Who: Edwin and Oliver Where: Edwin's Room When: Early morning
Oliver felt heavier than he had in the past few days. It was different than the ache Marco's relapse has caused in him, but it was terrible and draining all the same. He'd liked Georgie, a lot. That was even aside from how important she was to Edwin, which, of course, made her important to him all over again. Georgie was his friend too, the first that he'd really lost, and knowing how much harder it was going to hit Edwin only made it all the worse. God, he hoped she was alright, and that she'd be one of those cases where in a week, a month, she'd show up like Jack had and not even know she was gone. The track record for that wasn't great, so the optimism didn't really sink in, but he tried.
He made his way toward Edwin's room in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, his bare feet tromping along the hall as he thought about what to say to the elf. There was no doubt that Edwin was still happily conked out at this hour, and he wondered if maybe he shouldn't wait until later to connect with him. But no, he didn't want to chance his guy waking up to see Cecilia's message on the network first, and not alone.
He didn't bother knocking as he quietly opened the door into Edwin's room and slipped in. Making his way across the cool wood floor wasn't terribly hard in the dark, though he slowed when his instincts told him the platform was coming up. In the quiet he could hear Edwin's breathing, and smiled a little to himself as he used the sound as a beacon, leaning onto the mattress with his hands and carefully climbing onto it until he zeroed in on the mass of blankets that formed the man's cocoon. He found the edge of the comforter, snaking his arms underneath first to let his hands gently graze, trying to determine what position Edwin was in before slowly edging his way in to join him, careful not to jostle too much. It was always surprising how easily he fit into the shape of Edwin's body, his chest pressed into his elf's warm back as his arm slipped over and around Edwin's hip. In his mind's eye he could map the ink everywhere they were connected, and he focused on that, letting it center him. His lips brushed over the familiar broad curve of shoulder, pausing to press his nose against skin and inhaling the familiar scent that even now lingered on the pillows in his own room. Maybe he could just get comfortable, sink into the heat and safety and contentment and then doze until later when they were both awake and aware and had decent rest behind them. That would be good too.