[they call it an open post, they call it a miracle!]

[blind_judgment]

He is beginning to feel somewhat more at home in this crowded little cottage in the woods, despite his own long absence, despite the whole situation with Cywyllog, and even, remarkably, despite Clarissant in general - enough at home to come into the kitchen and make a pot of tea himself, instead of waiting like a guest for Gawain or someone else to

Comments

[illgotten]

Presently there's a quiet step on the threshold, and then dusty hands on his shoulders and a kiss buried in his hair.

[blind_judgment]

"I hope that's who I think it is," mildly, eyes still in his book, "and not, oh, Clarissant." (Terrifying thought.)

[illgotten]

"No," gravely, "this has boy germs."

[blind_judgment]

"Gawain, then," and he puts down his book and teacup.

[littlebetter]

Gaheris clears his throat awkwardly and looks at him from behind, looking the very picture of nervousness.

[blind_judgment]

He hears the cough (it's so quiet and still in this kitchen, one might hear the sound of constantly breaking hearts up at the Mansion) and, not looking up from his book, says, "There's a fresh pot of tea on the fire over there."

[littlebetter]

"All right. --Hello."

[blind_judgment]

He turns at the voice, now, not recognizing it immediately. "Oh, hello," with a careful half-smile.