sunburned

It seems to take an age of man to settle Julie down into their bed, get her to sleep while still clinging to Granby's hand. Eventually, though, he managed to extricate himself and went into the little bathroom to wash his face. He pulled on a clean shirt, pushed damp hair back from his face and then went to find Laurence, out in the kitchen.

"There you are, then," he says, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "My love."

It's one of those rare days when Julie's gone before Johanna wakes up and, somewhat guiltily, she takes advantage of the full bed to stretch out, both arms over her head. The three of them have fallen into sleeping in somewhat of a tangle but she does love these rare moments when it's her and one of the others and she can focus.

This time, it's Laurence and she leans in, pressing a kiss against his bare shoulder, his bare chest.

"Good morning, love."

He wakes slowly; he's never been good in the mornings. It's become their habit to sleep all in the one bed, all together, within reach of each other's hands. He sleeps on one side of Julie, arm stretched across her and his fingers curleld against Laurence's ribs. It's warm and it feels safe, something to sink into and get lost in.

So it does take him a while to wake, despite the fact that she is insistently calling his name.
Which isn't unusual. He dreams about her often.

He stirs in his sleep, pushing closer to Julie as he does.

He often stays up later than Laurence and Julie; he sits on the porch sketching and then, when he's ready, he chooses one room or another. Most nights, he starts off with one and ends up with the other and, tonight, it's Julie's door (because it might still be the spare room, but he definitely thinks of it as Julie's) that he opens first.

It's been bearable, at least. He finds himself more or less existing between two worlds - there is a very narrow line that he appears to be walking, and it is entirely one of his own design. Still, things cannot be hurried, especially where William Laurence is concerned, and so Granby has endeavoured to find his peace in the middle of them all.

He draws a lot. Pages and pages in his sketchbook fill up with Laurence and with Julie and with all things in between.
He finds his usual spot out on the porch. He likes to be within sight of the sea.

There is no part of this that he has thought through properly. It feels like it's all come out of him in a rush, like his heart was too full to hold it all. Night falls and he doesn't go home, doesn't go to the house down on the beach; he feels it better to leave Laurence to think things over. He hopes that he hasn't burned everything they have to ash.

It shouldn't be surprising that he ends up where he does. He doesn't want to wake Maddie, so he slips into the hut without knocking - it isn't the first time. At Julie's bedroom door, he pauses, tapping on the frame before he slips inside.

A rare rainy morning and Granby finds himself unwilling to do much. He's at the counter making tea, sketchbook and pencils discarded on the seat. He glances up at Laurence, eyebrow arched.

"We could always just go back to bed?"
He knows that bed in the afternoon is still a trial for Laurence, but he's definitely been making progress.

There is always paperwork to be done. Granby has handwriting typical of an Aviator - educated by the Corps from the age of seven, there had always been more exciting things to do than practising making letters, especially once he'd started to show promise as a Mid. It's not that it's illegible, just that it's a bit of a scrawl and he does have a tendency to spread the words out more than they maybe need to be. Still, he's grateful of something to be doing, something to keep his mind occupied. He's been aware of being something of a scrub for the last week or so, but it really is impossible, unable to tell what way Laurence is going to go from one minute to the next.

Files? Are much easier to predict.

Granby glances up towards the clock. Not long until dinner, but time to finish what he's doing.

Suddenly, he's having a hard time sitting still. Concentration is impossible. He draws a lot. He doesn't finish anything. What he does do is draw Laurence a lot, lingering over the lines of his face. Some of the drawings are more successful than others. Sprawled on one of the chairs on the porch outside the hut they share, he all but growls at himself.

He tears the page out. He starts again.

And perhaps it's inevitable that he ends up here. His head's still reeling and he's not sure what he's about. More than anything, he needs to feel pinned down in the universe. He needs to feel certain about his place in something. So he goes to Priestly, prepared to explain himself if neecessary.

Basically, he just needs to feel comforted.
He doesn't care if it's selfish.