› rozaliya plays with john's hair.
washington dc makes him itchy and eager to fly back home, especially on clear nights like this one. the sky should be lit up by endless stars instead of this pale smattering of them, barely visible without squinting or owning a telescope. john hates it. he misses aotearoa like he would a missing limb. yet there is no going back before the grant is safely in his possession, before both governments give him authorization and means to get the gears moving on a research that could very well save life on earth. a sigh builds in his chest — half frustration, half pure desperate need to get on with next stage already — but it comes out as a soft exhale when fingers card through his hair, smoothing the unruly mess back from his forehead and tugging just so on the slightly curled ends along the back of his neck.
' if you close your eyes you can almost pretend to be in an empty field miles and miles away, the closest house hours from where you are. ' john turns his head in @uorboros direction with a smile, making room for her on the hammock and resting his fingers just above her wrist. a question, rather than a demand. ' sure, the illusion lasts about five minutes… ' his smile turns thoughtful, gaze intent as he swipes a thumb over the knuckles of her hand.
' i want to show you the southern cross. and all the sights i grew up around back home. '
