Re: adrian's room: adrian m/newt p
[Newt settled. He turned his palm toward Adrian's fingers and grasped the other man's hand firmly. His own palm was dry, a touch too dry, and scratchy with callouses. He squeezed. And if (and when) Adrian's eyes adjusted to the newborn darkness, Newt's own gaze was shifting, as it usually did, shoring up every once in a while to make contact or near enough, given it was difficult to see. Newt shifted, one-handedly, until he was sitting alongside his friend, their hands still clasped.
He looked down toward Adrian when the man gave the flimsy, sleep-sodden reassurance.] It's quite all right. [The grip on Newt's hand loosened, then Adrian was closer. The older man left off the hand-holding and laid his arm around the other's shoulders, taking him against his side in a half-embrace. He kissed temple gently, then cheek.] It's all right, [he said again. He flicked his wand. The comforter on the bed lifted shakily into the air, then floated down to settle over the range of lifted knees.] I saw a room, with a boy. It was sad, actually, but no one died. [Newt brushed dark hair from the other man's face with one long finger.
That was when the second memory came down.—Parched, throat dry as sand, he croaked a little in surprise as he returned to the present. He gave a gasp as he attempted to clear his breathing and he shook his head a few times.] And just now—[He spoke calmly.]—I was in a desert, with a great many people in tents and I enjoyed a fine evening with them. [He blinked in the darkness. Afterimages of sand, the shadows of pitched tents, dragged along the blackness of the bedroom.] Curious.