iwasmore | (no subject)

For the past two weeks Noah had been alternating between Hywel and Un Chat Gris. He hadn't wanted to go anywhere else, hadn't been able to muster the energy to visit anyone, to do...much of anything. He had no appetite, but it didn't matter, he didn't need to eat. What he didn't understand was why he was still so depressed; he made a choice because he thought it was what he needed, but maybe he was wrong. He kept rolling it over in his mind, again and again, wondering if all he'd done was made a terrible mistake.

He liked the cats at the café, they were a comfort. He'd let Prunam stay with Krem and he missed them both. For now, his shift was over, but he didn't leave just yet. Instead, he gathered a few cats and snuggled with them in one of the corner chairs, petting them until he could feel their rumbling purrs against his chest.

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Noah's hand is eerily cold, but it doesn't seem to deter Peter. It's a kind of cold that suggests nothing can be done about its being there. Noah is a ghost and he's having trouble staying corporeal. When they'd met, Peter had been made aware that this happens. Every day, Peter gets a little more used to strange things every passing day and there's nothing strange about holding a friend's hand in his time of need.

Peter hadn't known about that aspect of their relationship, but most likely that's because it's none of his business. He settles on a gentle, "I'm sorry, Noah." What makes sense for one doesn't always make sense for another, regardless of how much love there is. The sad truth is that love isn't always enough. Peter had walked away from Jason for that very reason before. "You didn't do anything wrong. Neither of you did." It's what Peter had needed to hear at some point in his own travails and there hadn't been anyone to say it. He can only hope that it provides some comfort to Noah.