*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1995470-Making-Meaning
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
No ratings.
by beetle
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Romance/Love · #1995470
Noah doesn't find meaning in his life . . . he *makes* it.
Word count: 1,000
Notes/Warnings: None.
Summary: Written for the prompt(s): I think I’m going back to school.


“I think I’m going back to school. . . .”

The very pleasurable sensations coming from under our quilt stopped, and Jason threw it back a second later to look at me with genuine exasperation.

“I must not be doing this right if you can think about school at a time like this,” he said then sighed, leaning down to peck my lips. I responded by pulling him down on top of me and wrapping my arms and legs around him.

“You’re doing everything right. You always do, Dr. Andrews,” I whispered between kisses as he settled between my legs and proceeded to try and distract me from my distractions. I laughed and held him tighter.

“You know, laughter’s not very encouraging, either,” he noted, though with a smile in his voice, and I swatted his back and rolled us over, straddling his thighs.

“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.”

“But I wasn’t laughing, then.”

“You’re laughing now. I was just preemptively laughing with you,” I replied, grinning as Jason’s big hands settled on my waist. “But I was being serious before. I’ve been thinking about school for weeks.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. “I’d thought you seemed distracted for a while, now. But thought it was because of . . . you know.” He sighed again, looking away. I caught one of his hands and pulled it up to my face. He automatically cupped my face in his palm, his thumb caressing my cheek.

“I told you, baby, I’m totally okay with being a werewolf now, as long as I get to be your werewolf.” I smiled a little and lay down, cuddling against his side. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close.

“I could’ve lost you, Noah.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could’ve.”

“But you didn’t.” I kissed Jason’s chest over the strong beat of his heart. “I survived the Fever. I survived my first Change and my first hunt. I’m happy.”

Jason grunted. “You didn’t exactly sound happy while you were Changing. You sounded like you were in agony.”

I shuddered. He wasn’t wrong. “Even if I was, so what? It didn’t kill me. It in fact made me stronger, didn’t it? Your mom said that with each progressive Change, I’ll get stronger and hurt less, until it’s like I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“Yeah, but—sometimes Mom exaggerates in an attempt to comfort. It’s what moms do,” Jason grumbled.

“Well, she is a doctor, sorta. Like you.”

“She’s a shaman, Noah. Big difference.” Jason snorted and leaned over me to look down into my eyes. His were serious—almost grim. “She deals with the spirit. I deal with the body. Physically, I knew everything that was happening to your body, I just . . . couldn’t do anything but let the Fever run its course. And keep you dosed with all the antipyretics I could get my hands on.”

“And it worked. You saved me.”

“No, you saved you. I just helped make you a little more comfortable, relatively speaking.” Jason kissed my forehead. “You came through like a champ.”

“Only because I had so much to come through for.” I smiled up at him and pulled him down on top of me again. “You’re my knight in shining labcoat. End of story. Now, about this whole school-thing. . . .”

Jason almost cracked a smile. He didn’t smile as much as he used to, before I was infected, but I was working on that.

“What about it?” he asked, indulging in some intensive grinding that very nearly derailed my train of thought. But I was a man determined.

“Well . . . do you think it’s . . . I dunno . . . silly of me to wanna go back at twenty-eight?” I wrinkled my nose and Jason kissed it. “And start over from scratch, no less.”

“You won’t be studying political science again?”

“Nope. If I do go back . . . it’ll be for biology, and . . . I mean to stay in till I get my Masters so I can teach at the high school level.”

Jason whistled, his eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline.

“Wow, that’s—amazing, Noah!” He grinned and kissed me, softly and sweetly. “I was pants at science, until I got a crush on my high school biology teacher, Mr. Kirsch. Not only was he hot, but he made science fun. Moon Above! I’m so proud of you! If you wanna do this—if you think you can do this—you have my full support for as long as you need and want it.”

“So . . . you don’t think it’s silly at best, or self-indulgent folly at worst? That I’m not just—I dunno, fumbling for some sort of meaning in my life?” I asked anxiously. Jason shook his head excitedly.

“I don’t think that, at all, babe! And even if you are searching for meaning, that’s no crime. Especially when you’ve managed to find it, from the sound,” he said then shook his head again and corrected himself. “No, to make it.”

“Really?” I hadn’t thought of myself as making meaning. All I’d known was that since waking up a werewolf, science—biology, specifically—had fascinated me. How could it not?

And maybe Jason understood that fascination. He, too, had once gone through the Fever and woken up from it a werewolf. Would I even have to explain my reasons for wanting to do this to him?

Looking into his loving, approving eyes, I didn’t imagine I’d have to.

I wrapped my arms and legs around him again, holding him close and kissing him teasingly. “C’mere, lover-boy. I believe we were in the middle of something before I interrupted us with school-talk.”

“Mm, now, now I’m all psyched and wanna talk about you going back to school. You can’t just expect me to switch gears, babe,” was Jason’s lofty reply.

I gave him an incredulous look, and he held that lofty pose for about three seconds before laughing and darting in snake-fast to wreak hickeys on my neck.

And school didn’t get talked about again till morning.

END
© Copyright 2014 beetle (beetle at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1995470-Making-Meaning