I know that Most feelings are fleeting, but I could make a home from this one
Things have been hectic since Hotaru’s return. What might have arguably started as a quiet season has been turned on its head, and to make matters worse, so, so much worse, Nate’s darling duo are sick, confined to bed and buried under mounds and mounds of blankets. Exhaustion might not be able to touch his body, but his mind is stretched thin, what feels like exhaustion making the world warp and drag at the edges.
The knock at the door comes while he’s making soup. The knock at the door comes while he stands before the stove, staring at the element and the shimmer of heat rising from it, the steam rising from the soup. The knock at the door comes just in to keep him from trying to grab those shimmering lines, wanting to feel the warmth desperately, to grab the shapes swimming there, calling to him.
Nate opens the door like he's afraid of it, his shoulders dropping when he sees Vai on the other side, though his brows pull together as he looks at her. His eyes are bright, unfocused, and a pearly sheen coats his face, making him look greasy. ”Vai?” His voice is small, distant, even as he shuffles forward, the call of the sun tugging him out in a way Nate could swear is physical. ”What... brings you over?” Words seem to be a struggle, if the contortion on Nate’s face is anything to go by.
The knock at the door comes while he’s making soup. The knock at the door comes while he stands before the stove, staring at the element and the shimmer of heat rising from it, the steam rising from the soup. The knock at the door comes just in to keep him from trying to grab those shimmering lines, wanting to feel the warmth desperately, to grab the shapes swimming there, calling to him.
Nate opens the door like he's afraid of it, his shoulders dropping when he sees Vai on the other side, though his brows pull together as he looks at her. His eyes are bright, unfocused, and a pearly sheen coats his face, making him look greasy. ”Vai?” His voice is small, distant, even as he shuffles forward, the call of the sun tugging him out in a way Nate could swear is physical. ”What... brings you over?” Words seem to be a struggle, if the contortion on Nate’s face is anything to go by.
NATE
