Date: 2010-06-13 05:43 am (UTC)
[Bedsprings creak under their combined weight as he slid in close, warm palm fitting over his exposed cheek.]

Ye're nae goin' tae be able tae see fer soom time, Maxwell. Sae ah want ye tae listen tae me verieh carefully.

[He leans in just enough for his lips to brush the other's skin, thumb smoothing softly.]

Ah spoke wit' the doctor, ahn thaet nose o' yers split clean, luckily. However, th' concussion es . . . Severe. Th' swellin' may leave ye like thaes fer . . . a while.

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Enrico Maxwell

October 2020

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