{when tending to roses, beware of thorns} {closed}
The days had been kind to Dorian. There was a distinct absence of the voice in his head, and he'd managed to make new acquaintances even with the matter of the zombified students. His only regret was that the days were too short to enjoy with so few people, doing so little of all that Tanchou offered.
Such was the case today, at a gathering of the gardening club. They were tasked to work in the greenhouse, repotting plants and trying their hands at flower arrangements. The instructor had given them free reign, and conversations had flourished until the students were called to class or to their other responsibilities.
Dorian was lucky enough to have his club activities as the last on his schedule. He bid his clubmates goodbye as cheerfully as he could, but he could not shake off the concern that gnawed at him every time he caught sight of Charles, the boy he'd met only twice now, looking pale and drawn and quite unwell.
They'd barely exchanged pleasantries with each other following their first meeting, and Dorian thought it extraordinarily lucky that they'd met at the sleepoever some days prior. After that, though, he could not catch even the boy's shadow. Not many of the other students knew him, either, and his queries were met with shrugs of indifference at best.
Dorian was surprised to find that they were in the same club, and while he'd originally planned to approach him at the beginning of the period, he remembered that they'd not parted on the best of terms, and decided to give the other boy his space.
At the moment, though, Dorian's patience was being tested. He remembered, of course, the events of their first meeting. Had Charles fed at all since then? Was his less than healthy appearance connected with that at all? Would it be imprudent of Dorian to ask?
These questions would chase each other around Dorian's mind, until the sound of the glass doors closing shakes him from his musings. He looks, to find that they were the only ones left in the greenhouse. And in the stifling silence, unbroken by even the sound of running water, Dorian could hear the other boy's labored breaths. He steels himself, good manners be damned, and moves to approach Charles where he was crouched beside a rose bush.
He reaches out, tentatively, to touch the boy's shoulder- "...Charles...?"
