(Untitled)

[sleepingpath]

[Along with the breeze from a cheery-tree courtyard comes the scent of cherry blossoms, and the faintly-metallic smell of blood. Someone is waking up from having died.]

[A mop of brown hair pokes out the door and peeks both ways down the hallway just before a brownsprout stumbles out and leans against the opposite wall. Despite having to be pieced

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[selfdeluded]

[He'd been wandering around a lot since Sleeper died - between his room, the kitchens (god only knew why; even if he could eat normal food, he had no appetite at all), a few libraries... but he always ended up back in that courtyard. As if the Dressing Room would be kind enough bring Sleeper back in a place he could actually find him...

It seems, though, that the place was actually considerate for once. He freezes just down the hall - his senses tend to go dull when he doesn't eat, and he hadn't noticed the smell (either that or he was used to it, the dried blood smell that lingered in the courtyard) - and stares at the boy curled up just down the hall.

Far too real to be a ghost.]

Allen?

[sleepingpath]

[The last thing he remembers seeing is a pair of fierce gold eyes, the last thing he remembers feeling is the burning in his lungs from being unable to breathe. Brownsprout is distracted. Disoriented. There's a plethora of whirring thoughts running through his head. What time is it? How long was he asleep? Was he even asleep? He can't even tell. It takes him a moment in order for him to hear the voice saying his name.]

[Only for a moment, though, and he lifts his head. Oh, that's his name.]

Al... Allen. [Blinks. Have an Allensmile.] Where are we?

[selfdeluded]

[It takes a lot more than it should for him to slowly (as slow as a vampire can manage, at least, so it probably seems rather normal) walk across the distance from where he was standing to crouch down near Sleeper; though not too close, because he remembers what happened before when he tried to touch the other boy - even if he hadn't had a body at the time.

V-very obviously reaching a hand out, though. Not touching, though. Just. Closer. Warning. C-can he? >: ]

[sleepingpath]

[Moving slow is a good thing. Any quick movements is likely going to freak him out >: As it is, there's still only a flicker of unease. Things feel weird. Different.]

[But he doesn't move away as Hobollen moves closer; he is as solid as they come - even if he's smudged with dirt and dried blood, and there are cherry blossoms stuck in his hair. He's not sure if you want to touch him, Hobollen, he's pretty nasty right now.]

[selfdeluded]

[Sleeper could be covered in radioactive sludge and Hobollen wouldn't care less about it. There a brief moment where he just touches his fingers to Sleeper's arm, and he opens his mouth to say something, but the only thing that comes out is a cracked sort of sound. So instead, very carefully and slowly, he wraps one arm around the other boy. It would be both, but he doesn't want to stifle him, not after... that.]

...m-missed you.

[sleepingpath]

[There's that same general flicker of unease, mostly because his limbs are sore. His legs feel like he's been running a marathon for two weeks straight, and his arms feel like he's lugging around thirty-pound weights. But he leans into it anyway, and glances down. His wrists are scarred in a way that looks like he's wearing a bracelet made of teethmarks. Sleeper lets out a hitching sort of breath. It's less because he's about to cry, and more from general disuse.]

I died...

[selfdeluded]

[His own gaze falls down to Sleeper's wrists when the brownsprout leans into the not-quite-hug, and for a moment he sees that exact same red he had when he realized who was responsible for killing the other boy - but he shoves it down, as far as he can, and nods his head a little bit.]

Yeah... you did. [a beat.] ...do you remember what happened after that?

[sleepingpath]

[He does. Well, not completely. Instead of pictures, he just remembers blurs and shadows of color. Some shadows are faded red, and they're comforting. Others are whirling gray, and they make him feel sad. He remembers there being snow - cherry blossoms - there had been a lot of that, actually, but it was never cold. And he thinks he can remember voices - Hobollen's maybe, and that of a man with a remorseful sort of tone - but he can't be sure.]

[But he shakes his head anyway. Doesn't want to talk about it. Doesn't want to think about it.]

... no.

[selfdeluded]

[He suspects it must be something like that - that he either can't, won't, or doesn't want to remember the things that happened after he died - and Hobollen thinks that maybe in some ways that might be for the best. Just a few less frightening things to remember. So he nods again.] That's fine.

[He considers for a moment that maybe he should pull away now, but inevitably decides against it.]

Do you think you can walk?

[sleepingpath]

[He can't remember most of it, not the immediate things. And for the most part, he won't make himself try. It's mostly denial, not wanting to come face-to-face with it. Is it really for the best, though?]

[Sleeper... would rather he didn't. This feels safe. And he feels anything but.]

Maybe. I'm... [Cue stomach growling] ... I'm hungry.

[selfdeluded]

[For someone that practically breathes denial? Hobollen certainly thinks that it is. God knows he's probably wrong, though.

Good. Because he'd rather hold onto this boy than let go right this moment. Not with the way he'd faded before...

...he almost chuckles at the stomach growling.] We should get you something to eat...

[sleepingpath]

[Nods. He's still not getting up yet, though. He'd rather stay here.]

It's not too far, right?

[selfdeluded]

[He would too, honestly. Though he doesn't think it's the best idea to stay near this courtyard, either. Honestly, he'd just scoop Sleeper up and carry him, but after dying... he's not sure how well the other boy would take something like that.]

There's a kitchen down the hall... And a cafeteria three halls down.

[sleepingpath]

[The courtyard. Sleeper's eyes drift toward the doorway, where the blossoms are drifting out into the hall. His insides squirm a little at the sight of them. Squirm and break. He died in there...]

... kitchen. There are... [A beat.] ... people in the cafeterias.

[And he doesn't want to be around anyone right now.]

[selfdeluded]

...Alright. [He hears that, the way his insides twist in on themselves, the fear(?)... Hobollen moves, still slowly, and tries to center his face in Sleeper's line of sight.]

If... if you don't want to walk, I don't mind carrying you. If you think you can do that...

[sleepingpath]

[It's partly fear, mostly disgust. Perhaps a bit morbidly intrigued. Sleeper's eyes follow Hobollen closely.]

I can walk. Let's... [Leaning against.] ... let's get out of here.