The little AU: Winter Hopes: The altar of small things
The little AU: Winter Hopes: The altar of small things
slashfairy
~~
Near the ocean the air's always muggy, even when it's cold for LA, even when it's between storms it's muggy.
The temperature between 45 and 55, rain followed by overcast followed by brief sun then rain again, and muggy.
No matter. Inside the hall it's that odd combination of forced-air heat in a building really designed with air-conditioning in mind; everyone's in sweaters and jeans, or sweatshirts and kahkis, even Cate is in comfortable clothes as they run through the practice for tomorrow's awards.
She lays her hand atop his arm, noticing how thin it is, how wiry he's become, and hands him a glass of water for the cough. Are you alright? she asks, and he nods Yes, grateful for the water, wondering if he is.
At home in the grey house they joke about the awards, the Razzie, the Oscar, and all the others, but quietly and not for long. Orlando lights new candles on the small red-clothed altar; Hunter's drawn a picture of a knight on a horse, jousting, which is tacked up on the cupboard overhead, the light of the low candles flickering making the horse's legs seem to gallop across the page.
During the night he mutters in his sleep, restless, kicking- they arrange and re-arrange themselves around him without noticing, now- it's just a given that Viggo sleeps in the middle where it's warmest, where it's safe- and in the morning they will lie in, the comforters and sheets wrapped around them, and Hunter will bring juice to them all because he likes the way it looks when he pours it into the pottery juice glasses, so it's become his job.
previously: Good Night, and Good Luck
next: Steady
slashfairy
~~
Near the ocean the air's always muggy, even when it's cold for LA, even when it's between storms it's muggy.
The temperature between 45 and 55, rain followed by overcast followed by brief sun then rain again, and muggy.
No matter. Inside the hall it's that odd combination of forced-air heat in a building really designed with air-conditioning in mind; everyone's in sweaters and jeans, or sweatshirts and kahkis, even Cate is in comfortable clothes as they run through the practice for tomorrow's awards.
She lays her hand atop his arm, noticing how thin it is, how wiry he's become, and hands him a glass of water for the cough. Are you alright? she asks, and he nods Yes, grateful for the water, wondering if he is.
At home in the grey house they joke about the awards, the Razzie, the Oscar, and all the others, but quietly and not for long. Orlando lights new candles on the small red-clothed altar; Hunter's drawn a picture of a knight on a horse, jousting, which is tacked up on the cupboard overhead, the light of the low candles flickering making the horse's legs seem to gallop across the page.
During the night he mutters in his sleep, restless, kicking- they arrange and re-arrange themselves around him without noticing, now- it's just a given that Viggo sleeps in the middle where it's warmest, where it's safe- and in the morning they will lie in, the comforters and sheets wrapped around them, and Hunter will bring juice to them all because he likes the way it looks when he pours it into the pottery juice glasses, so it's become his job.
previously: Good Night, and Good Luck
next: Steady