Oct 4, 2018
He’d calmed down, somewhat. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep. He’s not exactly sure which, but he finds himself blinking at his phone again, still curled in the blanket he’d been given, package still tucked against his stomach where he’s got it cradled against him. He’s sifting through messages like he’s been doing, reading and rereading the ones signed off under his name, the ones he doesn’t recognize, the ones he knows... she wrote.
He frowns, anxious.
Slowly, he shifts enough so that he can type properly, tapping out a quick little message:
“Come over? Please.”
He sends it over, then curls up again, waiting for him.
@ua-iida