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]

[There is a beat of silence.]

Are you looking for a specific care?

[purificatio]

[ There is a question asked, and an answer she does not know. Behind his neck, her fingers curl as her eyes drop to the couch to the side of him. What care did she want? ]

I'm not sure.

[ Is the truthful answer, the resounding, soft sound. ]

I don't know what I want. I just want... more.

[ Here, her eyes would raise, blue-violet against an oceanic blue-green. She keeps her gaze there as she wonders, as she replies. ]

I want us to be more. I want you. But it's hard, I think. When I'm so unsure on how you feel toward me.