Jonathan Sims

John settles himself beside her, smiling into his cup when she relaxes into a comfortable sprawl, her leg bumping against his. He's never been good at relaxing quite so visibly as Daisy does, but he matches the gentle pressure without conscious thought. They used to spend hours in his office like this, companionably quiet, one casual point of contact that had grown from something bewildering and strange to something easy and comfortable.

Well. Maybe it was never that strange — not after the Buried, when their voices and their tightly clutched hands were all they had.

"Thank you," he says after a few moments. "For, erm... snapping me out of it." He's been prone to spiraling for years, now, and no one's ever shut it down quite as bluntly as Daisy does. It had been a little insulting the first few times she'd done it, but now, he just appreciates it.