there, Father," Blanc had hummed, and then a hand left the steering wheel to pat Jud's thigh reassuringly. "It's all over now. Time to get some rest."
Jud barely registered the words—all his focus had suddenly lasered in on Blanc's broad palm practically branding him through his mud-crusted trousers, seemingly unbothered by the dirt. A moment later, the hand was gone. Returned to the steering wheel as if Blanc had never let it go. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe Jud had imagined the whole thing. A moment too late, Jud nodded. He redirected his gaze and curled more tightly in on himself, staring out the window again at the warm glow coming from the windows of passing houses.
Washing the grime from his skin has done nothing to wash away the feeling of Blanc's hand on his thigh.
The guilt nags at him again—his constant companion. Surely Blanc has countless better things to do than wash Jud's hair for him. But, when Jud had managed another awkward "Thanks, Blanc," at the door of the rectory and given him a tight nod, Blanc had simply rolled his eyes and plucked the keys from Jud's loose, listless grip. He'd assumed Blanc would want nothing more than to return to his room at the B&B and get some rest himself, but instead he'd unlocked the door and led Jud into his own home—because the rectory was still his home, he supposed. For now, at least.
Blanc seemed to understand without Jud having to say a word about the way his feet felt like they'd been strapped with weights, how his brain couldn't seem to tell him what was happening, where to go, or what to do. Blanc had simply brought him to the kitchen and filled a glass of water before pressing it into Jud's hands and, once he was certain Jud wasn't going to drop it, watched as he mechanically drank the entire thing.
"Do you think you could eat, son?" he'd asked, kind and non-judgemental, and still Jud's throat closed up around his 'No' until all he could do was shake his head. The expression on Blanc's face was unreadable, but after a moment when it seemed like he might push, he held up his hands in a quiet surrender. "Alright," he'd said instead. "Let's just get you cleaned up, then." It wasn't a question, and he didn't leave room for argument. He'd just taken Jud's elbow and led him upstairs to the tiny bathroom. He'd asked about a change of clothes and Jud had shrugged, gesturing vaguely toward the next flight of stairs that led to his bedroom in the attic, but made no move to get anything. All he could do was stand there, his unfocused stare looking through his own reflection in the little window.
He could feel Blanc hesitating in the doorway. This was it. Jud was definitely more than Blanc had signed on for, and Blanc had every right to wash his hands of him. But then Blanc seemed to come to a decision and stepped into the room himself, closing the door behind him. His quick, efficient movements as he slipped off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves finally snapped Jud back into his body, and he looked back at Blanc, eyes wide and embarrassed.
"Oh, shit, Blanc, I'm sorry, I—" It was the most he'd said since he'd been escorted out of Geraldine's office, and Blanc only fixed him with an appraising stare. There was something in his eyes that Jud couldn't quite read—Blanc was better than he was at keeping a lid on things, and Jud was so exhausted. All he had to do to have Jud's embarrassed deflections dying in his throat was to say:
"Father Jud," in that calm, commanding, but gentle voice of his. Jud's jaw snapped shut and he swallowed around a lump in his throat. His eyes were stinging. His whole body ached. He stared helplessly at Blanc, lost and with only Blanc as his Star of Bethlehem to guide him. "Now," Blanc had continued. "I don't want to overstep my bounds. If you'd rather I step outside this door and leave you to it—just the room, mind," he clarified as Jud humiliated himself further by letting out a pitiful sound at the idea of Blanc leaving. "Then I will do just that—give you some privacy and the like, I'm sure you haven't had much of that since long before I arrived." His voice was even, careful, as he gauged Jud's reaction.
"But if you don't mind my saying so, you look like death warmed over—sorry," he winced at his own poor choice of words and Jud squeezed his eyes shut. The image of Martha's empty, lifeless eyes staring up at him filled his vision. "You look like hell, son," Blanc corrected himself, and the only marginal improvement startled a wet approximation of a laugh from Jud. Blanc smiled apologetically before trying again. "If you'd allow me to help you just a little while longer, Jud…" he trailed off, his eyes seeking Jud's.
The offer knocked him off his axis, slamming into Jud like a right hook to the temple. Both in how badly he wanted it, and how much it frightened him. But, stronger was the phantom feeling of Blanc dragging him all over town for days. Blanc reading his mind—between his lines and misdirections, hearing all the parts Jud didn't say out loud. Seeing him at his worst and digging deeper still. The idea of letting Blanc do this somehow felt almost… more and less intimate simultaneously. But the idea of being left alone was even more unbearable than any potential embarrassment it might be at war with, and so he'd finally managed a cracked:
"Okay… yeah…" He dared to meet Blanc's eyes, feeling like he'd already been stripped bare before him for days. What was one more step in the direction of the literal? "Yeah, please… please stay," he'd whispered, and Blanc had clasped the junction where his shoulder met his neck with a reassuring nod.
"Okay, Padre," he'd said, as if that were all there was to it. "Of course I'll stay."
And then, with slow, gentle movements, he reached up to remove Jud's collar.
Those had been the last words out of Jud's mouth. It was like a spell had been cast, turning the steaming bathroom into a private little bubble. The only sounds were that of the water, the occasional direction from Blanc along with guiding hands on Jud's bare skin, and his low humming of show tunes. Jud thought he might recognize a bar or two here and there, but he couldn't place them, and he didn't try. Blanc's touches were careful and measured, almost professional. But there was an intimacy with which Blanc cleaned the dirt from his shoulders and face, the look of quiet concentration as he carefully applied the washcloth to Jud's cheeks and eyelids, and as he had cleaned behind his ears… It couldn't help but feel, to Jud, like something more than that. What that something was, he couldn't say, but as Blanc's fingertips traced gently over the tattoo on his neck in a moment of silent fascination, his bracelet trailing over Jud's skin as it hung from his wrist, Jud's breath had caught in his throat, his heart stuttering.
