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writetomyheart2023-03-14 10:51 pm
knittenkitten) wrote in writetomyheart2023-03-14 10:51 pm
Entry tags:
[team one] the lunar scion
Practicing writing some original stuff, G, 428 words
"Want my sweatshirt?"
"Sweatshirt?"
He looked back, coldly (the sort indicated by his glossy eyes; he wasn't shivering).
"Ah..." I wasn't surprised he didn't know what a sweatshirt was, so in an attempt at an explanation, I pulled it off. I was struck by the evening chill that I had only somewhat advertently eased it onto my skin, but a quick shiver softened the bite. "This. It'll keep you warm."
"Hmm."
I had noticed he had been carefully observing throughout the process, and his mimicry was impeccable, if somewhat awkward.
Finally, pulled the strings and tightened the neckline around his slender figure, and he let out a gentle sigh after a moment. "Thank you. It is indeed quite warm."
He had called himself the lunar scion and materialized in front of me, so I'd figured he wasn't entirely human. Still, the waxy, reflective quality of his skin was a mesmerizing sight, and even moreso how little it changed as he warmed up.
"You appear to be shivering," the lunar scion noted, speaking of the night's devil.
"Yes."
"Should I not return this to you, then?"
"It's OK. I'm used to this weather. You're-"
Wasn't it cold on the moon? I briefly reconsidered my gesture, but as it had seemed to be appreciated, I left the thought where it ended.
"When I find my muse, I can repay you," he offered.
I smiled. "Don't worry about it. The heat comes from you, not the sweater."
"It wore warm, so some of it must have come from you."
I gulped down my reaction with the help of arriving at my apartment. I held open the front door, then led him to my unit. While I'd refused to take back my sweatshirt, the warmth coming from the furnace was nonetheless an instantly comforting relief.
"We can sleep here. Don't worry about repayment. My couch is free."
No more talkative than he had been all night, after I indicated what I had meant by "couch", he followed my gesture and curled up on its surface.
"Thank you," he said, immediately closing his eyes before I could even offer him a proper pillow or blanket.
It was then that I realized it was much later than I had thought it was. Just as the sun he claimed to seek began to rise, the lunar scion fell asleep, lost in time and space, only the gravity of the sweatshirt I'd lent him (his arms curled up under its hood) tethering him to Earth.
At that moment, I felt my own sense of gravity shift.
"Want my sweatshirt?"
"Sweatshirt?"
He looked back, coldly (the sort indicated by his glossy eyes; he wasn't shivering).
"Ah..." I wasn't surprised he didn't know what a sweatshirt was, so in an attempt at an explanation, I pulled it off. I was struck by the evening chill that I had only somewhat advertently eased it onto my skin, but a quick shiver softened the bite. "This. It'll keep you warm."
"Hmm."
I had noticed he had been carefully observing throughout the process, and his mimicry was impeccable, if somewhat awkward.
Finally, pulled the strings and tightened the neckline around his slender figure, and he let out a gentle sigh after a moment. "Thank you. It is indeed quite warm."
He had called himself the lunar scion and materialized in front of me, so I'd figured he wasn't entirely human. Still, the waxy, reflective quality of his skin was a mesmerizing sight, and even moreso how little it changed as he warmed up.
"You appear to be shivering," the lunar scion noted, speaking of the night's devil.
"Yes."
"Should I not return this to you, then?"
"It's OK. I'm used to this weather. You're-"
Wasn't it cold on the moon? I briefly reconsidered my gesture, but as it had seemed to be appreciated, I left the thought where it ended.
"When I find my muse, I can repay you," he offered.
I smiled. "Don't worry about it. The heat comes from you, not the sweater."
"It wore warm, so some of it must have come from you."
I gulped down my reaction with the help of arriving at my apartment. I held open the front door, then led him to my unit. While I'd refused to take back my sweatshirt, the warmth coming from the furnace was nonetheless an instantly comforting relief.
"We can sleep here. Don't worry about repayment. My couch is free."
No more talkative than he had been all night, after I indicated what I had meant by "couch", he followed my gesture and curled up on its surface.
"Thank you," he said, immediately closing his eyes before I could even offer him a proper pillow or blanket.
It was then that I realized it was much later than I had thought it was. Just as the sun he claimed to seek began to rise, the lunar scion fell asleep, lost in time and space, only the gravity of the sweatshirt I'd lent him (his arms curled up under its hood) tethering him to Earth.
At that moment, I felt my own sense of gravity shift.