for Daisy

[statement_ends]

January 19th, very early:

John supposes he could try to sleep, just as a way to pass the time. But, aside from his general avoidance of sleeping during normal hours for his victims' sakes, he just doesn't want to, and isn't even sure he could. He's still too — Christ, it feels childish, but there's probably no more apt term — giddy to imagine lying down and, and settling.

And (speaking of childish): it's hard to fully squash the fear that sleeping would give this all the opportunity to be a mere dream. Never mind that he hasn't had a good dream since he woke up in hospital. Trust this to be the first, and only because of the misery it would induce upon waking. Just a touch of the Spiral to make things interesting — or the Lonely, more like.

So when Martin eventually drops off, John spends a few antsy minutes wondering what to do with himself before giving in and texting Daisy. He feels a bit bad for waking her, but when he manages to coax her over with a promise of coffee, his regret dissipates. It'll be good to see her in person. There's just something so solidly real about Daisy.

She's a fast runner, but it's a fair distance across town, so John tries to take his time tidying up a little (he doesn't want to sweep away all the evidence of the day Martin spent here, but he's not soppy enough to let dirty mugs sit around because of who used them last). Then he bundles himself up against the cold night air and goes outside to wait for her arrival.

Might be nice to have a smoke about now, but he knows Martin doesn't approve, and that matters a little more now than it used to. Instead, he wanders to the edge of the light spilled by the Bramford's entryway and looks up at the stars.

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[hear_the_blood]

It's quiet on the streets, and Daisy doesn't sprint over, no matter how much she wants to not be alone right now. She keeps at a quick jog and makes her way from Candlewood to the Bramford. She'd only barely remembered her jacket: it's cold, the wind cutting through her leggings and making her nose and cheeks pink. But by the time she gets to John's building and sees him out front, she's over-warm from the jog, and she pulls her coat off even though they're still outside.

She's wearing a sweater underneath, so it's fine.

"Christ, look at you. Getting poetic already?" she says, voice warm despite the gentle jibe.