life and its complications.

[putrefaction]

[It is a laundry day in someone else's mind.

He took extra steps to leave her alone to her task. She has quite a task ahead of her, and Nigel would only be in the way. Thus, he kept to cat naps, to shifting between waking and sleeping states.

Eventually, his throat demands a trip, and he emerges from his room with the intent to go to the kitchen. An intent that cuts short inches from his destination, when he catches sight of white-gold in the laundry room. Of skin he shouldn't be catching, a floral shape etched against the pale. White with a blue edge. Maybe. It's hard to tell with his sight.

Nigel halts, caught in an emotion unnamed. And as with all his awkward steps, he begins with words.]

A tattoo?

Comments

[putrefaction]

[He pockets his keys, in time to find her bright eyes settled on him.]

...Hi.

[purificatio]

[ Here, she cannot help it. She closes the distance between them and slips her arms around his waist. ]

...Hi.

[putrefaction]

[There is a petite form against him, her arms around him. Nigel gasps without wanting, suppressing a shudder.

He swallows.]

Did you enjoy our purposeless walk?

[purificatio]

[ She squeezes closer to him. There is something wrong with this scenario. ]

I enjoyed the time spent. What's wrong, Nigel?

[putrefaction]

[The proximity hurts. It heals. Her soul is ambiguous, but her body is not, and Nigel Kane does not rightfully know what to do.

A hand settles against his right eye.]

There's nothing... I'm...trying to be fine.

[purificatio]

[ She retreats from him, keeping her hands on his arms, and tries to draw him to sit on the couch. ]

...But what happened? What changed?

[putrefaction]

[He doesn't find the strength to resist and settles down hard against the couch.]

Don't worry about it. I just need... I just need to clear my head.

[purificatio]

[ There's a desperation growing in her. She doesn't know its name. ]

It's me.

[ It's small, those words, and she hears it. She stands in front of him, wanting to touch his hair. Inside, inside the sweatshirt sleeves, her fists ball, fighting something she doesn't know. ]

Talk to me.

[putrefaction]

[It's obvious. She is sad. On his behalf or something more--either way, she shouldn't have to suffer, wondering about why he is falling apart.

His hand drops, and he looks at her.]

Are you... Do you like being here?

[purificatio]

[ What a pitiful look. It melts her ferocity. She lifts a hand, the long sleeve sliding down, to touch his head. ]

Yes. I like being with you.

[putrefaction]

[He feels pressure against his head, and Nigel shifts toward it on instinct.]

Is it selfish of me that I...don't ever want you to leave?

[purificatio]

[ The insides of her stomach shift in a way she's not familiar with. It's pleasant. It's frightening. He moves his head against her, and she lightly moves over his hair.

He's tired. She thinks he's tired. ]

You want me?

[putrefaction]

[The motions through his hair comfort something broken within him. The question worsens the cracks. He pales, blue-green eyes tearing away from the girl before him.]

I don't know, but I think--

[His voice cracks at the last word, and he coughs into his fist.]

I might be becoming too dependent on you.

[purificatio]

[ He is breaking and she is sorry. He would reject her apology and so she does not give it.

She moves to slip arms around his shoulders, to hug him to her. ]

...You're fine. I think it's fine like this.

[putrefaction]

[This close, he can take in her scent. He can feel her form beneath his own shirt. His senses serve to muddle already complicated emotions.

Nigel whimpers quietly.]

I can't... It can't be fair to you. I have nothing to offer.

[purificatio]

[ He is sad. More than he's shown. She feels too small to take care of him; too inadequate to show that she cares. ]

You told me....

[ She holds to him, dips her head down to lay her cheek against his head. ]

You told me you don't expect anything from me. That to you I am just myself. You offered me that. I'm not settling.

[putrefaction]

[He can't...really believe her, even as she holds him. Even as she touches her cheek against him, he cannot understand why something so alive would not eventually walk away from what is dead. And there is nothing in him that can say that.

Another whimper sits in his throat. Instead, he pushes it down and away.]

...Yeah, you said that. I'm sorry.

[purificatio]

Don't be sorry.

[ She wants to ask him. If he does want her. If he still wants her knowing a bit of how she is. She wants to talk to him and know him. And yet she can't speak. Not yet. ]

Hug back.

[putrefaction]

[Above everything, it is tempting. To simply hug back and let the pieces fall. But then, there would be no return for him. There would be nothing more for him if one day, she decides otherwise.

Thus, he stills within her arms, his hands twitching every odd second in indecision.]

[purificatio]

[ He is a difficult child. He makes things more difficult than they need to be. ]

You know you're my best friend.

[putrefaction]

I don't think I'm being a very good best friend.

[Otherwise, he might know what to do for her.]

[purificatio]

You're wrong.

[ She backs from hugging him and crouches before him so he can see her. She watches him. ]

You stay with me every day. You include me in your life. We like the same things and hate similar things as well. You can be dumb but you're not annoying. You're clever and kind to me. You're my favorite person.

[putrefaction]

[The separation is nice. It's calming enough for him to breathe without shudders.

Her eyes, however, threaten to undo that. Her words do worse.

He mutters his next response.]

Your favorite person who lately seems unable to converse with you without the conversation ending in hyperventilation.

[purificatio]

[ She remembers what he seemed to joke about earlier. She blinks downward unconsciously. ]

...You're scared of me.

[putrefaction]

[Guilt saturates his countenance and his voice.]

...I'm scared of your friendship.