Re: log: antique store - louis, misha, and damian
Louis was feeling much better by the time the boys opened the door and swept inside. The building was quiet enough that he had overheard a little of the conversation beyond the door, but only snatches, not enough to fully reconstruct the topic being discussed.
There were open chairs at the kitchen table for them to sit in, plus the comfortable couch and a armchair by the window. The room was still cold (the heater in the basement was unenthusiastic about its duties, to say the least) but not quite so cold as it had been when he woke that morning. “Good morning,” he said, cheerfully enough. “Chilly, isn’t it? I'm sorry about the heat. The kettle’s hot, if you’d like tea.” He held himself carefully, his own mug clasped in his long hands to warm them. He looked very much himself, if drawn and thin from the weeks of slow healing.
The room smelled a little like the fresh toast and jam he’d had for breakfast, and if it wasn’t for the persistent chill, it would have been a cozy place. Louis was fully dressed, wearing a loose wool cardigan over a linen shirt that gave the bandages on his chest plenty of room. He was even wearing proper trousers for his guests, shoes and socks and all, as if he’d be going downstairs to open the shop when their visit was over.
If anything at all had happened in the five minutes the boys had stood arguing outside the door, everything seemed ordinary enough. The scene wasn’t entirely undisturbed - there was a small puddle of tea on the tabletop, a miniature lake, untouched, though Louis held the cup neatly in his two hands. Otherwise, everything was almost exactly as it would have been if they had walked inside just as soon as they arrived. Louis watched Damian light up, and he managed not to examine him too closely. He did furrow his brow a little, but only because Damian looked so awful. Well, that could certainly be sorted.
The only other minor change in detail was a small orange bottle with a pharmacy label. It sat beside the salt and pepper shakers on the table, like a third spice.