[It's a thought that aches hollowly as Paul stays settled against Lazarus, breathing slowly. The rainless storm rages on, the sands still shift, the unsteady world spins on, but here, perhaps, Paul is where he's supposed to be. At least right now.]
Do you think so?
[His voices rustle like paper leaves as he adjusts his boneless slump into a slightly more self-supported curling, past caring and self-consciousness. He might as well stick his fingers in his mouth to suck, instead of sinking them into the front of Lazarus' shirt.
His stilsuit is more comfortable to the touch that it looks, nearly organic, blood-warm. It bends with him like a second skin, and he does not think of sharks.]
no subject
Do you think so?
[His voices rustle like paper leaves as he adjusts his boneless slump into a slightly more self-supported curling, past caring and self-consciousness. He might as well stick his fingers in his mouth to suck, instead of sinking them into the front of Lazarus' shirt.
His stilsuit is more comfortable to the touch that it looks, nearly organic, blood-warm. It bends with him like a second skin, and he does not think of sharks.]
Do you know?