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Oct 29, 2020 4:14 AM
"what if gardening were syexy" Jamie falls on the "what if farming were ominously romanticized" setting
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"Well I mean that's really all there is to it but okay."

And they can play for not quite an hour before noises - a bit of rustling fabric, the sound of shifting weight - start coming from the bedroom, quiet enough that they could easily be imagined.  Until the whimpering starts; it's pretty clear what that is.

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“Do you want to volunteer to check on that?”

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"I feel like we probably both should?"

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“Sure.”

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She waits a moment for Jamie to go first; when he doesn't move, she begrudgingly heads to the bedroom.  At the door she pauses, gives a quiet "Lane?", but opens it when there's no response from inside.

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Lane has fallen over from their spot in the corner and is now curled up on their side, half under the quilt and half on top of it.  Tear-tracks run down their face and their breath comes in shudders; they are, if not particularly responding to the outside world yet, definitely alive.

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