I wish that I believed in fate, I wish I didn’t sleep so late
It takes an embarrassingly sort time for him to call for help, and though he’ll dwell on that later, particularly angry at himself, for now he can’t do anything else about it. It’s done.
That thing is still stuck to his wall, screaming at him, threatening to give him another bowl cut if he doesn’t let him up.
Badou can’t talk to him, it, whatever. Has only glanced at him after the initial shocking meeting from the corner of his eye, too busy sitting on the floor behind his couch where he can’t see him, knees up to his chest.
This can’t be real. He’s either lost it, or this is some kind of trick or....or something. He doesn’t know. The sooner someone can confirm or deny they can see him, the better. Because it can’t really be him, the real Dave. There’s no way he’ll accept this.
(despite how very, very much his aching heart wants him to)
It takes him a moment to realize there’s a knocking at his door, and it isn’t a raven tapping at his...however that poem goes.
He’s never been happier to see Xigbar in his life.