bittersweet first impressions [c]

Her new roommate was so different from her; she wondered if that made him normal, or if she wasn’t the only broken thing in Nova Athenis. When she wanted to smile, he wanted to frown, and he thrust forward a front of gloom and grump to the world while she kept hers in the back seat and let blind cheer guide her through the crash course of life. A number of things made people different from each other—this she had studied extensively—but from Dusk’s sourpuss attitude, the most she could glean was that he had gone through situations similar to hers. He certainly looked like she felt inside. It almost made her want to dig down and find out why but it felt a little too much like performing reconstructive surgery on her past for that almost to be anything more than almost-not-there.

The slamming of the door jolted her from her reverie. Blinking rapidly in the dim lighting, it hit her that she had been staring, but rather than stop, she continued to do so as she watched him submerge beneath the covers. Conversation and further interaction of any sort thus denied, she said nothing to the silence huddled in a lump. She kneaded, instead, like a cat at the mildew-damp folds of the blanket nest she had composed in the corner. In a single, sudden movement, she let gravity have its way and thumped to the collection of pillows with a resounding ‘whouhmp’. Shoulder nestled into the deepest sulci of her corner throne, she lay for a while with her cheek pressed to the soft fabric, breathing in the deep, rich scents of life among its many folds.

Then, a squirm. Another, wriggling up through her stomach and out to the ends of her fingertips. She sat up with a quiet huff, picked herself up, and tossed around on the blanket for several more minutes before creeping quietly across the floor. Propping herself up on her knees, she gripped at the edge of the bed and peeked quietly at Dusk’s unmoving form.

“Dusk?” she whispered, so soft that even if he were awake, he might not have heard. “Are you awake?”

When, after he did not respond to a featherlight touch to the cheek, she was satisfied that he would not make any protest, Nico wiggled her way up onto the bed and snuggled up close to the fighter’s warm body. Not sure, nor rather caring, of whether or not she was at his back or his front, she nuzzled in close to the young man and shut her eyes, one hand curled under her head and the other half heartedly draped near her throat. Soon enough, the rhythm of his breathing was putting her to sleep…