Artificial Nocturne

Amee does her best not to laugh

but then snorts before bursting out laughing.

They Got one! They’re so pleased that Amee is laughing that they decide on another pun.

“What do you say when you see a giraffe with a short neck?“

“Just go over to your oven and shove your head in it!~“

{†} What does he need? He’s not even sure. Reminders that he’s safe? That Fortia is there and has him? Protection from the voices of the past? 

It all doesn’t matter at the moment. He knows he needs to be held. The comforting warmth of another person, of knowing that he’s safe in someone’s arms. Without speaking, he moves towards Fortia, pressing himself in the other’s arms without a second thought. He needs comfort. A reminder that he’s not there anymore. He’s not ten years old and watching his parents die. He’s twenty something or other… and he’s with his boyfriend. Safe.

“F-fortia… Fortia.. Fortia.” Softly repeating the other’s name, Hibi let his free hand move all over his boyfriend, mapping him out and feeling the solid, definite proof that Fortia is there with him.

Fortia doesn’t bother to shove Hibi off when the other moves towards him, even with the vague lingering sensation of his skin crawling at the contact. Instead, he wraps the smaller up in a hug, squeezing gently. He takes a moment to resituate himself, moving his legs to where they’re in front of him, bent to help wrap HIbi in affection.

“Hey, hey, I’m here.“ The words are murmured into Hibi’s hair, between small kisses pressed to the crown of his head. It’s easy enough to pull his sleeves over his hands, that way he can rub the other’s back in slow circles. He’s idly humming, some silly ditty as he tries not to laugh when Hibi’s hand pokes into a ticklish spot.

This isn’t something that he’s unfamiliar with. It’s almost a panic attack, probably something worse, and Fortia feels unease and worry coiling tightly around his chest. It’s not something he’s unfamiliar with, but from the other side. When Hibi drops to the floor, Fortia quickly crouches next to him, desperately trying not to cry. (He’d always cried when someone he cared about was in pain.) He wants to touch, wants to wrap the other up in as much comfort that his lanky body could provide. Experience tells him it’s a bad idea, and he opts to helplessly watch, waiting for a moment where he’s needed.

When HIbi’s hand reaches out for him, he doesn’t hesitate to grab it, slowly pressing their palms together, fingers interlocking. He can feel the smaller shaking, and it dawns on him, how small Hibi really is, smaller than even his youngest brother.