Mar 31, 2018
@darkminded-ren
Every room, Amias thought, looked identical. It was early morning, and most of the sickly were resting, and the last thing Amias wanted to do was work. Call him crazy, but when he came back from the dead, the last thing he thought he would be doing was seeking out cures. But on the way back from a supplies grab, with a box tucked under his arm, he caught a glimpse of a dark-haired man sitting (sleeping?) with his back against the glass of his room’s wall. And while Amias should have continued on his way, he paused, then approached.
“Are you well?” he called out. “Or, you know, as well as one can be? I could try to get...” Why was he going out of his way? His kindness would be his downfall. “Juice,” he finished weakly.