They're being awfully cozy like this, but Miles supposes that after that night after the morgue, after Bel spent all night curled around Miles just to keep him warm when he'd spent three days starved of food, water, and warmth, those boundaries have been irrevocably changed for the both of them. Bel's breath is warm in his hair, and he shivers slightly, the skin at the back of his neck tingling, his chest warming.
"Of course I'm real," Miles says, and maybe it's just the maple mead but in that moment he hears himself speak in two voices, one Barrayaran, the other Betan. He grins a little lopsided. "Anything you can reach out and touch is real."
Is that, then, why he feels so off balance lately, so incomplete? He can't reach inside himself and touch, can't feel where one ends and the other begins, it's why he keeps them so separate. But the thought evaporates like so much steam when Bel half-collapses against him, giggling hysterically, and it pulls a laugh from Miles, too, before he can help himself. Miles helps Bel keep their balance as they get to their feet, one hand under Bel's arm, the other at the small of their back to brace them. He rises with them, managing not to stumble -- but then, he's not nearly as drunk as Bel is. He's still laughing as he straightens his back as much as he can, Bel's drunk but honest cheer highly infectious, and he throws an arm around Bel's back, too short to pull their arm over his shoulders. Wouldn't do much good, having to stoop down to lean on the person trying to give you a hand.
"You'll have feet again in the morning," Miles promises them with a grin, only a little wicked, deeply self-satisfied. This had started out as a friendly hazing ritual, just to see what'd happen -- it'd been worth it just for the look on Bel's face at their first taste of maple mead -- but by the end of it, he's no longer sure what he expected to get out of it. Just that he doesn't really regret it. He's a little drunk too, just enough for it to warm him from the inside and leave him more relaxed than he has been in weeks, but only a little. "You can pass out with great satisfaction once we get back to Nomo Deck, but until then, you'll just have to march, soldier."
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"Of course I'm real," Miles says, and maybe it's just the maple mead but in that moment he hears himself speak in two voices, one Barrayaran, the other Betan. He grins a little lopsided. "Anything you can reach out and touch is real."
Is that, then, why he feels so off balance lately, so incomplete? He can't reach inside himself and touch, can't feel where one ends and the other begins, it's why he keeps them so separate. But the thought evaporates like so much steam when Bel half-collapses against him, giggling hysterically, and it pulls a laugh from Miles, too, before he can help himself. Miles helps Bel keep their balance as they get to their feet, one hand under Bel's arm, the other at the small of their back to brace them. He rises with them, managing not to stumble -- but then, he's not nearly as drunk as Bel is. He's still laughing as he straightens his back as much as he can, Bel's drunk but honest cheer highly infectious, and he throws an arm around Bel's back, too short to pull their arm over his shoulders. Wouldn't do much good, having to stoop down to lean on the person trying to give you a hand.
"You'll have feet again in the morning," Miles promises them with a grin, only a little wicked, deeply self-satisfied. This had started out as a friendly hazing ritual, just to see what'd happen -- it'd been worth it just for the look on Bel's face at their first taste of maple mead -- but by the end of it, he's no longer sure what he expected to get out of it. Just that he doesn't really regret it. He's a little drunk too, just enough for it to warm him from the inside and leave him more relaxed than he has been in weeks, but only a little. "You can pass out with great satisfaction once we get back to Nomo Deck, but until then, you'll just have to march, soldier."