(no subject)
Alex wanders out into the sitting room with a flannel in one hand, and begins to wipe blood off the sliding glass door. Lucas is home. Asleep. He's been asleep, but restless.
What does cemetery-guy want from him?
What does he want from Lucas?
None of it makes any sense.
If they're Muggle haters...and neither of them are Muggles...
Alex frowns, turning to wipe another smear off the arm of the leather sofa. It's everywhere. Dennis's blood. He bites his lip, wiping at more spots and streaks, then a dribble that's run down the front of the chair Lucas sat in.
Not yet, he said. Alex has no idea what that means, but it can't be good.
He heads for the doorway, standing a moment, listening to Lucas's breathing before padding through in the dark to get rid of the cloth. Rinsing his fingers in the tap, he thinks.
Not yet.
It's about him.
Alex sighs, then heads back to bed, sliding into the warmth that surrounds Lucas and sliding both arms around him. "I love you," he breathes, lips against Lucas's hair, then closes his eyes.
For now, there's this.