Conversations with Dead People...

[stilljustandrew]

[...that never happened.]

Andrew's in his room, upstairs at Milliways. The room has a desk. The desk has piles of books.

There's always work to do.

Comments

[gavemea_45]

There is indeed.

Of course, that sort of thing tends to be for those who are left behind when others are gone.

A faint breath of air blows through the room. It's not unlike the draft from a door opening, and it's cold. Very, very cold.

When it fades, Andrew's not alone. Someone's standing behind him.

[stilljustandrew]

The cold draft makes him glance at the window, and then twist about sharply as the figure behind him catches his peripheral vision.

"...Sam?"

It's more confused than anything else.

[gavemea_45]

"Hey, Andrew."

He looks awkward, uncertain and confused. Sam shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket -- and winces violently as he does so.

[stilljustandrew]

"Hey," he says in abrupt concern, "what is it?"

There's also the questions of what are you doing here and how did you get in without me hearing you, but they can wait.