you could sleep here. // 🤔
could i.it isn’t a question and he doesn’t ask it. his eyes dart around the room.it’s a tempting offer. his nightmares are bad and she knows it. he knows hersare, too.most of the time he’s just restless and too small for his own skin—witand senses, body, soul, all of him atrophied by inaction. captivity hasclipped him, turned him stir-craze and ache, driven desperate to move. mostnights he just paces corridors. a newborn (reborn) planet outgassing eons-pent-up vapors, ones that he must let leech out through cracks else the pressure gets too great and he bursts apart.
terra doesn’t sleep unless he has to, until he’s made to; loathe to ever slumber because he knows what it breeds.it is a painful chore, because he does it alone.he twists through the unkindest dreams alone.
someone at his back, he’s never considered. and she is even more than someone. twice any someone’s weight in gold—dearest friend, most trusted ally. the only person he’s ever wanted to let in.could i be selfish. could i stay. could i help you, too.
acceptance stalls on his tongue. he smiles, grateful and sad.i would if i was brave.“goodnight,” he says, and steps into the hall.








