CHERRY: can we talk about something privately, dear?

     “keung,” soren whines the name into several syllables, arms full as he knocks on the door best that he can with just his elbow.  “help?” the request comes out as more of a squeak as some the snacks he’s bringing come dangerously close to falling out of his grip. his arms are very short; he can only hold onto so much for so long! for soren, the imposed lycan buddy system is an excellent excuse to spend time with some of his favorite pack mates (over and above the attention he already demands) which is why he finds himself outside of keung’s artsy warehouse loft with food and clothes in tow, prepped for the ultimate sleepover. it’d be a little too outside of soren’s character to actually alert keung to his plans and so he’s banking on the other wanting to see him just as badly. lower lip falling into a pout, he tries one more time, crystal clear voice calling out sweetly, “keung?”

“Come on.” Taking a hold of Keung’s hand, Cherry draws him closer to her, grateful for the last remaining vestiges of daylight continuing to illuminate the fairgrounds. “I want a drink, and you need one.” At least, according to Cherry he needs one --- the fact she constantly mothers him makes the way she speaks with authority about what he ‘needs’ something that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Earlier when they’d been wandering about, she remembers seeing a milk shake stand, and that’s where she drags him to now. “I think I’m going to get a pumpkin one.” The seasonal flavors seem out of the ordinary given it’s the middle of summer, but she would be sorely remiss if she didn’t get into the spirit of it all with a pumpkin flavored treat. “You should eat something, too. I’ll buy you a snack.”

Weariness weighs heavy on him, pulling him down into the dark deep like an ancient creature, like a creature of water and of air. There’s a certain air of sadness surrounding him, of disappointment laced with expectation, like he saw it coming, but it didn’t matter until now. Keung is an island, and beside him there is a trench thousands of feet deep, and Dane treads water over it but never makes any distance. There are things grasping at him, pulling at his feet, and he doesn’t know what to do besides reach out and hope that he takes his hand before he’s dragged under. He stands outside of his apartment, resting his forehead against the paint-peeled door frame, and he rests his hand on the door as he takes a few deep breaths. Remember to exhale. “Keung?”

“To be honest, I usually only break into rich peoples’ apartments, but sometimes I make mistakes. Unfortunate. What do you mean what’s ‘with it’? It’s just a force of habit.”