#oslowhitman

He had freshly ground coffee brewing on the pot, the scent and sizzle of oil as it hit the pan comforting. The smells and noise of a kitchen in use gives Griffith a sense of groundedness that he hasn’t felt in a long time. He recalls, just for a moment, the long talk he had with Zion a few nights before, hours whittling away until the dawn peaked through his parted blinds. He convinced Zion that he convinced him in turn, but in truth he already knew he had to see his plan in motion before he could commit himself wholeheartedly to his friend’s entire scheme (though commitment to the friend in question was already a done deal). 

He asked Zion who else he’d already looped into this, and the answers filled him with a sense of dread. He texted Oz the next day, more out of whimsy than anything else, because if he were being completely honest, he did not know what to say to the other man. It was more for his own need to care and to comfort; to build on budding camaraderie that would certainly help Griffith face the next few taxing days. 

He felt him as soon as he arrived at the door, his awareness kicking in like a sixth sense. Griffith paused to wonder, for a moment, about when it started responding not only to Fae but the humans whose lives were wretchedly entangled in their world. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, so he could keep track of those he gratefully considered his friends.