He'd lathered the washcloth with soap and handed to it to Jud, directing his movements, telling him what to do with the rest of his body. Distantly, it felt a bit silly, especially when Blanc gently but almost clinically instructed Jud to scrub between his legs. Jud knew how to clean himself. The tips of his ears had burned, but he let himself sink into the comfort of the warm water. Of simple, clear directions to follow without needing to think, and layers of grime giving way to clean, pink skin. And, accompanying it all, were Blanc's steady hands to ground him.
Those hands work a fresh round of lather into his scalp now, and Jud melts under their touch. The movements of Blanc's fingers scraping gently, massaging the deep ache away, are hypnotic. They don't lull the guilt or the shame or the fear away, but as they continue, as Blanc's soft humming and murmurs of "That's it, now, there you go. That's better…" wash over him, they quiet them. Not gone, but set aside. Temporarily tucked away as Blanc's gentle, insistent care settles over him like a weighted blanket. It soothes his soul the same way the hot water does for his aching muscles.
When Blanc's hands leave his hair, Jud sways uncertainly, set adrift by the loss. A moment later, however, they're back. The tub is too small, too cramped for Jud to do much more than sit, his gangly knees bent and jutting out of the water in front of him, but Blanc manoeuvres him as best he can. His hands anchor Jud once again, with one between his shoulder blades and the other under his chin, guiding his head back. Jud goes easily, putty in those strong hands that tilt him back until he's at the perfect angle for Blanc to use his former drinking glass to rinse the suds from his hair. Jud's eyes roll back, following the movement as the hand at his chin moves to his hairline, serving as a careful protector and directing the flow of soapy water out of the path of his eyes while the other works to clear his hair of any remaining suds.
And then, all of a sudden, it's over. Blanc turns off the faucet and tilts his head back upright.
The silence in the wake of the running water is deafening. Panic threatens to rise inside him again at the realization that the moment is ending. That the little bubble they're in is about to burst. His shoulders are shaking again, harder this time. It isn't the cold as the water drains. He'd rather stay right here—naked, and vulnerable, but inside this bubble with Blanc forever, than allow himself to be guided out of the tub, dried off, and bid goodnight. He knows he's being selfish. Blanc can hardly be comfortable on his little footstool, hunched over the bathtub, fingertips shriveled, and probably just as exhausted as Jud is.
Jud's silence breaks, cracking open as he turns to look at him with a shuddered "Blanc, I'm sorry—You shouldn't have to—" before Blanc stops him in his tracks again. He cuffs the back of Jud's neck with his palm and pulls him in until his wet forehead is pressed into Blanc's inner thigh, soaking his woolen pant leg with a mixture of tears and runoff from his sopping curls. Blanc's other hand finds the expanse of Jud's bare back and begins to rub soothing circles into the skin before taking charge of the conversation once again.
"Now, you listen to me, hm, Father?" Blanc hums as Jud's heaving shoulders sag under his palm. "I am not here out of obligation and I do not make a habit of offering help I do not want to give. I am here because you are in shock—you have been through more in the last week alone than many experience in a lifetime. You have, despite a few key bewilderigly stupid decisions, handled it all with a level of grace which puts God himself to shame—" he scoffs as Jud moves to argue, cutting him off and holding him in place. "I'm the one blaspheming, not you, and if God was gonna strike me down for that, he would have done so long before today. Now, as I was saying. You have endured more than anyone's fair share, and I'd thank you kindly to do me the grace of letting me lift some of that burden for you. Even if only with this." His fingertips twist in the curls at the nape of Jud's neck, tugging slightly for emphasis. "So, for the love of all that you consider holy, would you stop apologizing and let me do it?"
His voice had been steadily rising throughout his tirade, irritation finally eclipsing the quiet gentleness that had taken center stage since they'd left the police station. It's entirely at odds with the kindness of the sentiment and the stillness of the moment and, all at once, so reassuringly familiar. Blanc has been shouting at Jud for days, has had no qualms with telling him exactly what he thinks of Jud's choices, and the normalcy of it shatters the tension until Jud is laughing into Blanc's wet thigh. Blanc chuckles too, and then they're both laughing themselves silly. Blanc clutches Jud to him as the laughter bends him forward, until the energy between them balances once again.
Taking a steadying breath, Blanc uses his grip on Jud's hair to drag his head up and look him in the eye. Jud goes slack in his grip, and blinks owlishly up at him, flushed and wide-eyed. Distantly, he's aware of the fact that he must look terrible. Eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot from his tears. But Blanc has already seen him laid bare—figuratively and (now)—literally. What else is left for Jud to be ashamed of? In this moment, it feels as natural as praying to be curled up at Blanc's feet, with Blanc's strong hand in his hair guiding him. He nods, creating a pleasant tension as Blanc's grip tugs against his scalp.
"Thank you, Blanc…" he croaks.
Blanc seems momentarily struck by whatever it is he sees in Jud's eyes, but less than a second later, he's schooled his features again. Calm. Collected. Fond. "Good," he says.
Jud gets the impression that Blanc had expected more of an argument. But what argument does Jud have left to give? Tomorrow, he's sure they'll find him—embarrassment, shame, and guilt, all running roughshod over him once again without Blanc there to make them seem comically trivial. But right now? It's all been washed away.
"Good boy," Blanc murmurs, low and pleased in a way that makes Jud's stomach flip over. He thinks Blanc can tell; he has no defenses remaining and Blanc's brow lifts, there's a hint of a spark in those clear blue eyes. Realization. Understanding. But neither of them acknowledges it—Jud isn't even sure he understands it. Blanc releases his grip on Jud's hair and he quietly mourns the loss. "Now," Blanc says, his eyes not leaving Jud's as a hand pats his shoulder gently. "If I sit here one moment longer, my back may actually prove those old wives' tales true and freeze this way. What do you say we get you dried off and dressed, hm?"
Jud wants to stay right where he is at Blanc's feet. But he knows it isn't possible, not forever. Even more inexplicably, he wants desperately to do whatever Blanc asks of him. So he shrugs. "Yeah… Okay."
