It's not that Rould wants to open his space to Isa. But what choice has he? He's too weak to protest, and being cared for is probably important. His room is... meticulously neat, except for some discarded clothes. Don't blame him, he had stripped out of them when he was so hot. But it is a nice room. The walls are covered with either bookshelves filled with a wealth of histories, and large stretches of paper where someone has, with very careful hands, tried to draw a city and maps and other things. Things he remembers. Places he missed. Things he wishes he could get back. Of course there is one picture that is carefully made, if still by a clumsy hand, and colored in. A keyblade drawing, clear from his bed.
The one he lost, no doubt.
As for Rould, he's under a very messy set of blankets, hair plastered to his head from his fever. He's pale and looks very tired as he looks up at Isa.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-02-25 10:10 pm (UTC)It's not that Rould wants to open his space to Isa. But what choice has he? He's too weak to protest, and being cared for is probably important. His room is... meticulously neat, except for some discarded clothes. Don't blame him, he had stripped out of them when he was so hot. But it is a nice room. The walls are covered with either bookshelves filled with a wealth of histories, and large stretches of paper where someone has, with very careful hands, tried to draw a city and maps and other things. Things he remembers. Places he missed. Things he wishes he could get back. Of course there is one picture that is carefully made, if still by a clumsy hand, and colored in. A keyblade drawing, clear from his bed.
The one he lost, no doubt.
As for Rould, he's under a very messy set of blankets, hair plastered to his head from his fever. He's pale and looks very tired as he looks up at Isa.
"You don't have to. YOu could get sick."