You are the night-time fear
"Perhaps I will take my chances, then," he muses, seizing on to the questions bubbling on his tongue. "Are you planning on reopening the clinic?" There's more he wants to ask—where she's from, but considering he expects an answer like Halo or Torchline he considers it of lesser interest than the clinic.Like the self-proclaimed stray he is he follows her to the doors. He lingers in the snowfall, vaguely disturbed by how it's all wrong and unrecognizable; so he is glad for her smile, for her curiosity, even though he doubts he'll have much to offer her.
"The nothingness of sleep," he says, licking his lips and letting his frown deepen. "I don't quite remember the details of when or where I turned off, but it was very much like sleep. You know how you don't know you fell asleep until you wake up again? Like that."
He steps up to the door with her. "She is the Voice, that's how," he says wryly, before giving the only answer he has. "I came to to her beckoning me and replenishing my fluids. I'm afraid I don't know much more than that," and his soft smile is apologetic.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