Blanc offers him one of those proud, close-mouthed smiles—eyes twinkling as if Jud has just done something impressive, which has Jud's cheeks heating. He feels a twinge of guilt when Blanc grimaces as he stands, but then he's easing Jud to his feet and wrapping him in a towel from the hook. "Easy now, there you go," he murmurs as Jud steps out of the tub and finds a shivering balance. The towel is warm and Jud ducks his head, curling into it and swallowing a small smile as Blanc uses a hand towel to dry his hair.
When he lowers his hands, Jud's gaze lifts, peering shyly through his lashes. The proximity feels different now, without the clear separation of Jud in the tub and Blanc outside of it. It has a weight to it as their eyes meet. Jud wants to lean in, but the spell holds. He finds that, without instruction, he's still frozen in place—a blissful puppet on Blanc's strings. It's hard to feel disappointed that Blanc doesn't pull on them though, not when, instead, a hint of pink ghosts across his cheeks under Jud's cow-eyed stare. A moment later, the sight is gone as Blanc reaches up with the damp towel to wipe away the drops running down Jud's face.
He lets himself be led, grateful for the distraction, to his plain little bedroom and sits at the edge of the bed. He watches Blanc take ownership of the space, pulling open drawers with a smooth confidence and rummaging through Jud's scant selection of clothing. It doesn't take long before he finds something he apparently deems suitable.
"Come on," he beckons as he turns around and, without a second thought, Jud does what he's told. He stands up from the bed, padding over dutifully to stand before Blanc who trades him the damp towel for a clean pair of briefs. He watches Jud step awkwardly into them, flushing down to his toes at Blanc's focused observation. One by one, he's handed sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of socks. One by one, he pulls them on under Blanc's watchful eye. He stumbles on the second sock and Blanc reaches out, ready to steady him. "Good," he croons again, and it's like Jud's stomach falls out from how badly he wants to keep hearing that word from him—keep hearing Blanc telling him he's good. The word makes a home inside him, spreading warm throughout his veins.
Blanc's lips curve in a knowing smile as Jud wobbles, unsteady for a moment. The hand on his shoulder keeps him on his feet and, for a moment, Jud thinks Blanc might… But he doesn't. He just squeezes Jud's shoulder, eyes crinkling as he says "How about we get some food into you, Father?"
There's something odd about the way Blanc calling him 'Father' right now settles in him. It doesn't sound right. But he's looking at Jud with an expectant brow, and Jud doesn't think he could deny Blanc anything in this moment. He doesn't want to.
"Yeah," he breathes, eyes glued on to Blanc's. "Yeah, okay." He wants to cringe at his own ineloquence—is that all he's capable of saying anymore? Blanc doesn't seem to mind, though.
"Alrighty, then," Blanc hums, satisfied. "Let's go see what you've got tucked away in those cupboards of yours." He gestures to the door with a tilt of his head before turning and heading for the hallway, confident in the knowledge that Jud will follow.
And, like a dog on a leash—collar or no—Jud does.
He trails after Blanc. Nothing has ever felt easier. The bubble has expanded, swollen to the size of the rectory itself, and centered around where Blanc leads him. He hovers, playing the part of Blanc's shadow, watching as he makes the kitchen his own, just as he had Jud's room. He flicks open the cabinets and, grumbling at the state of them, moves on to pull the refrigerator open with decisive force. Blanc's presence acts as a force field of sorts, deflecting any errant thoughts of guilt which try to manifest over not being helpful, not making himself useful. And, reading his mind, as usual…
"Whatever it is you're thinking" Blanc drawls over his shoulder, "drop it." He closes the refrigerator and turns to find Jud standing right behind him. "Well, hello," he chuckles, smiling as Jud takes a step back, embarrassed. Blanc sidesteps around him, carrying a couple of eggs, the last remaining slices of a sandwich loaf, and a few sad looking but still edible vegetables he'd rescued from the fridge. He makes quick work of rinsing them off in the sink and rummages around in another cupboard for a cutting board and a pan before setting up shop at the counter next to the stove.
"Go on, sit," he nods to Jud who still hovers at his shoulder. "I can certainly manage some eggs and toast all on my lonesome. You just relax," he smiles before unsheathing a knife from the block in an easy, practiced motion and getting to work.
Jud hesitates at this. His eyes slide across the kitchen to the table and chairs with a sinking feeling; like if he stretches his invisible leash too far, he'll choke on it. But the urge to do as Blanc says is stronger and so, a moment later he takes the few steps that bring him back to Blanc's side and sinks to the floor. His legs fold up beneath him, his back to the counter and Blanc's leg is mere inches from his side. He tenses for a moment when Blanc pauses, surprised. He looks down at Jud who peers back up at him with trepidation. Blanc's lips quirk. A soft sound, halfway between realization and wonderment escapes him, and then he simply gives an amused shake of his head. He reaches a hand down to tangle his fingers affectionately in Jud's curls for a moment before releasing him. Jud lets out a relieved breath and leans into the strong column of Blanc's leg, and it almost seems like Blanc's weight shifts to meet him, sturdy and present.
He listens as Blanc goes back to humming, the rhythmic sounds of the knife slicing rapidly, the blade rapping against the wooden board. Occasionally, Blanc will start thinking aloud, telling a story or just making observations. Jud listens to it all. Blanc's musical lilt washes over him and doesn't demand a response. At one point, a hand reaches down with a slice of red pepper and, without question, Jud eats it out of his fingers. Something happy and warm pools in his gut at the easy praise it earns him, at the way Blanc's hand ruffles his hair before returning to its task.
Once Blanc finishes cooking and loads up a plate, he holds out a hand. Jud takes it, clumsy on his feet as Blanc helps him up, and Blanc doesn't let go until he's sure Jud has found his balance. He walks and, once again, Jud follows in his footsteps to the table. When Blanc pulls out a chair for himself, Jud only hesitates for a moment before moving to do the same. It's then that everything shifts into sharp focus. His fingers have only just brushed the wooden back of the chair beside Blanc's before a firm hand grasps the back collar of his shirt like scruffing a cat. It stops Jud in his tracks, heart sinking at the idea that he's finally done something wrong.
