Chapter Text
There’s brisk wind outside.
Harsh, cold, and unforgiving.
The thin clothes he had were in no way sufficient to keep himself warm, and he squints at the white landscape before him. Pine trees creak and bend at the force of nature, and his chest constricts at the sheer confusion that strikes him, “hello?”, his voice barely carries through, and he tears up in fear.
“Hello?!” his screams remain unanswered, and with no choice he walks on the ice, his feet sting, but he keeps walking, until he hears voices in the distance, not far, not near, muffled and many. In desperation, he runs, until his thighs ache and his blood stains the white below, but... nothing. Panting and choking on air he can’t feel, he bends at the knees, so weak they beg to give out.
WHOOSH
What was that?! His head snaps up, the sound came from above, maybe-
He couldn’t even finish the thought before something heavy (and big) lands on him, straight on his chest, and he gasps for breath. Pain shoots everywhere, hands clawing at the weight, eyes wide for someone, anyone-
“Mrrow”
Eyes snapped open so fast he almost got dizzy, panicked gaze finally landing on the... massive, orange cat loafing on his chest.
For a moment, his mind stalls, thoughts not being able to form from the onslaught of panic. His heaving chest barely even moves the heavy feline, its sharp eyes looking down at him from its nose, Casein Nitrate?
On his left he sees the skinny white cat perched on the sofa’s backrest, also observing him, if he weren’t so distraught, he would’ve shivered.
Well, that was stupid. Slowly (and with much loitering), the orange tabby gets off his chest, finally. He watches as it slink away, moving to the kitchen (to get its fat ass something to eat probably), he sits up after another moment of just heaving, chest still aching with the leftover weight (it reminds him of something else, but he just shudders it away).
He can hear someone clinking and clanking in the kitchen, Jiwoo? A stumble and a yelp confirm that, yes, it was him, fumbling around in there. He gets up and walks over, maybe he could help? The other boy lets out a shrill yip when he reaches out a hand on his shoulder (he flinches, God he has to stop doing that), giggling sheepishly with a hand scratching the back of his neck.
“Uhm... I was thinking... pancakes for breakfast...?” was that a question? Or a statement? Jiwoo just stares at him, oh, so it was a question, “yeah... sure”, a smile rivaling the sun beams on his face, quick to find the ingredients needed, so much so he doesn’t notice Duke just standing there, hands fidgeting his sleeves (he’s cold, but like hell was he gonna admit that).
Only after everything was laid out on the counter did the taller one notice him, stood out like a sore thumb, and he lets out a short gasp. “Uhm... actually, I don’t really know how... I mean! I’ve made pancakes, but... they always come out, burnt, so...”. That’s... huh, was that an olive branch? “I’ll... help”, his voice was whispered after a swallow, and he hates how weak he sounds.
Soon, the kitchen was filled with the warm smell of (slightly burnt) pancakes, decently decorated with a sprinkle of fine sugar and some honey, they make a decent pair (in cooking), he thinks. Jiwoo told story after story as they ate (he’s not cold anymore, despite wearing the same clothes), and he just listens to every little detail, how his training was improving, how Subin put smelling salts in Jisuk’s socks once, Wooin’s constant winnings when they play Uno.
There were some parts that made him pause, such as Gestella’s almost constant visits, and Blues becoming the housemaid (his eyes scan for the awakener, but he wasn’t there, not since last night, and he refrains from asking why), and he doesn’t mind, well, maybe not the... Gestella and Blue’s part, but whatever, it’s not his house.
The dishes were made and the two decide to clean up (and maybe do another movie marathon, he liked that), being nestled in such a warm house (that isn’t Peter’s cabin, his chest still hurts) makes him feel... like he doesn’t belong, like he doesn’t deserve this.
Why?
Why is he doing this? Even after everything he’s done... to him, to his friends, to everyone... he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, hard, thinking like this will just- No. He’d rather not.
Instead, he focuses back on the movie playing on the tv, letting the Lord of the Rings soundtrack drown out the clawing thoughts, on Rocko’s soft fur, warm, familiar.
For today, that’s enough.