[Sorry to disappoint Logan, the only fishy thing here is his mental health.
She doesn't respond, close enough now to the house she doesn't have to. She hadn't gone far enough that she couldn't hightail it back if need be. The sound of her stomping up the steps precedes the turn of the doorknob. She leaves the boots outside; the don't need the smell lingering.]
What the hell? You pull a Sleeping Beauty routine for ages, and then you pick the one time I'm not here to lose your shit over funny smells and blow up my phone?
[Hi, hello. Nice to see you awake and accounted for.]
You didn't leave the house all month, I'm allowed to wonder where the fuck you went. [ Logan says this around a mouthful of apple, then swallows. His head is propped up on the armrest.
He brings his knees up to make enough space on the sofa for Henry to sit her ass down on if she wants. If she won't, then he's just going to stretch his legs out again. ]
And my head feels... soup. [ Like soup or genuine soup? Doesn't make a difference. ] Rrgh. Didn't think I'd be out that long.
You've either been passed out or out doing crazy shit all month, you wouldn't know where the fuck I am.
[Even when her tone is gentled in her concern, it remains her joy and privilege in life to lob retorts.
And he is in a state to be concerned about with the ongoing adventures in word salad. She approaches on socked feet, but not to sit down. Sitting down would mean she couldn't reach to do this--this being jutting her hand out and putting the heel of her hand against his forehead.
She doesn't have any younger siblings or friends she's tenderly nursed through sickness; she's not really an expert on best techniques for temperature checks.]
[ Logan snorts, but doesn't try to remove her hand. ] Yeah, it's not a fever. [ He appreciates the gesture, though. Kind of nice to be cared about, even when he's being insulted simultaneously. ]
Just the weird tired when you sleep too long. [ Which he hasn't felt in... shit, years? It's actually kind of surreal considering the most he's slept in over a decade is for six hours at a time.
He takes another bite out of his apple, speaking with his mouth full. ] Where'd you go? [ Then, the hopeful tone smothered in his apple-filled cheeks: ] You get more Sprite?
At least you're aware of how fucking weird you are. I seriously thought you were dead.
[Concern doesn't always present the same way in Henry as it does some people. It comes out like an accusation. Just what the fuck did he think he was doing slipping into some hibernation coma? What did he think she could do about it if it actually turned out to be serious?
She'd only left the house because the waiting and worrying was getting to her in a bad way--and now here he is snacking on the couch, the prick. And he wants soda? She removes her hand, spreading the empty pair of them for his perusal.]
No, I did not get more Sprite.
[What does he expect? For her to be able to snap her fingers and teleport to the grocery store?
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Logan's eating an apple in the living room, though. Not seated, but lying down, because his body still feels like mush. ]
How did you get it out of water?
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Not big on The Little Mermaid, are you.
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She doesn't respond, close enough now to the house she doesn't have to. She hadn't gone far enough that she couldn't hightail it back if need be. The sound of her stomping up the steps precedes the turn of the doorknob. She leaves the boots outside; the don't need the smell lingering.]
What the hell? You pull a Sleeping Beauty routine for ages, and then you pick the one time I'm not here to lose your shit over funny smells and blow up my phone?
[Hi, hello. Nice to see you awake and accounted for.]
How are you feeling?
[Less nuts, she hopes.]
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He brings his knees up to make enough space on the sofa for Henry to sit her ass down on if she wants. If she won't, then he's just going to stretch his legs out again. ]
And my head feels... soup. [ Like soup or genuine soup? Doesn't make a difference. ] Rrgh. Didn't think I'd be out that long.
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[Even when her tone is gentled in her concern, it remains her joy and privilege in life to lob retorts.
And he is in a state to be concerned about with the ongoing adventures in word salad. She approaches on socked feet, but not to sit down. Sitting down would mean she couldn't reach to do this--this being jutting her hand out and putting the heel of her hand against his forehead.
She doesn't have any younger siblings or friends she's tenderly nursed through sickness; she's not really an expert on best techniques for temperature checks.]
You don't feel hot.
[Rules out delirious on account of fever.]
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Just the weird tired when you sleep too long. [ Which he hasn't felt in... shit, years? It's actually kind of surreal considering the most he's slept in over a decade is for six hours at a time.
He takes another bite out of his apple, speaking with his mouth full. ] Where'd you go? [ Then, the hopeful tone smothered in his apple-filled cheeks: ] You get more Sprite?
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[Concern doesn't always present the same way in Henry as it does some people. It comes out like an accusation. Just what the fuck did he think he was doing slipping into some hibernation coma? What did he think she could do about it if it actually turned out to be serious?
She'd only left the house because the waiting and worrying was getting to her in a bad way--and now here he is snacking on the couch, the prick. And he wants soda? She removes her hand, spreading the empty pair of them for his perusal.]
No, I did not get more Sprite.
[What does he expect? For her to be able to snap her fingers and teleport to the grocery store?
Come on.
Also, shut up.]