Chen dropped his traveling pack on the floor once he was able to stand full height, shimmying past the low ceiling in the entryway of the loft.
“Ah, the wall’s gotten worse,” he said of the space where Laike’s cat slept, that small area scratched to smithereens by furious claws. “You should make her wear mittens. Then she wouldn’t destroy the mountain’s interior.”
Laike’s room was in disarray but his collection of scattered items were so few it barely looked like anything was amiss. A space was conspicuously bare amongst the drawings from the Weis; ashes lay fallow in an incense burner sitting atop Lai’s writing desk.
“She’s quieter this way,” Laike claimed as he followed close behind and slid his hideaway’s door shut. He glanced around the room briefly before his odd eyes settled on his target. He was behind Chen, then he was before him, jumping between snippets of shade in his bedroom’s afternoon. Laike was a castaway umbral flicker wrapping himself in Chen’s glimmering arms. He’d waited two years; he dallied in the silence with another but he would wait no more.
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