Blanc must see the abject terror in his eyes as he turns, because the amused smile on his face melts into something worried and apologetic. "No, no," he reassures as Jud's heart thunders in his ribcage. "It's alright, son, you haven't done anything wrong, I'm sorry." He offers an encouraging smile, taking a step closer. His grip loosens to rub soothing circles into the nape of Jud's neck with his thumb. It does its job, and Jud's breathing begins to even out again. Blanc waits for him to relax slightly before he continues, chasing his eyes and speaking slowly, with weighted intention. "But I think we both know where you'd rather be, hm?" He glances to the floor beside his chair before meeting Jud's gaze once more.
Jud's eyes go wide. It's the first either of them have openly acknowledged this… whatever it is they're doing, and Jud's heart is hammering again, blood rushing in his ears. He feels as if all of those puppet strings have been cut, but instead of crumpling, he's frozen in mid air by Blanc's eyes. It's only the sound of Blanc starting to worry, his "Unless, of course, I overste—" that brings Jud back into the moment. Before Blanc can change his mind, tell Jud 'never mind,' and pull out the chair for him, Jud all but scrambles to his knees, settling in at Blanc's feet for the third time, and burying his face once more in Blanc's pant leg. His hands hover anxiously, wanting to grasp at Blanc, but instead, they clasp together instinctively in his lap, as if in prayer. There's a moment where they feel suspended in the uncertainty, but then the tension in Blanc's body releases. His thigh presses gently back, a sturdy, welcoming support, and Jud's nervous system follows it's lead. He breathes in the scent of Blanc. A subtle laundry detergent, the remnants of some undoubtedly expensive cologne, a hint of tobacco, and sweat. As he inhales, the soothing, almost hypnotic effect is immediate.
"There you go," Blanc says. "That's what I thought." His voice comes out in a comforting rumble as he slowly takes his seat. Jud scoots in closer. "You're alright, I've got you."
It's the hand finding it's way back into his hair that finally sets Jud's world back on its axis.
Blanc waits for him to settle before he lets go but, when he does, Jud is no longer afraid. Just like he knows that God is always with him, he knows Blanc's touch will return. He contents himself with listening to Blanc's movements, breathing in time and letting them lull him back into that weightless space. The scrape of a knife across toast. The clink of silverware on the ceramic plate. He listens to Blanc taste the food and then pause. Barely audible, the soft swish of the salt shaker before Blanc tastes again. A pleased hum. The silverware scrapes again and then … "Jud?"
He lifts his head. Blanc's face looms over him, haloed by the light. Jud blinks. His eyes adjust and his breath is taken away by the sight.
"There you are," Blanc smiles, glancing away to tear off a small piece of toast. But as he turns back to offer it—his daily bread, Jud's mind supplies—he stops. Jud's mouth, having fallen slightly ajar of its own volition, closes and he cocks his head, confused as a complicated series of thoughts seem to flicker in Blanc's eyes. He heaves a sigh and glares up at the ceiling before redirecting his gaze to Jud—any hint of irritation smoothed away and replaced with a benevolent, grudging indulgence. He waves his free hand non-committally skyward. "You got anything you wanna say to the man upstairs, first?"
It takes Jud a moment to realize what he's saying, fuzzy and floating as he is. But, when he does, his chest is filled with warmth and gratitude for the man before him. That the thought would even occur to him. That, despite whatever his own feelings on the matter may be, he would choose to make space for Jud to have this within the bubble Blanc has blown for him. Jud beams up at Blanc, not at all put off by the way he averts his gaze, seemingly embarrassed by his own thoughtfulness. Jud's eyes remain on Blanc, trying to reign in his own smile as he lifts a heavy, sluggish hand to cross himself. Finally, he lets them fall shut, lowering his head once again to rest his forehead on Blanc's knee.
His hands clasp together and he breathes in the grace of the moment. Breathes out his gratitude. Not just for the food, but for all of it. For Blanc, his miracle in human form. For God's grace in giving Jud this. He's tongue-tied by the significance of it, from all he wants to say. Blanc's fingers find their way into his hair once more and, like it has all evening, the gesture has Jud's shoulders relaxing, melting from the comfort and relief.
"Go on," Blanc murmurs, carding his fingers through Jud's hair. "Before your food gets cold."
Jud flushes, his ears surely giving him away even with his face lowered. He opens his mouth, and begins to say grace—the words so familiar and practiced that they come to him easily, even through the cotton filling his brain and the heaviness of his tongue.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ, our Lord." He recites. His voice is rough from disuse as he prays, but as the words begin to flow, he breathes easier. God will understand the full breadth of what he really means. He can feel a hint of antsiness thrumming in Blanc, but he doesn't rush Jud, who smiles privately into Blanc's pant leg. God's love fills the room, emanating out from the points where his body and Blanc's connect—Blanc's leg against his forehead, the pads of Blanc's fingers scratching softly at his scalp. "Amen," he breathes, crossing himself once more. He nuzzles into Blanc's touch, heart fluttering as Blanc hums, approving.
His hand slips back to grasp tenderly at the hair at the crown of Jud's head, gently tugging his face back to the light. "Good boy," he says for the second time that night, and Jud seems to surprise only himself with the whimper it pulls from him. Blanc's smirk merely spreads across his face, amused, and distinctly pleased. Jud squirms under the scrutiny. He shifts as Blanc piles a modest forkful of egg onto the bit of toast in his hand and, when it's lowered to Jud's eyeline, he dutifully parts his lips before Blanc can even finish telling him to "Open up, now."
He stares up at Blanc's intent expression as he feeds the bite into Jud's open mouth, past his teeth. His tongue brushes Blanc's fingers, catching the tips of them between his lips for a fraction of a second as he closes them around the food. It's only then, as he drags his thumb along Jud's lower lip, that Blanc's eyes finally lift from Jud's lips and meet his. There's a heat in them that has Jud's head spinning. Time stretches out before him, dazed by the thumb dragging lightly on his lip, the eyes pinning him in place. It's only when it slips away, Blanc's hand moving to gently grip his chin, that Jud remembers how to chew.
