The banshee attempts to scoot closer. "You're warm."
sunday had been lost in his book to fully notice the chill settling into the room, or the banshee curled beside him on the sofa. he had been listening idly to the low hums and the whistling of a tune whilst reading. it is only when the other remarks quietly that he is warm that sunday becomes aware of the temperature at all. the temperature is not cold, just slightly neglected. the fire in the hearth has begun to dim. ❛❛ i apologize, ❜❜ he says, already rising. ❛❛ it seems i was so absorbed in my book that i forgot how to be a proper host. ❜❜ a few logs added to the fire.
when he returns to the sofa, he draws the blanket with him, settling it over both their laps. as he sits, their legs brush. sunday does not pull away, nor does he chase the contact. he simply allows it to be, a quiet truce between desire and distance. after a moment he leans in slightly. ❛❛ the tune you whistled just now. what is it's name ? ❜❜
@deadrest ⸻ send an unprompted charmony bird. always accepting.