We're still fighting it, we're still fighting it

[emptynight]

Dawn was approaching when Thomas pulled back into the garage. Tired but full of warm contentment, he headed upstairs with every intention of falling asleep in his own bed, but as he passed Dru's door, he stopped. Something felt wrong, felt cold, and Thomas frowned, slipping quietly into the room. Finding her in a fitful, uneasy sleep, he stripped out of everything except boxers and slipped between the sheets next to her. She smelled of starlight and night air, with skin like ice. Not wanting to wake her, Thomas wrapped an arm around Dru, letting a trick of power bubble over his palm, radiating calm affection. Hoping it would be enough for now, he fell asleep.

((Tag Dru))

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[dead-drusilla.livejournal.com]

Thomas was a rather comfortable seat. It was the only reason she wasn't telling him off. Or shaking off the pigtails. Her large eyes did not help the image, and her tone was quiet. "No. Not big kitties. But I smelled them on you, Thomas. When you came home and said nothing. I saw things. Little snippets. I worry. I always worry."

Drusilla plucked the elastics from the pillow and held them out to him. "Snow? It smelled of coldness then? I must sew washers in your jackest and put nails in your boots. They are all nasty nasty things...the cold ones."

[emptynight]

((Desquish like a fox))