His eyelids flutter closed, a low moan wrenching itself from his throat as the flavors melt together in his mouth, rich and buttery. He can't remember food ever having tasted so good. How much of it is the food itself and how much of it is the visceral experience of Blanc feeding it to him, Jud can't say. Blanc doesn't let go of him—even with his eyes closed, Jud can feel Blanc watching him, that laser focus entirely on Jud—until he swallows.
"Attaboy," he says, encouraging, and Jud's jaw drops open again, looking back up at Blanc, pupils blown and waiting for more.
Time slips away again. The entire world narrows down to the hardwood floor under his knees and Blanc on the chair beside him. He leans down to feed Jud, one bite at a time and, when he pauses, alternating to eat himself, Jud waits patiently. He gazes up at Blanc, watching him chew, his free hand always absently stroking Jud's hair. The near-constant touch keeps Jud afloat—a signal that, even when Blanc isn't looking at him, he's still there, still at the forefront of Blanc's mind. The occasional praise as Jud chews and swallows another morsel, the pride in his smile when Jud yawns and Blanc asks if he can take a little more: "One more bite, Jud, you can do it, that's it," and Jud takes everything Blanc gives him. When there's nothing left on the plate, Blanc trails his fingers along Jud's temple, pushing his hair back.
"You did so well, Jud," he says, reaching down with a napkin to carefully wipe any errant crumbs or grease from his mouth. Jud leans into the touch, the overwhelming intimacy of all of it almost too much to bear, but still not enough. Blanc lets him slump forward, resting his head on Blanc's thigh, and rubs his back. Jud huddles into the warmth of him as he whispers soothing words that fly over Jud's head. Their meaning is incomprehensible, but the musical rhythm of them conducts his breathing. For a moment, he thinks he could fall asleep right here.
"…Jud?" Can you hear me?"
The words float in, a lagging echo in his slow, syrupy mind. When they finally register, his head lolls to the side, cheek still pressed to Blanc's warm, solid thigh. As he blinks away the blurriness, Blanc's face makes its way back into Jud's vision. "…Hmm?" The faint instinct of embarrassment flickers, but is snuffed out before it even has the chance to catch. It couldn't, not with Blanc looking at him the way he is right now. "Y-yeah, Blanc… Sorry, I—yeah…" The words are slurred, unfocused, but he manages and Blanc hums, smiling as he strokes Jud's cheek.
"Well, look at you," he croons. "Pretty as a picture." Jud can feel a dopey smile spreading across his face as the fondness in Blanc's voice wraps around him. "I'm gonna stand up now, alright?" Blanc says slowly, taking care to keep Jud's eye contact. "I'm not going far, I'm just gonna put the dishes in the sink and get you a glass of water." Jud's smile cracks slightly, confused—Blanc is leaving? But Blanc hushes him, "I'll be right back in a clock-tick, Jud, I promise. Can you be good for me and stay right here?"
Jud wants to protest, but the request lights a match in his belly. He wants so badly to be good. He nods. He can be good. He can wait. He only whines a little when Blanc extricates himself, and he clings to the quiet "Good, that's a good boy," reciting it in his mind like he was praying the rosary. He watches as Blanc crosses the kitchen, the phantom memory of Blanc's hands on him a salve. The sounds of dishes clinking in the sink and the rush of the faucet sound like they're coming from another room. Without Blanc right in front of him to command his focus, he becomes slowly aware of the pins and needles in his shins, the dull ache of his knees against hard floorboards. But Jud stays. And, just as he promised, Blanc materializes back in front of him.
He crouches down, grinning at Jud, and all the budding anxiety washes away. "I knew you could do it," he drawls and the words ignite the kindling in Jud's belly into a crackling fire. He holds the glass of water to Jud's lips, steadying it for him to drink. The cool water breaks over his tongue and it hits him how thirsty he really is—on instinct, he tries to gulp the water down faster, and Blanc chuckles, deftly pulling back the glass and wiping away the drips that spill down Jud's chin at his overexcitement. "Careful, now, easy does it," he drawls before returning the glass for Jud to drain what's left. "Why don't we get you some more, hm?"
Dazedly, Jud allows himself to be pulled to his feet. His shins are still tingling and unresponsive beneath his weight, but as his balance wavers, Blanc holds fast, keeping him steady. With each wavering step, the stinging of the pins and needles in Jud's shins sharpen and then fade as sensation slowly returns. Blanc doesn't take his eyes off of Jud until they reach the sink.
He lets Blanc lean him against the counter. When Blanc does finally decide Jud isn't going to tip over and turns away to refill the glass, he takes the opportunity to take in the man before him. Jud feels so loose, relaxed—more-so than he's ever been, he thinks. He hasn't felt like this since the occasional days in seminary when he'd kneel down to pray, giving himself over to God until his mind went soft and empty, a mere vessel for His love and His will. It feels only natural, now, that Blanc can make him feel the same way.
He doesn't realize he's reached out to touch until Blanc turns and that soft, tired smile shines on Jud like sunshine through the church's windows once again. His fingers are trailing Blanc's forearm and the crows feet at the corners of Blanc's eyes crinkle as he looks from Jud's fingers to meet his gaze.
"Here," Blanc says, his arm slipping from Jud's fingertips as he presses the glass back into Jud's hands. He guides them with his own, lifting the cup back to Jud's lips. "Drink it, you'll feel better."
Jud doesn't know how to tell him that he feels better than he has in years. He doesn't know how to tell Blanc that he wants to make him feel as good as Jud does right now—better, even. But he doesn't have the words right now. They're all dancing just out of reach where he's sure he'd trip if he tried to catch them. So he just does what he's told—he drinks. He closes his eyes and drinks his fill, Blanc's fingers covering his and, for a long moment, Jud imagines it's Blanc's lips that he's drinking from. Blanc's mouth that's quenching his thirst.
