"a little birdie told me you were sick. how are you feeling?"
He dreams a long dream, sleepless and bound for tragedy.
By the time he wakes, he finds Yuta beside him. The words he speak are more tender than the either of them are used to, but tonight, he doesn’t mind them. And he hopes Yuta is the same. His eyes peer over at the door left closed. He remembers cracking it ajar before falling asleep, sleeping with the door open just one more night. “Fine.” With the other now here, it doesn’t feel the same.
He doesn’t tremble from merely being awake.
“Fine now… anyway.”
His hands come over his face, the edge of his palm ridding of the sweat lingering all over. He forces himself off the edge of the mattress, a little hesitant to leave the room when Yuta was still in it. So he stops at the door, resting his weight onto the frames until his knees and feet gain some relief. His shoulders too, pull taut with some kind of new-found strength given by just this space. The space he’d always some running back to each time he felt his hands wanting to do something terrible.
“You look terrible. Like you got dumped over a text message or two this morning, or something.” He turns to look back at him, an unfitting half smile tugging at his lips. “Make me breakfast before you take my shoulder to bawl.”
