He’ll simply let her cling. His arms wrapped around her midsection just to hold her close; sure it doesn’t feel right, it feels foreign. Yet he appreciates the closeness no matter what.

He’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say. Though she’s right. She has lost him, at least who he had been. He reinvented himself in a fools errand to follow the dreams people set before him.

He never knew she played—, he may just have to hang around and hear what she can do.

Good thing he’s been practicing his endurance—!

He’s running—! He’ll catch her!

So is he—, he’s chasing her down like his life depends on it.

Ew, ew, ew. Never mind, he’s fine. He’s not diving in that disgusting; filthy, stinking water. Buuuut he’ll offer her a hand to help her out.

He’s LIVID. Sputtering and clawing his way up the ladder to escape that putrid water. Nope. He’s not acknowledging her existence anymore.

He’s sputtering, trying to get the rancid taste out of his mouth. He understands, but there’s better ways of having harmless fun that don’t involve catching every disease under the sun.

He’s got an idea. He’s PHYSICALLY had worse; but this, this is disgusting on so many levels. It feels and smells like how Pilar behaves and it makes him uncomfortable.

He’s just. . . Quietly watching and listening. He’s far too curious.

🕷: fuck it, starfield OC here we come.

Y a w n. “Where’s everyone?”

Should he be concerned?

. . . The hell is going on?

⛧ ⛧ Ｍｕｓｔ ｂｅ ｔｈｅ ｓｅａｓｏｎ ｏｆ ⛥ ｔｈｅ ｗｉｔｃｈ ⛥

“. . . God, I need a distraction.”

He’s finally brought Sasha Yakovleva that beer he owed her.

“. . . Guess a drink won’t hurt. Happy new year.”

Cue him struggling to drink a beer—.