When the glass is empty and he opens his eyes, Blanc's are staring back. His expression is warm and it makes everything around him feel soft and blissfully slow. Calm. Jud feels him pluck the glass from his hands and hears the faint, hollow clunk of it being placed on the counter. His thumb trails Jud's temple and Jud's eyes flutter closed.
"I think it's bedtime, son" Blanc murmurs, stepping in close and clasping his shoulder.
The words are kind, expected even. They feel as inevitable as gravity. As Christ's love. But they pull at Jud's blurry edges in a soft, melancholy way. He's happy here. The warm light of the kitchen, the solid presence of Blanc in front of him… The way his gentle hands and compassionate, steadfast spirit have held Jud, carried him through this and sustained him.
Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me.
The familiar prayer comes to him out of the haze and he nuzzles into the hand on his face, his eyes slipping half-closed. "'M'fine," he mumbles, the protest weak and syrupy. It's true that there's a bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down, but it's a good kind—the kind he wants to sink into right here with Blanc, not the kind that hollows him out.
Blanc chuckles, low and fond. "You're about three seconds from passing out right here. Come on, now. A real bed'll do you a world of good." He makes to move, to guide Jud toward the hall, but Jud can't make his feet move and his hand, seemingly of it's own volition, lifts and comes to rest on Blanc's forearm. A quiet plea. Blanc stills.
"Don't…" Jud starts, and then the words trail off as he searches for the right shape of them in the fog. "I don't wanna go up yet," he blinks slowly up at Blanc whose expression has softened, ever patient. "It's nice here. Like this. With you." And his brain has gone so blissfully still. Everything that was crushing him, clawing at him before Blanc eased him into the bathtub, it's all chased away. Silenced by Blanc's mere presence. "'S quiet," he whispers.
"I know it is," Blanc soothes, his voice a gentle rumble. "But the nice and quiet'll be even nicer upstairs in a proper bed, I promise you." He brushes Jud's hair back with his thumb.
Jud shakes his head, stubborn. "If I go up… this…" he tries to explain, his words coming thick and slow as his fingers grip the rolled up edge of Blanc's sleeve. His other hand comes up between them, gesturing vaguely back and forth between their chests. "It'll be over. The good part."
There's something complicated in Blanc's eyes that Jud can't quite grasp, flickering in the background just fast enough that he almost misses it. But there's a hint of surprise there too and then a warmth that seems to ache before it's gently tucked away as Blanc's thumb begins to stroke his cheek again, lips curving in a small smile. "Jud… It doesn't have to be over," Blanc murmurs. "You'll just be sleeping. I won't leave the rectory; when you wake up, I'll still be right here."
No. That isn't the same, Jud wants to say. His brow furrows. The words he needs keep eluding him but he shakes his head again. He manages a "No," and stares plaintively into Blanc's eyes. "No, I…" he sways in closer, turns his face into Blanc's palm and breathes him in. "Wanna stay like this…" He feels Blanc take a slow deep breath. His other arm pulls Jud in to a gentle embrace and Jud melts into it, tucking his face into the crook of Blanc's neck, breathing in the tobacco and sweat.
"Jud…"
"Want you to stay with me," Jud murmurs into his shirt, the words coming easier as Blanc holds him. "When we go up… Stay, don't—don't come down to the couch or… Just stay. Please?"
There's silence in the wake of his request. Blanc's steady breathing in his ear is the only remaining sound. He waits, hopeful and reassured by Blanc's hand in his hair, and the sturdy, grounding weight of the arm around his back. Finally, Blanc sighs, a long, slow release that carries the weight of decision. His hand slides up to pat the space between Jud's shoulder blades, rubbing in gentle circles.
"Alright," he breathes into Jud's hair. "Alright, Jud. Of course I'll stay." The relief that that washes over Jud is so profound that it leaves him boneless. He smiles into Blanc's shoulder, nuzzling into the soft cotton of his shirt. He thinks he can feel Blanc smiling against his temple too, the scratch of his facial hair, and Blanc gives him a moment before easing him back to look him in the face. His eyes are warm but there's a seriousness to them as well, firm as he raises an eyebrow. "But we're going upstairs right now," he says, "and you are gonna go to sleep. No more arguing. That's the deal, y'hear me?"
Jud beams, bright and earnest. "Yeah," he nods, breathless and agreeable to anything now. It's the best deal he could hope for, and the order is comforting in its finality.
"Good boy," Blanc smiles and Jud feels like his heart might burst out of his chest. He goes easily and without hesitation as Blanc shepherds him out of the kitchen.
The heady relief that sings in his veins heightens the sensation of Blanc's hands steering him along and softens the rest his surroundings, creating a sense of dreamlike unreality where the rectory seems to move around him. But those hands tell Jud exactly where Blanc wants him to go, and that's all he needs to know. He all but floats back into the bathroom, still warm and slightly humid from earlier, and Blanc holds up his toothbrush with a questioning look. He must nod, because Blanc does too and busies himself with squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste onto the bristles before running it under the faucet. With Blanc's hands now otherwise occupied, Jud drifts but their agreement is a comforting tether that keeps him from slipping away where Blanc can't reach him. When the toothbrush is pressed into his hand, he stares at Blanc, questioning.
"Well, go on," Blanc chuckles, pointing to the toothbrush. "Brush your teeth for me, hm?"
Right. After only a moment's hesitation as he remembers how to move his limbs, he brings it to his mouth and does as he's told. His eyes seek out Blanc's in the mirror as he brushes, smiling around the toothbrush, and Blanc is there, watching him intently. He's stifling a grin of his own but he nods encouragingly and Jud can't bring himself to look away until he needs to lean over the basin and spit. Blanc reaches over to run the faucet and rinse it away. Jud keeps going, the cycle repeating until, all of a sudden, it's over. The sharp, minty feeling in his mouth is at odds with the blurriness of the rest of him, and he absentmindedly runs the tip of his tongue over the smooth, clean surface of his teeth. Again, he looks to Blanc, silently asking once more for instruction.
