@threepips / i’m so sorry grayson
he is exhausted. tired blue eyes stare blankly at a page from ulysses ( you haven’t picked this book up in years. why now? when all it does is you of him? ) & the idea of sleep tempts him despite what he knows will appear behind closed lids -- a look of cautious concern in hoshi’s dark eyes, phlox’s feeble attempt at comforting the distraught officer, a darkness malcolm had never before seen in archer’s face. mind wanders absently until the sound of door chime rouses him back to reality, a chill running down his spine at the fear of who could be beyond his door.
body feels weaker & heavier than normal as he pulls himself from his bed ( from yours & trip’s bed -- ) & book placed is placed on his desk before he stands in front of his own door. he doesn’t allow the other individual the advantage of a ‘come in’ & instead the door swings open without warning. a gasp is sucked in & it takes every fiber of his being to not crumble at the sight before him -- hands aching at the sight of familiar blond locks & for just a moment it almost feels like trip is back.
❛ hello, sim. ❜ the word feels wrong in his mouth, how it hisses through the teeth like a snake hiding in the tall grass & is cold to the taste -- unfamiliar & disjointed. a trembling hand finds perch on the doorframe as he searches for an anchor, mind feeling light.
( this is too much! why is he here? why would he come here? in what new way has he found to torture your already beaten soul? has it hit him? does he know what you are to trip? )
❛ is there something you needed from me? ❜ question comes out as a broken whisper & he’s so scared of what answer will be -- of what it could be. the tension between them is palpable. he is exhausted.
