There's been a lot of distraction and things around here are just so weird in a way Zach's not at all used to. Seriously, weird he can do but he's so used to the sort of weird that comes along with haunted houses and running for your life, he's not sure what to do in this place, where he could probably get away with anything if he hung around the edges. He doesn't try, of course. He's been trying to break his hacking addiction like he sometimes wishes Trevor would try to break his addiction to coffee.
Which leads him to something else that just too strange. Not being around Trevor almost 24/7. He wants to be and feels like he should be but he can't and that bothers him far too much.
He's not surprised when seeking the artist out leads him towards a closed door that he only hopes, when he knocks, will be hiding the person he's looking for.
Typist: Sorry. My internet's been assish all week and decided to die yesterday, right after I said I hoped it wouldn't. :/
It's probably Elphaba, coming to fuss at him for being awake, or for hiding from everyone, or something motherly like that. A brief hope flickers that it could be Zach, but that almost hurts too much.
He sets the pencil down and flexes his hand, wincing slightly. He remembers the way Zach massaged it for him, after he mangled it so badly that night. Flickers of images and memories flash across his brain, taunting him.
Not seeing Zach every moment of every day scares him, frightens him so deeply it's almost an ache. He knows it's just the nature of this place, that it pulls people apart and shoves them back together at will. He knows, somewhere inside him, that Zach is fine, wherever he is. But the doubt, the fear is still there, overwhelming him at times.
"It's open," he croaks, voice dry and rusty from hours or days of disuse.
As strange as the answering voice might sound, it's still familiar and there's a flood of weirdly mingling dread and relief that hits Zach when he hears it. He has to hesitate a moment before opening the door, settle the stupid sort of nervousness that strikes. Zachary Bosch doesn't do nervous.
"Trev?" He carefully pokes his head in around the door, just in case he's mistaken.
"Oh God..." Trevor feels a sense of utter relief flood over him and he rushes to the door, flinging it open the rest of the way and pulling Zach into his arms. He presses frantic, breathless kisses to Zach's face and hair. His hands and fingers intently explore his lover's neck and chest, testing the firmness of the skin, the wholeness of the bone beneath, searching for any wounds. "You're here -- you're okay."
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Which leads him to something else that just too strange. Not being around Trevor almost 24/7. He wants to be and feels like he should be but he can't and that bothers him far too much.
He's not surprised when seeking the artist out leads him towards a closed door that he only hopes, when he knocks, will be hiding the person he's looking for.
Typist: Sorry. My internet's been assish all week and decided to die yesterday, right after I said I hoped it wouldn't. :/
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He sets the pencil down and flexes his hand, wincing slightly. He remembers the way Zach massaged it for him, after he mangled it so badly that night. Flickers of images and memories flash across his brain, taunting him.
Not seeing Zach every moment of every day scares him, frightens him so deeply it's almost an ache. He knows it's just the nature of this place, that it pulls people apart and shoves them back together at will. He knows, somewhere inside him, that Zach is fine, wherever he is. But the doubt, the fear is still there, overwhelming him at times.
"It's open," he croaks, voice dry and rusty from hours or days of disuse.
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"Trev?" He carefully pokes his head in around the door, just in case he's mistaken.
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