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[sightsset]

[The username reads as 'Bismarck.' The picture is of a nondescript piece of purple-painted metal. Is there a pattern here with the previous post? Huh, he didn't notice.]

Tell me a little about your world?

[The request is simple, and harmless enough. No one is obligated to answer, no one is obligated to answer with details if they do.

[It's just a little bit of recon, that's all.]

Comments

[infailtration]

Yeah, the Moira. It wasn't anything fancy but better than a lot of the ships I was on before Freelancer. And honestly, I wasn't on it for long before it crashed into the Midway Hub -- that's how we got here.

[ York's getting a good look at North as he changes. Looks like he's gonna have to fatten his friend back up.

Right now, though, he's standing and stepping in, waiting patiently for North to get his arms into the shirt before grabbing him in a firm hug, one arm over North's shoulder and the other locked around his waist. There was no escaping this. ]

[sightsset]

[Look, there wasn't a lot in the way of "nutritious meals" in his year on the run. He's stayed pretty fit all things considered.

[Here comes the hug, though, and as mildly surprised as he looks, it's only because he wasn't expecting it to be happening as his head managed to pop out of the collar of the shirt. He knew York wouldn't be able to hold out for long.

[Not to say that he doesn't want it, too; his arms go right around his friend and hold tight to him. He takes a deep breath and lets the calm sink in. It feels like they made it.]

[infailtration]

[ York hooks his chin over North's shoulder and leans a little, enjoying the solid warmth of his friend against him. His fingers curl into the borrowed shirt and he lets himself relax, indulge a little in contact. He's gotten more of it lately, but is still horribly touch-starved. And it's North. He can be a little vulnerable.

The beard kind of tickles his neck. ]

[sightsset]

[North certainly won't be complaining; all he's had for a year now is South, he's absolutely dying for some kind of contact. If that's getting to be held for a minute by the person he trusts more than anybody, that's an outright blessing.]

Man, I... [He chokes on it, trying to get the words out. That's not something North gets happening to him often.]

... I missed you. [All of you, he means, but York a little differently. He wasn't closer to anybody.]

[infailtration]

[ There'll be more than just this hug, he's not going to mention that the couch pulls out in the hopes that North shares the bed and will cuddle. Wash's short tenure in his apartment was the best York's slept in over a year. And it's North.

He can feel himself unwinding a little, his shoulders loosening up at the reassurance that this is real, not some vivid dream. ]

Same here. [ And maybe the hug's getting a little long and a little weird but he doesn't give a shit. He pulls back just enough to run his fingers through overlong blond hair, getting a good look at his friend's now-bearded face.

This thing's scratchy as hell, you know.