#multaei

     GOOD FORTUNE does not account for his presence; he has gone far out of his way to be here, deep in the fathomless mysteries of the middle of actual nowhere.  There’s little rhyme or reason as to why a rockstar would intentionally drive into the open desert, lest said rockstar was known for his devotion to listening in on subspace radio chatter, or said rockstar was all too aware that frequencies traveling on 1420 megahertz are unique to intelligent civilization and not mere galactic humdrum.

anyone    else    would    be    scared    of    mr    gluskin,    and    rightfully    so.    the    man    is    terrifyingly    tall    (    as    othello    is    terrifyingly    short    )    but    the    little    scientist    doesn’t    seem    to    pay    it    any    mind.    everyone    is    tall    to    him.    gluskin    is    just    .    .    .    taller    than    what    he’s    used    to.    he    has    to    look    up    at    him    as    if    he’s    a    giant.    

( FIX ) fixing or straightening my mine’s clothes.

it    would    be    a    lie    to    say    that    richtofen    doesn’t    flinch    away    from    nikolai’s    touch    but    can    he    really    be    blamed    ?    it    has    been    so,    so    long    since    anyone    has    willingly    come    near    him    and    there    are    so    many    people    who    want    nothing    more    than    to    punch    him    in    the    face.    hell,    he’s    sure    a    much    younger    version    of    himself    might    punch    him    in    the    face    too,    if    they    ever    met.    

he    glances    down    at    nikolai’s    deft    fingers    as    they    straighten    his    collar    and    tie    and    he’s    left    with    the    distinct    feeling    that    this    is    intimate    in    a    way    he    really    isn’t    used    to    ————    when    on    earth    did    that    happen    ?    or,    perhaps    he    is    a    starved,    licentious    man    who’s    been    too    focused    on    his    work    to    consider    his    wants.    somehow,    he    doesn’t    know.    it    scares    him.    

surely,    it    is    nothing.    he’s    reading    far    too    much    into    it    considering    it    would    seem    that    nikolai    barely    tolerates    his    company.    and    yet,    here    he    is    ————-    here    they    are,    and    richtofen    tilts    his    head,    looking    at    nikolai    (    and    taking    his    hands    before    the    man    can    protest.    they    look    so    very    cold.    )

❝  i’m sorry  ---  i can be slow to understand.  ❞

“  i s s a c? ”

HE WANTED  to believe. oh dear christ, he wanted to believe. all signs pointed to CURE – he was no longer grotesque – no longer a inhuman voiced corpse falling apart at the seams, where every moment creaked and cracked with the sheer UNNATURALNESS of body’s state. no longer had that dead look in his eyes, horrifying and pale, clouded by rot and decay. no – no the man on the ground was young. the man – not demon – on the ground looked terrified and confused and ALIVE – this man on the ground was Issac. HIS Issac.

THERE WAS  a trembling pause of uncertain hesitance, that perhaps it was a demon’s trick to dangle his formerly deceased lover before him like money on a string. like a cookie laid under a box-trap. but – and damn himself – Johnathan’s chest tightened, and his heart hammered, and his soul LEPT, along with his legs, for the other. knees SLAMMED the ground and soft hands pressed and clutched at fabric and upper arms. but oh so gently of course. he tugs him up, presses him close, allowing the rest of Issac’s body to rest on his folded legs and against his rather plush form, and he tucked the man’s head under his bearded chin and shut his eyes tightly. shaky breaths were taken, trembling out of his chest, and he found himself rocking lightly. 

A HEAVY  sigh leaves him, and a hard swallow echoes inside his throat, leaning forward heavily as he stares at the shadows along the fabric wall of the tent. this was not a subject he entirely enjoyed -- but necessary, he knew. they’d had close scrapes plenty of times before.

shelly, his map to his nose not looking where he was going, jabbering too excitedly about the geological formations of the area alongside ancient stone pieces, not seeing a deep hole and nearly breaking his neck -- luckily just a dislocated shoulder, which russel had popped back into place.

russel, thinking he could take a beast alone rushing in from the right instead of waiting for a tranq-dart signal, getting slashed upon arm and chest -- not tended by shelly, as a needed map does not make a good bandage when a nurse stands back at the camp.

HE DOESN’T  make eye contact for a long minute, thinking about these memories among others, hands clasped between his knees in such deep thought. finally, he shifts, looking to him while teeth gently press into his lower lip, brows knit up behind his glasses.

“ then we look out for each other, ”  he states softly, reach to place a scraped and calloused hand onto the man’s shoulder, offering a wary smile. “ like we always do. like the whole team does.  Jumanji sucks,  Russ, i know, but it’s just a jungle, like every other jungle we’ve been to. ”