Swallow Your Affection

Bitter Cold

It's been a good five to six long days since your conversation with Techno. It was difficult to remember how long exactly.

He doesn't try to make conversation with you anymore- merely helping you switch bandages if you need help, and bringing you meals.

You've both definitely found a routine, one that leaves you to yourself for infinitely long periods of time.

You aren't even sure if you want to start conversation with him, and it hurts a lot to focus on the ifs and whens- so instead of thinking, you're constantly trying to move around.

You just recently began walking again.

Barely.

It's limp of a gait that's just enough to get you from the bookshelf to the bed, and it relies heavily on leaning against walls to get around.

Aside from picking apart different books out of boredom, there's not much in the entertainment value.

No warm drinks either.

Only soup- or bread- or steak- any regular food that didn't have nearly as much allure as a warm cup did.

It was so boring sticking around here.

Absolutely nothing to do- sentenced to a bed to sleep for hours on end-

You fucking hated getting injured.

Yet here you were, holding a book in your hand, pressing all of your weight onto the bookshelf to try and keep yourself from falling over.

While most books had a utility purpose such as basic architecture, or redstone, or farming techniques, there were a few that were purely stories.

Of which most stories consisted of Greek mythology and other older pieces of literature.

A few were even in strange languages, so finding a good book to sift through was difficult. None of them had pictures, so you couldn't exactly just go looking for only brain stimulus.

Currently, you had settled for a Greek story. Narcissus?

You think that was what it was about from the cover, but reading these stories was difficult because of their weird way of being written.

You huffed.

It would do.

Anything to keep sane.

The door downstairs rustled for a moment, doorknob jingling before it swept open- cold air rushing in-

Guess Techno was home.

You assume he's back from a hunting trip. Because most of the time he went on hunting trips. Occasionally he reeks of the nether. Ash and dust- soot and fire.

You wonder what he does in there, but haven't mustered the courage to ask, much less speak.

Your grip on the bookshelf lessens for a moment, and you sway, feeling tired with the exertion of keeping balance.

You needed to sit back down.

With a limp and a hop, you feel your way along the wall. Hobbling was how you had to do things, so hobbling you would do. All the way around the room, until you reached your bed.

Look at you.

Leaning against the wall when a regular walking person would merely cross the short gap.

When you reached your bed, you took a seat on it, sighing before rubbing your head.

Narcissus would have to do.