{it’s 1 am and I’ve been neglecting my work all day. Here, have some Miguel/Tulio.}
Miguel curls up in the very far corner of the ship’s hold, as far away as he can get from both the bars of their cell and the open hatch that lets the moonlight and the bitterly cold sea air seep through and into their bones. He lies there and traces his fingers over the grain of the wood, sometimes mumbling to himself for a little while before lifting his head, checking on Tulio and sinking down into sleep with his arms around his knees.
Tulio, who busies himself with pretending to draw grids in the dust and grime on the floor, keeps him firmly in the corner of his eye. When the blonde is most certainly asleep and there seems to be little point in planning when it’s too dark to see what he’s doing, Tulio turns and leans against the wall as the ship rolls and murmurs behind his spine. He sits, absently fussing with the dirt under his fingernails as he watches Miguel’s breath puff out, then in, then out again. He doesn’t sleep as easily as his partner does. Not when he has the burden of their Grand Plan weighing heavily on his shoulders and his alone. Not when the welts are still seared into both of their backs. Not when they share meager meals and are constantly dehydrated. Especially, he thinks, not when he can see Miguel’s breath at night.
{I was rping this with somebody and they disappeared. :/ Fml.}
oh god, and now I’m on a RTED kick. (Source: lord-tulio)
1/1
 
|