[He rolls his eyes, but he's grinning as he takes the bottle by its neck.]
Yeah, must be a new power.
[Sitting up, Wilhelm fishes his knife from his pocket. The handle of polished bone and dark wood fits comfortably in his grip, and the small blade slides smoothly from its leather sheath. After a minute of working at the cork, he manages to pop it from the bottle. He sheathes the knife and sets it on the hearth, where it will be safe, before lifting the bottle to his lips and claiming the first sweet, buttery swig. Sticking his tongue out, he passes the bottle back to Iris.
It's nice, coming back to a room that isn't empty at the end of the day. As the year slants into fall, and the days shrink and the weather cools, there's something in him that wants to withdraw from it all. His whole being remembers losing his brother — remembers when the hurt was fresh and raw and more alive than anything else. His body remembers curling around grief the way a musician's fingers curl around notes, muscle memory holding the shape of things learned so well it can never lose them.
And yet, now more than ever, the last thing he wants is to be alone. Iris, although he doesn't know it, keeps Wilhelm from rotting in bed alone in the dark. He pulls him back, when Wilhelm starts to drift away.]
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Yeah, must be a new power.
[Sitting up, Wilhelm fishes his knife from his pocket. The handle of polished bone and dark wood fits comfortably in his grip, and the small blade slides smoothly from its leather sheath. After a minute of working at the cork, he manages to pop it from the bottle. He sheathes the knife and sets it on the hearth, where it will be safe, before lifting the bottle to his lips and claiming the first sweet, buttery swig. Sticking his tongue out, he passes the bottle back to Iris.
It's nice, coming back to a room that isn't empty at the end of the day. As the year slants into fall, and the days shrink and the weather cools, there's something in him that wants to withdraw from it all. His whole being remembers losing his brother — remembers when the hurt was fresh and raw and more alive than anything else. His body remembers curling around grief the way a musician's fingers curl around notes, muscle memory holding the shape of things learned so well it can never lose them.
And yet, now more than ever, the last thing he wants is to be alone. Iris, although he doesn't know it, keeps Wilhelm from rotting in bed alone in the dark. He pulls him back, when Wilhelm starts to drift away.]