Blanc plucks the toothbrush from his fingers and returns it to the cup on the sink. "Good," he says. Blanc sets Jud alight as his palm settles between his shoulder blades as if it belongs there. As far as Jud is concerned, it does. "Alright then, Jud. Let's go."
The climb back up the stairs is quiet and, when Blanc presses open the creaking door to Jud's dark attic bedroom and nudges him through it, the emptiness of it really strikes Jud for the first time. The light from the hallway creeping around the door and extending the shadows casts it into stark relief, and it leaves a dim, hollow feeling in his chest until Blanc crosses the threshold after him. His presence fills the room, pushing back the void like the flickering light of a hearth fire, and Jud is merely a tired animal desperate to curl up on the carpet in his radiant warmth.
"Come on," he says softly.
Jud follows, sticking close by his side and Blanc gives him another one of those indulgent smiles, the one that shows in his eyes more than in the curve of his mouth. He watches as Blanc pulls back the worn quilt and tries ineffectively to fluff Jud's sad, flat pillows. He frowns at them, seemingly irritated that he can't will them into being something they just aren't.
"Well, go on," he murmurs as he turns, no longer startled by the way Jud looms so close behind him. He just lifts a hand to caress Jud's cheek, and Jud can feel his warm breath fanning over his skin as he immediately presses into the touch. "Everything'll be better in the morning." His voice is low, and he lets Jud sway further into his space for one more long moment.
He wraps his other arm under Jud's and around his back into an embrace Jud wants to melt into until nothing exists between them. Until they're the same being, intertwined forever. But it can't last forever and, just like in every instance that has preceded this one, Jud is unable to deny Blanc anything. Unable to do anything but exactly what Blanc tells him to. And so, when Blanc pulls back, finally saying "In you get," in that gentle, commanding tone and eases Jud into the narrow bed, Jud is helpless to resist. Like this, following Blanc's guidance is natural—easier than breathing.
He carefully pulls the covers up over Jud and his hand smooths the blankets over his shoulders. It hesitates there, lingering before brushing his fingers over the crown of Jud's head, and that now-intimately familiar feeling of Blanc's hand in his hair has Jud's eyes fluttering shut, content.
He hears Blanc let out a long, measured breath. The hand lifts.
Jud's eyes open again to see Blanc standing over him, looking down at the ground and rubbing a hand over his own face. "Right…" he says softly, more to himself than to Jud, and glances toward the door. Realizing Jud is watching him again, he tries to shrug off the weary set to his shoulders, waving off the quiet, concerned tilt of Jud's head. "Just need to make use of your restroom," he says by way of explanation. "See if I can't scrounge up a spare toothbrush somewhere and tend to myself before joining ya." His voice is a little tight and Jud doesn't understand why he seems to be trying to hide it—he must be exhausted. But he trusts Blanc implicitly, and so he doesn't say anything. "Won't be long. If you've got any more praying to do before nodding off, best get to it now," he offers a faint, tired smile. "I'll be back before you can say 'amen.'"
Jud nods. He watches as Blanc slips through the door and listens to his footsteps creaking down the stairs. He curls up in the stillness left behind and stares at the patch of moonlight that shines on the floor through the window. The ghost of Blanc's hand is in his hair and he smiles to himself, remembering falling asleep right here to the sound of Blanc's voice only a few days ago. Barely hours after meeting him, and Blanc had made him feel so inexplicably safe, enough to let his guard down and finally sleep for the first time in days. He remembers waking up with a crick in his neck and a twinge in his back from having passed out upright against the wall, but it was to the warm feeling of finding Blanc still there. Still watching over him like a guardian angel.
Everything that had happened from the moment Blanc had stepped into his church has somehow led them right here and Jud knows that once again, come morning, Blanc will be there when he wakes. The promise of it stretches between them, even as Blanc is elsewhere, out of sight, and it makes the prospect of sleep—of saying goodnight to all that tonight has been with Blanc alongside him this time—feel like even more of a gift.
The thought has him moving on instinct, pushing back the covers in a clumsy motion and sliding out of the bed. His knees sink down onto the hard floorboards. Even before tonight, the sensation had been a familiar one, grounding. But now, with the memories of the kitchen still fresh in his otherwise hazy brain, it fills him with even more gratitude. He can hear water rushing through the pipes and the faint sound of the faucet downstairs. The comforting sounds of Blanc moving through Jud's space. He breathes in, clasps his hands together, and looks up toward the door that still hangs ajar where Blanc left it with a small smile before closing his eyes.
There's so much he wants to say to Christ right now, his heart is overflowing with it, his thoughts too big for his fuzzy mind to catch hold of. But he tries to parse them one by one. He thinks about kneeling on the stone floor, all but completely hopeless. Crying and pleading with Jesus to help him. The way light almost immediately filled the space as the door opened and God answered his prayer with Benoit Blanc.
He thinks about Louise. He thinks about turning his back on Blanc and Blanc helping him anyway. Just like you, he thinks with a lump in his throat. Blanc's voice ringing out through the rafters and then faltering. That light shining on him once again as he looked to Jud. Damascus.
He thinks of Martha. His throat threatens to close up at the thought of her but he prays for her. Knows that Christ loves and has accepted her guilty in death just as he has Jud in life. He prays for Samson, and for Grace, and for all of them. That they would all find peace. And…
And he prays for Blanc, too. For his safety. For his continued presence in Jud's life. Even if everything he gave Jud this evening was just for this evening, he prays that Blanc won't just disappear after this is all over. He prays for tomorrow.
Thank you, he prays. For all of it.
When he lifts a clumsy hand to cross himself, he doesn't get up.
He doesn't have to wait long for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The door creaks open and they pause in the doorway. Jud lifts his head to look. Blanc stands there, haloed by the light of the hallway. He's removed his waistcoat, and his suspenders hang loose at his sides, tie undone along with the top few buttons of his shirt. The shaft of moonlight falls over him, shining on his bare forearms and the slightly damp hair at his temples. Jud can't help but think that he looks like an angel—one God sent just for him. That Jud is merely the only person who can see the truth of what he really is.
