[ It's the second night when he finds the boy passed out on the ground — well, perhaps passed out isn't the right phrase. Passed out is what Clive does when he's been up too late burning the midnight oil and falls asleep at his desk, and Jill drapes a blanket over his shoulders. The boy — Dan Heng, he remembers — looks to be, if not comfortable, then at least resting on the floor. But Clive can't leave him there. The boy reminds him of Joshua, slight and quiet, with a bookish air, and something him him stirs, the brotherly need to protect, and he lifts the boy up, who is lighter than he'd really expected, and gently places him into the alcove serving as his bed in this shared room. Clive comes back the third night, and the boy is asleep on the floor again, and Clive frowns, scooping him up with less hesitation this time, putting him back in the alcove. He does't een think to mention it to anyone else, and the boy is gone the next morning before he can ask why he's continuing to sleep on the floor.
The fourth night, Clive is less careful when he picks him up — perhaps it's annoyance, perhaps he's just getting comfortable with the fact he's going to return to their room and find him there, asleep on the ground. He sets the boy on the bed when Dan Heng's hand flies out and open palm slaps him in the chest with a wet 'splat', sending Clive stumbling back into the larger area of the room, his shirt mildly soaked with water. He lets out a punched 'oof', dropping Dan Heng on the bed, his hand reaching up to his chest. The magic doesn't faze him. No, the concern in his eyes is for the boy himself, sitting there, gasping for air, eyes screwed shut, hands clamped over his ears. Clive feels guilty — he's overstepped and he knows it, has been the last three days but he couldn't just leave him there. ]
No. I should be the one apologizing to you for touching you without permission. Are you alright?
[ Dude, he was "comfortable." He put a blanket down first and everything. ]
Yes. [ Now that the panic is fading, the waves of grief roll in swells inside his chest, each smaller than the last. The dream starts to become foggy, and he drops his hands from his safely human ears as he begins to blearily casts his gaze about, looking for his notebooks. He has to write this one down, before he can try to sleep again. ]
I am fine, [ he lies. Clive will just have to accept it as the truth.
Honestly, he feels like he shouldn't be so surprised things ended up this way. Miss Jill seems too willing to mind her business, and whatever is going on with that Dion guy... he seems to be going through the motions of each day more than anything else. If it had been just them in this room, Dan Heng likely would have been free to sleep on the floor, and even sleep in if he wanted to. But with this Clive guy... there's a very... babygirl Stelle-like quality in the energy that Clive seems to embody. Well, not the "give me money" and "what's in this trash can?" parts. But definitely the go everywhere, do everything, talk to everyone part.
The thought makes him miss the Express again. It's barely been a month, and he misses it so much already. He misses the Data Bank. The sound of the servers humming, the coolant under the floors flowing through pipes, March chattering away next door, or music playing from the record machine. To say nothing of the rest of their crew. ]
... My friends do things like that too—stick their noses in any business they find. [ It's said fondly, at least. ] But they wait for me to wake up first.
[ And... he doesn't recall ever once using cloudhymn without meaning to, like that. A shame he doesn't have a door to lock. ]
[ He's being called out and rightfully so. Still, there's something about him — maybe it's his youth — that Clive can't shake the urge to help him out. To do something for this boy who seems to think he's meant to sleep on the floor. Maybe he sees a little bit of Joshua in him.
Maybe he sees himself.
Clive at least has the decency to be chagrined when Dan Heng points out he's butting into someone else's business, and Clive lifts a shoulder in a shrug, sitting down on a nearby chair. ]
It's a habit of mine I can't seem to break. And if I waited for you to wake up, I wouldn't see you.
Hot air rises. It's cooler down low. And we have limited time to observe what we can — I don't want to waste time while we're here.
[ What forms on the page when he sets his pencil to it, though, is a half sketched picture, images he only sort of remembers. A vast tree, roiling waters — without the office of deep sources to record dreams, he has to do it all on his own. He's never even sure of what needs recorded. ]
Of course, you can always wake me up — I simply do not... [ The pencil pauses, then moves once more in a sweeping gesture. ]
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no subject
The fourth night, Clive is less careful when he picks him up — perhaps it's annoyance, perhaps he's just getting comfortable with the fact he's going to return to their room and find him there, asleep on the ground. He sets the boy on the bed when Dan Heng's hand flies out and open palm slaps him in the chest with a wet 'splat', sending Clive stumbling back into the larger area of the room, his shirt mildly soaked with water. He lets out a punched 'oof', dropping Dan Heng on the bed, his hand reaching up to his chest. The magic doesn't faze him. No, the concern in his eyes is for the boy himself, sitting there, gasping for air, eyes screwed shut, hands clamped over his ears. Clive feels guilty — he's overstepped and he knows it, has been the last three days but he couldn't just leave him there. ]
No. I should be the one apologizing to you for touching you without permission. Are you alright?
no subject
Yes. [ Now that the panic is fading, the waves of grief roll in swells inside his chest, each smaller than the last. The dream starts to become foggy, and he drops his hands from his safely human ears as he begins to blearily casts his gaze about, looking for his notebooks. He has to write this one down, before he can try to sleep again. ]
I am fine, [ he lies. Clive will just have to accept it as the truth.
Honestly, he feels like he shouldn't be so surprised things ended up this way. Miss Jill seems too willing to mind her business, and whatever is going on with that Dion guy... he seems to be going through the motions of each day more than anything else. If it had been just them in this room, Dan Heng likely would have been free to sleep on the floor, and even sleep in if he wanted to. But with this Clive guy... there's a very...
babygirlStelle-like quality in the energy that Clive seems to embody. Well, not the "give me money" and "what's in this trash can?" parts. But definitely the go everywhere, do everything, talk to everyone part.The thought makes him miss the Express again. It's barely been a month, and he misses it so much already. He misses the Data Bank. The sound of the servers humming, the coolant under the floors flowing through pipes, March chattering away next door, or music playing from the record machine. To say nothing of the rest of their crew. ]
... My friends do things like that too—stick their noses in any business they find. [ It's said fondly, at least. ] But they wait for me to wake up first.
[ And... he doesn't recall ever once using cloudhymn without meaning to, like that. A shame he doesn't have a door to lock. ]
no subject
Maybe he sees himself.
Clive at least has the decency to be chagrined when Dan Heng points out he's butting into someone else's business, and Clive lifts a shoulder in a shrug, sitting down on a nearby chair. ]
It's a habit of mine I can't seem to break. And if I waited for you to wake up, I wouldn't see you.
[ This fact is not lost on Clive. ]
You should sleep on the bed.
no subject
Hot air rises. It's cooler down low. And we have limited time to observe what we can — I don't want to waste time while we're here.
[ What forms on the page when he sets his pencil to it, though, is a half sketched picture, images he only sort of remembers. A vast tree, roiling waters — without the office of deep sources to record dreams, he has to do it all on his own. He's never even sure of what needs recorded. ]
Of course, you can always wake me up — I simply do not... [ The pencil pauses, then moves once more in a sweeping gesture. ]
I apologize for striking out.