antarctica my only living relative
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Sol’s set the shower at vaguely lukewarm; not enough to make himself shiver, but certainly cooler than whatever temperature John’s insides are at. John gives a violent shudder as Sol helps him in—he’s gone all shaky-legged, like a newborn deer, poor sod—then sighs and relaxes. His face screws up like he’s about to cry again. “Cut that out,” Sol says, easing him down to the floor and stepping in himself. He presses a kiss into John’s hair before carefully folding himself in behind him, shaking water from his hair and eyes. “Let’s clean you up.”
John has the flu and isn’t dealing with it well. Sol takes care of him and learns something about himself.
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- Part 1 of antarctica my only living relative