For a long moment, he stares back at Jud. The emotions on his face shift too quickly for Jud's hazy mind to catch in the darkness, but there had been a barely audible intake of breath as his eyes fell on Jud. A look of surprise before his face settles into something unreadable. His eyes trail over Jud, though, tracing the shape of him from his knees on the floor up to his face.
"Jud," he says, voice firm, but a little thick. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"Praying," Jud says simply, unclasping his hands and adding on a sheepish admission of "…Waiting for you."
Something flashes in Blanc's gaze, a swift, deep ache that Jud's exhausted brain can't understand. But Blanc sighs and crosses the short distance between them until he's standing before Jud. Jud cranes his neck back to look at him, to try to make sense of the look in his eye. It tugs at something in the back of his mind that he can't quite grasp, but before he can dwell on it, Blanc reaches down his hand. "Up you get," he says, tone gentle as ever, but leaving no room for argument. "It's bedtime, Jud."
He goes easily, taking Blanc's hand in his and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. His movements are loose as he goes, perhaps a little too much so, as Blanc has to steady him with a broad palm over his heart. They look at each other and, in the moonlight, he can just make out Blanc's large, dark pupils. He thinks he can feel the faint flutter of Blanc's pulse in his fingertips and those eyes drop for a fleeting moment to Jud's lips. Without thinking, just on instinct, Jud wants to lean in, but Blanc's hand on his chest is firm.
"Back in bed," Blanc says, his voice husky. He turns Jud around and eases him into it once again. Jud goes, laying back against the pillows, but his eyes never leave Blanc. There's something different about the way Blanc pulls up the covers and tucks him in. Each movement is just as deliberate, but there's a hesitance to them, and when he finishes, he pulls back and Jud feels the dip on the edge of the mattress by his thighs as Blanc sits down, his back to Jud.
He watches quietly as Blanc begins to untie his shoes. His movements are slow. Tired, yes, but something else too. He tucks his socks into each shoe and places them neatly on the floor. He unbuttons his suspenders and pulls the undone tie from his neck. But then he just sits there, shoulders slightly tense, head bowed. He'd put distance between them, but he's still within reach—the bed is narrow and Jud can feel the warmth of him through the blanket against his leg. He can see the tightness of his posture and the way his head hangs as his rubs his temple. "You should be asleep," he murmurs without looking at Jud.
"I know." Jud hesitates. He wants to help. To do for Blanc what he's done for Jud in whatever way he's capable of. He wants to ease that tension in him. Their proximity has been a balm for him all evening, putting him at ease, giving him comfort, and he pushes up on his elbow. He reaches out. "Blanc…" he whispers, soft and almost a question. His fingers brush Blanc's back. "It's okay, Blanc, I could…"
He isn't quite sure how to finish the sentence. He's not exactly sure what it is he's offering, but he knows he wants to help. To keep being good for Blanc until he feels as good as Jud does right now.
But Blanc turns quickly, dislodging Jud's hand from his back. "No." He sighs and reaches out for Jud. He soothes a thumb over the apple of his cheek, his touch finally lingering again instead of hesitating or pulling away. His fingers scratch softly above Jud's ear and Jud goes practically boneless underneath them. "No," he repeats, softer and smiling this time. He shifts closer, picking Jud's fallen hand up in his. "Not tonight." He's quiet for a long moment and his gaze falls to their entwined hands. His other joins them so that each of his enclose Jud's in their warmth. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, but thick with emotion."You have been so good, Jud," he says, and finally lifts his head to meet Jud's eyes once again. "Let me just… Just let me finish taking care of you. There is nothing I need from you tonight more than for us both to get some sleep." Blanc's eyes hold his, and their resolute clarity quiets Jud's mind. There's a promise in them. "Tomorrow. We'll talk tomorrow, I promise."
Jud's heart swells. Tomorrow, he thinks.
"Okay," Jud says. And that's that. It's easy to do when Blanc looks at him that way, when his words have that calm, commanding tone that tells Jud that he doesn't have to do anything but what Blanc tells him. That, if he does, everything will be okay. Better than okay. Tomorrow, they could… He nods, eyes latched onto Blanc's until he's overtaken by a yawn.
"I think that there's the sandman calling," Blanc chuckles, and Jud can feel a hot flush rising up his neck. Blanc takes his face between his palms, and Jud blinks at him, gone soft and pliant in his grasp. A small, impossibly fond smile is crinkling Blanc's face and Jud's eyes flutter closed as he leans in, pressing his lips to Jud's forehead. A benediction. "Now, go on and lay back down," he says. "I'll be right there."
Jud burrows back down into his pillow, and watches with a soft smile on his face. Blanc moves quietly around the room, moving to flick off the hallway light and leaving the dark shape of him visible in the moonlight. He drops his suspenders and tie on Jud's dresser and Jud yawns, closing his eyes. He listens to the rustle of Blanc's button down as he finishes undoing the placket. As he hears it being pulled from Blanc's shoulders, he peeks through heavy eyelids to watch him peel away these last vestiges of his armor. He watches the dark outline of him fold the shirt and place it on the dresser and then there's the weight of a hand on the edge of the mattress.
Blanc slips himself in alongside him and it's as easy as kneeling at his feet for Jud to curl up into his chest, to breathe him in as Blanc wraps his arms around Jud's back, holding him close. His cotton undershirt is soft. Jud can feel his chest hair just underneath it and it holds onto the smell of his sweat and the aftermath of his cologne and that hint of tobacco like old friends. Jud nestles in closer as if he could crawl inside it himself and a low hum rumbles in Blanc's chest.
"Go to sleep now, Sweetheart," he says, murmuring the words into Jud's hair as their legs tangle together.
It's a kind of intimacy Jud has never experienced, and that he never thought he would. He has never felt more blessed. Blanc sagging into him in return as his strong, gentle fingers rub slow circles into Jud's back is the last thing he remembers before sleep drags him under.
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Thank you so much for reading!