[good golly!! you have been extremely busy! XD i was gonna say, "oh, it's okay, i've been busy, too." but you have been FAR more caught up with real life than i have. lmao i'm glad you got your car and japan tickets and larp stuff, but that's not good that your blood test wasn't good. D: i hope that everything gets worked out with that and good lord, each direction? that sounds ridiculous! also, kinda went ahead a little more to get to our next idea~]
"Ah, right." He returned the smile and dipped his head, eyes glittering with elation. "Enjoy the weather, then. I will go rest for the remainder of the day and make sure that I load up on carbs in the morning." Oh, that meant something nice and filling, like pancakes with lots of butter and syrup! Kurt's grin widened at the thought as he headed for the door.
Hesitating for a moment, he blinked and looked over his shoulder just as Charles glanced at him one last time. "... thank you, Professor." Then, in a swirl of smoke, he was gone.
After the blue boy had gone back to the locker room, gotten changed then returned to his room, it didn't take long for him to wind down from the earlier exercise by losing himself in a book he'd been enthralled with. The longer he read, the heavier his eyes got and before he could register it, he'd curled onto his side and dozed off, clutching the book to his chest in his sleeping state.
Throughout most of the night, Kurt rested peacefully, somehow ending up with one arm and his tail dangling off the edge of the bed. It wasn't until about two in the morning that something dark crept into his mind, began disturbing the quietness of his dreams; the smell of burning skin and something else he couldn't quite make out, his own familiar scent of brimstone, mixed with the acrid smoke of fire.
He coughed in his sleep, as if struggling to breathe, shifting up onto his hands and knees, face burying into his pillow. Why did his hands burn?
Another flash in his thoughts - the screaming of the announcer from the cage fight, his own pained whimpering (had he done that out loud?) from trying his hardest to get out of the electrified prison, the cry of agony from when Angel's feathers had burned away when he'd slammed the winged warrior into the metal to protect himself.
"Nein!" he shouted, struggling about in his blankets, sweat-dampened limbs tangled effectively in the sheets and blankets. "Please ..." And try as he might, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't seem to get free of his bed, of the damn cage, of the turmoil inside of his head ...
Re: Kurt and Charles
"Ah, right." He returned the smile and dipped his head, eyes glittering with elation. "Enjoy the weather, then. I will go rest for the remainder of the day and make sure that I load up on carbs in the morning." Oh, that meant something nice and filling, like pancakes with lots of butter and syrup! Kurt's grin widened at the thought as he headed for the door.
Hesitating for a moment, he blinked and looked over his shoulder just as Charles glanced at him one last time. "... thank you, Professor." Then, in a swirl of smoke, he was gone.
After the blue boy had gone back to the locker room, gotten changed then returned to his room, it didn't take long for him to wind down from the earlier exercise by losing himself in a book he'd been enthralled with. The longer he read, the heavier his eyes got and before he could register it, he'd curled onto his side and dozed off, clutching the book to his chest in his sleeping state.
Throughout most of the night, Kurt rested peacefully, somehow ending up with one arm and his tail dangling off the edge of the bed. It wasn't until about two in the morning that something dark crept into his mind, began disturbing the quietness of his dreams; the smell of burning skin and something else he couldn't quite make out, his own familiar scent of brimstone, mixed with the acrid smoke of fire.
He coughed in his sleep, as if struggling to breathe, shifting up onto his hands and knees, face burying into his pillow. Why did his hands burn?
Another flash in his thoughts - the screaming of the announcer from the cage fight, his own pained whimpering (had he done that out loud?) from trying his hardest to get out of the electrified prison, the cry of agony from when Angel's feathers had burned away when he'd slammed the winged warrior into the metal to protect himself.
"Nein!" he shouted, struggling about in his blankets, sweat-dampened limbs tangled effectively in the sheets and blankets. "Please ..." And try as he might, no matter how hard he fought, he couldn't seem to get free of his bed, of the damn cage, of the turmoil inside of his head ...