(no subject)
There was, logically, moments that tied Moist's smooth departure from Summerfell to his less than smooth, panting, fumbling entrance into his own house, twenty feet ahead of the dogs and sweaty from a sprint. Logically, those moments existed, but perhaps they belong to someone else. Someone that routinely went running in parkas, hiking boots and enjoyed whimpering while he did so. Slamming the door behind him, Moist dragged his Mr Robinson box in front of the door and sat down on it, letting his head fall onto his hands.
"Duo?" he called weakly, not looking up. "I. I just had a baby."
He blinked. "It was a boy."