Mr. Stevenson believes in the stars and (stripes) wrote in repose,
Re: log: grant/matt, the woods
This time, Grant didn't take up the echo, Alaska. Instead he met Owen's eyes, steady and concerned, present while still running through the flicker of memories colored by burning oil, salt water, and floating bodies. He put away the happiness he found when he first saw his friend, realizing now that it wasn't welcome, perhaps even misplaced entirely. Grant allowed for relief, and then let himself fill up with the tension he had been trying to let go since he crossed the county line. Even if they were alone in this moment, he too recognized that they weren't going to be that way for long. Someone was in command, and it wasn't either of them.
Grant moved closer, and he put a hand out to make contact with Owen's elbow, but all he got was a handful of passing cold air. He wasn't sure what kind of connection he was looking for, just a reassurance, a tangible certainty that he was there. The opportunity was gone quickly enough, and Grant didn't pursue it.
He looked past Owen to the silhouette of the house in the woods. Grant acknowledged in the top of his mind that it was a ready possibility that ahead was a trap of some kind, a concentration of old enemies that also found some resurrection he had not expected. He didn't care. Grant followed.