Maybe it's how deeply he's relied on his gifts to stay alive, the last few months. Maybe it's the fantasy of some closed but peaceful life out in the wilderness, superimposed against the reality of scraping by in a city clogged by death and snow. Face masks, guns he doesn't know how to use, asking the cards over and over for some kind of answer.
It's odd to have it all cut off, and feel like he still--needs it.
Meeting Bodhi is no exception. The man--and he's not surprised it's a man. And he's not surprised he's decent looking--if a bit short and squirrely looking. Well, he lights up at the sight of him, and Kira can't. He can't even feel it, vicariously, much less understand the context. Not much was given on his way here: he lives with Bodhi. He has for eight months, according to people he doesn't quite believe. But what is he to do with that smile, what is he to do with the warmth of the house, and the dog rushing out at him, standing up to be caught in his arms? His gaze is as lost as Bodhi is likely to ever see it, looking between the dog standing at his chest, and the man in the door.
"I...they said I live here," he greets, quietly. The dog makes another surge, nipping at his chin, and it's overwhelming and annoying enough that he finally pushes her down. "Stop it," he says, voice clipped. "Jesus, that's not mine, is it?"
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Maybe it's how deeply he's relied on his gifts to stay alive, the last few months. Maybe it's the fantasy of some closed but peaceful life out in the wilderness, superimposed against the reality of scraping by in a city clogged by death and snow. Face masks, guns he doesn't know how to use, asking the cards over and over for some kind of answer.
It's odd to have it all cut off, and feel like he still--needs it.
Meeting Bodhi is no exception. The man--and he's not surprised it's a man. And he's not surprised he's decent looking--if a bit short and squirrely looking. Well, he lights up at the sight of him, and Kira can't. He can't even feel it, vicariously, much less understand the context. Not much was given on his way here: he lives with Bodhi. He has for eight months, according to people he doesn't quite believe. But what is he to do with that smile, what is he to do with the warmth of the house, and the dog rushing out at him, standing up to be caught in his arms? His gaze is as lost as Bodhi is likely to ever see it, looking between the dog standing at his chest, and the man in the door.
"I...they said I live here," he greets, quietly. The dog makes another surge, nipping at his chin, and it's overwhelming and annoying enough that he finally pushes her down. "Stop it," he says, voice clipped. "Jesus, that's not mine, is it?"