Nathaniel is pretty much as he has been since he came to Asher's room. He's curled up on his side, face half-hidden by a pillow, lashes wet. At least he stopped crying out right. He doesn't care if it's weak or pathetic that he cries. Nathaniel's never been particularly strong or proud.
His eyes flicker to the door.
"Asher didn't lock it, Damian," he calls out, voice rough from his crying.
Damian enters and closes the door behind him with a soft click. Nathaniel looks terrible, though he says nothing about it. Instead, he simply approaches the bed, and kneels at the edge so they are close to eye-level. His hand reaches over and pets Nathaniel's hair.
At least Asher and Liz have managed to push some food and liquid into him. The first couple of days, all he did was sleep. He closes his eyes as Damian begins to pet him, and his chin begins to tremble as tears rise once more in his throat.
Damian has seen the sadness of hundreds of faces over the centuries, but seeing Nathaniel in such a state does terrible things to his heartstrings. Reaching down, he unlaces his shoes and slips them from his feet. Rising just a little, he slides onto the bed beside his friend and embraces him. He continues the petting, scritching lightly in the places he knows comfort Nathaniel. Touch no longer frightens him with Nathaniel, not the way it did when he first started spending time with the wereleopard.
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His eyes flicker to the door.
"Asher didn't lock it, Damian," he calls out, voice rough from his crying.
But he doesn't get up. He doesn't move.
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Words seem so very overrated at the moment.
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