Rosary.
i find it kinda funny, i find it kinda sad.
Clutching the sheets closer to his petite frame, his fingers curled into a tighter grasp on the fabric that shielded him not only from the brisk air, but from everything else in the world, acting as a barrier. Folding his knees closer to his chest, Near hid his cold, pink nose into the cotton.
Grumbling inaudibly about his anger and sorrow, he felt his eyelids droop, heavy with the weight of sleep and the negative emotions swirling around in his mind.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he could feel the tears drip down his cheeks, darkening the white sheets in little dots. He was trembling, from being cold, and from the struggle of not wanting to cry but allowing it to occur anyways.
Furious, depressed, he murmured the blonde’s name quietly. The murmur faded into a whimper, a repeated whimper like that of an injured dog in the woods crying out for help.
Looking over to the nightstand beside the bed, he could barely see through his tears and the white strands of hair that fell into his face. Sniffing, he crawled to the other side of the bed, the mattress squeaking in a hushed manner beneath his shifted weight.
Delicately, he picked up the item that was left behind, his hands quivering. Between his fingers, he felt each bead, each black and red bead, eventually tracing the cross that dangled at the end of the rosary. His breathing no longer labored, only heavy and deep, he made his hands into sorry attempts at fists, Mello’s rosary held in his weak grasp against his chest as he curled into a white bundle in the sheets.
Grumbling inaudibly about his anger and sorrow, he felt his eyelids droop, heavy with the weight of sleep and the negative emotions swirling around in his mind.
Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he could feel the tears drip down his cheeks, darkening the white sheets in little dots. He was trembling, from being cold, and from the struggle of not wanting to cry but allowing it to occur anyways.
Furious, depressed, he murmured the blonde’s name quietly. The murmur faded into a whimper, a repeated whimper like that of an injured dog in the woods crying out for help.
Looking over to the nightstand beside the bed, he could barely see through his tears and the white strands of hair that fell into his face. Sniffing, he crawled to the other side of the bed, the mattress squeaking in a hushed manner beneath his shifted weight.
Delicately, he picked up the item that was left behind, his hands quivering. Between his fingers, he felt each bead, each black and red bead, eventually tracing the cross that dangled at the end of the rosary. His breathing no longer labored, only heavy and deep, he made his hands into sorry attempts at fists, Mello’s rosary held in his weak grasp against his chest as he curled into a white bundle in the sheets.