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Under a tree who's leaves were the crisp autumn brown that usually meant a moment of peace, a semblance of security, for however long it lasted, sat a mime who noticed he'd had his head in the clouds for quite some time now.
Specifically, remembering bits and pieces of certain dreams he had involving a certain scientist. He bit on his tongue but couldn't help the sheepish smile that came to his face whenever his mind wanted to focus on Wilson.
Wilson, the survivor who lead with gentleness and intellect. Who took the time to listen, to understand the mime and his lack of words, who treated him as a valued member to their camp and reassured his own fear of survival incompetence, noting that however, he had his own talents and individual contributions that he could provide, just like the rest of them. Who'd freed him from his own personal prison that day.
He stretched his aching back and squeezed his hands together. An insect crawled across the blades of glass surrounding his feet.
It's not like he could tell anyone, quite literally unable to get the right words out if he tried to explain. Willow would be reeling, chuckled, asking him how he could get butterflies over someone like that, the type of inelegant older brother who preferred tinkering away on a scientific piece of machinery rather than mulling up a conversation with the company of a real person.
He empathized, however. Maybe he just wasn't that good with words, or other people. Maybe he preferred the sound of his own voice repeating theories and illegible rambling he found comfort in knowing he'd understand.
Wilson himself - heavens forbid no, Wes would rather turn to dust on the spot or get crushed to nothing under a tree guardian's foot before he found out about the mime's hopelessly romantic heart that had caught a certain fondness for him.
That didn't stop his appreciation, the moments he held onto when it was one of those nights of sitting around the warmth of flames, eating together and casually talking like some strange family gathering when they had the time and place.
Little icebreakers they'd put in the routine, to get to know each other. Even when they were little more than weary strangers at the beginning, Wilson had mustered up the courage to be optimistic, even if it was faux - though effective, to a degree, in trusting one another and using their heads and large personalities to get through their situation. He was hesitant and awkward, sure, Wes had guessed this was quite the experience they all weren't brimming with excitement to be in. He found his little nervous tics and stuttered words charming.
He watched closely when he talked, as rambling seemed to be quite the knack he had.
He tended to pay attention to those moments - those rare, half-hearted little smiles he'd let through when Wes was lucky enough to catch them. The airy chuckles as he'd scratch his neck, even the glint in his eye when he raised an eyebrow and playfully smirked like Wes had said something outlandish, showing those sharp, ivory colored teeth.
At the same time it hurt, a crushing weight sitting upon you that was impossible to ignore or shake off, admiring the little pieces you loved that no one else quite ever took in consideration, too scared to ever let them know other than watching from afar and letting it sit in your mind for the rest of the evening with an appeased grin.
Wes eventually made more of a move when the world gave him the chance between its unpredictability, without being outright.
Did he catch on? He definitely wasn't the one to shy away from showing affection, after all, and it wasn't something he'd kept exclusively with anyone in particular.
Simple gestures one would find attractive in a person that came naturally to him, the attentiveness and eagerness he offered when listening to a camp member, the quick kisses on the heads of the children he'd give along with a steadily crafted balloon, the blushes that came all too easily when he did get the occasional compliment or kind-hearted touch, whether it was a simple "You've really got a great eye when it comes to spotting those weeds!" given after a day's work of monitoring the farm or Woodie giving him a hearty pat on the back.
But there was a difference with Wilson.
The silly self proclaimed scientist who was often erratic and jumped at his own shadow. The way his voice stuck in Wes' head, making his heart do little funny things, even if it was as mundane as talking about their stockade of wooden planks or going off about some science formula that would've sucked dry the energy out of anyone else and Wes hadn't had an inkling of understanding about but kept wide eyes and curious ears towards him, watching the way his hands moved as he got lost in his troubling little mind.
Wes went back to basking in his own thoughts. One in particular that left him feeling an odd sense of guilt - hell, he hadn't even properly thanked the man yet! His rescuer. He was the reason he was able to sit here in moderate freedom indeed, instead of that awful invisible box...
The scientist surely remembered that moment, however foggy it may have been in his half starved, battle wounded state. Hunched over and shaking like a leaf in the snow, blood running in two streams down to his lips. Clutching the mime like a dying relative rather than an unlucky stranger he was fortunate - or rather unfortunate enough, to stumble across. Ragged breaths as his wild eyes held on to that desperate chance of human interaction, a likewise companionship he dared to hope for in such a world. The thought of not being alone, stuck with his own winding sanity seemed like a spot of light in the clawed, hungry darkness, despite how used to the loneliness he seemed to think he was.
And that chance being ripped apart from him that hurt worse than any beast tearing through physical flesh and goring him from the inside out.
Wes bit his lip and cringed, throat feeling tight. Maybe it was better if it was a memory left untouched.
Hm.
There was another moment, that made the mime's heart ache.
Them alone - together, daylight edging on becoming dusk. A simple quick comfort hug that Wes risked into becoming... slightly more, a few more minutes, if nothing else.
Stroking through the thick tufts of the hair he usually hated getting even slightly frazzled. Running his fingers down the nape of his neck and over the few shorter stray hairs, letting his hand rest over his shoulder, barely touching, a feather light amount of pressure he'd let himself have. Closed his eyes. Breathing softly but still feeling lightheaded, more nervous than a rabbit caught in a crude deadfall trap.
He wasn't a stanger to touch, being a person who welcomed physical comfort in it's many forms. He didn't push Wilson, however, barely knowing anything that could make his heart throb like Wes' other than some scientific doodad research he seemed to gain most of his pleasure from. He was careful, walking across ice. But he seemed comfortable with his presence and didn't make a move to let him know he was anything less than content.
He treated it as such as casual interaction, a moment that happened and moved on, not something anyone else would've gawked upon with question, going back to his usual awkward interactions and nervous smiles after that.
He hadn't ever touched someone in such a way that left him wanting more so greatly.
Of course, it was holding onto a broken hope, sucking on a memory that wouldn't have any real importance in the end. The world wouldn't have been that kind to him.
He didn't want to work himself up into that hollowing sadness. Not now. Not ever, over something so wishful. He resorted to focus on his soft breathing instead, rocking slightly back and forth. Looked down at the grass. It was quite a nice shade of olive, blushed red, for autumn. He moved his hand through it, the feeling tickling under his glove.
Oh! Right. A lightbulb went off in his head and dug through his pant pocket, delicately removing the strings of flower stems he often collected whenever he saw them nestled between a grass patch. He found it often a soothing activity to take his mind off troubles.
His fingers twisted around the petals, weaving them through one another, carefully, so they wouldn't tear or the soft cellulose didn't bruise. He cracked a smile, hoping he'd have enough. The crowns were pretty things Wes liked to give out.
Maybe he'd give one to Wilson later when he saw him again.