[He gets up, he steers himself through his routine, even if some days it feels like he's white-knuckling the wheel. He tries to keep moving forward. It's a little easier than it used to be, maybe because he has a stronger sense of what he's getting up for. What he's moving toward.
Now, when Wilhelm takes the bottle back and their hands bump together, he remembers how in that strange waking dream, Iris squeezed his hand and urged him onward as he ran from a past that he never wanted to become his future.]
Uh, green. Or purple.
[He doesn't ask why, because he assumes he'll learn the answer shortly. He scoots closer to Iris to get a better look at the sketchbook, tipping back another sip of their stolen wine.]
no subject
Now, when Wilhelm takes the bottle back and their hands bump together, he remembers how in that strange waking dream, Iris squeezed his hand and urged him onward as he ran from a past that he never wanted to become his future.]
Uh, green. Or purple.
[He doesn't ask why, because he assumes he'll learn the answer shortly. He scoots closer to Iris to get a better look at the sketchbook, tipping back another sip of their stolen wine.]