drear | great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

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great dane's cheekbones, teenage hormones.

[ It's over, finally. Everything is being cleared out of the building except for the people who will keep it running during this next period of hopefully-peace. People are celebrating, but Heine's just tired. He wants to go... away. Not home, never home. He'll find somewhere new.

(His spine is fucked from a mine they hadn't been able to avoid. One of his legs was nearly shattered from the blast, never quite healed, and it still bothers him, but there are others still worse off. He should be thankful, but he just doesn't care anymore.)

Passing by the dog pens, he pauses, pivoting on his crutches. There are soldiers being reunited with the dogs that saved their lives, their companions and fellow survivors. Most of the dogs have been taken in elsewhere or will be kept for guard duties, except for a few left. He asks about them without thinking it through. Even those still in the pen have been claimed and will be picked up later. Heine looks over the remaining dogs, gaze falling on the biggest one with fluffy brown hair and an equally fluffy tail. Something in his face is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Maybe they'd fought somewhere together, he can't remember.

He hesitates for a while longer. Company isn't necessary. But... Heine sighs through his nose and gets the necessary papers done, not taking up the offer to meet the dog before adopting him. The guy running the process goes to call the dog over to the gate, handing Heine a battered leather leash he can use. Heine doubts he'll be using it, though. It's hard enough to get around on crutches already; leading someone else around on a leash isn't going to make it any easier.

The dog comes over to the exit, and Heine knows that he knows him. But the memory keeps slipping away, and he doesn't have the energy to chase it. ]

Hey. [ If it's possible to mumble one word, he does it. ] ...Randall, right?

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All right— thank you.

[ "Is it the pain?" He catches his tongue before he says anything, but his suspicions are there. Nevertheless, he'll nod with a soft sound of acknowledgement and spoon up the rest of the soup, pulling apart the crust to chew on idly, never letting food go to waste. It'd only dry out and go rubbery if it sat for a few hours, so he'll do his best to finish before the train blows its warning whistle to begin boarding again. They've beaten it by a few minutes, at least, and he doesn't keep Heine waiting long as he finishes before they're shuffling back to the open doorways and climbing back in to find their seats.

Randall's careful as he settles the other man's knapsack back down with the rest of their things, pushing the bags around to resemble some form of tidiness out of habit before he pulls down the little table on the wall meant to eat at and sets the bag of pastries down on it. His attention swivels right back to Heine as he speaks up, and Randall looks a little sullen at first. Something wounded, as if he's been a bother, but he really doesn't think he's done anything to warrant that sort of warning. His ears flatten back and he doesn't quite seem to know what to do with himself, physically. He'll just curl his fingers in the heavy material of his jacket as he rights himself in his seat. ]

I... don't mind, really. I assumed that's why you'd adopted me. Even if it's just temporary until you've healed. [ He seems to weigh his words before speaking them, but he does eventually follow up with: ] If it isn't out of line for me to ask, then, why did you take me in? I was told to expect to be some sort of business or family guard dog, with the way I look.

[ Littered in scars and hulking a head and shoulders above the tallest people in any crowd. He certainly looks formidable, if you could look beyond his meek personality. ]

[ As the train rumbles on, Heine tries to adjust his sitting position so that he won't be jostled by the movement of the locomotive. His leg cast is starting to itch, even more as Randall speaks up. ]

I probably won't need guarding. [ A soft snort. ] There's nothing happening in Almsport. Ever.

[ Explaining the rest of the reason is too difficult. Heine rests his chin on his hand and looks out the window, trying to identify the motivation that he still doesn't understand. ]

...I don't know. You reminded me—of something, I guess. Or someone.

[ He looks at Randall again, trying again to understand the tug in his gut that's reminding him of something in the past. ]

But I can take care of myself.

[ Randall, meanwhile, just seems to be trying to be as innocuous as possible, hunched to take up less room and hands on his knees in a slightly tense position. His ears are splayed, flat— he doesn't like being without a purpose. ]

I'm glad it'll be peaceful, then. [ But he only seems more confused when Heine explains that he reminded him of someone else. It feels right but it niggles in the back of his mind, knowing that he should feel the same. And he does, in spurts, though it's never long enough to figure it out. ] I feel the same way. Maybe we've met once before...? However briefly. Ah, but we weren't stationed in the same cities... I was further east.

[ His ears only flatten further when he says he can take care of himself. His brows knit, ducking his head even if he's still looking at him, a tad petulant. He wants to argue. Point out the obvious pain he's been in, or the way he's avoided other people, and how easily it could be helped by another. Randall barely knows this man and already he feels he deserves better and needs someone to nudge him into taking better care of himself, able to sense his discomfort with the way he shifts and fidgets and avoids sitting if at all possible. In the end, he only looks down at the floor and his tail curls around one leg, tucking in against his body.

He clearly doesn't agree, but he isn't saying a word against it. ]

[ Heine makes a noncommittal noise at Randall's suggestion. He really can't remember seeing him before, at least not during the war. Maybe the familiarity is just his mind playing tricks on him.

And he's convinced that he really can take care of himself, so Heine is happy to let Randall be petulant about it. He leans back in his seat (gingerly) and looks out the window again. The sun is starting to set; Heine is happy to just sit and ignore his surroundings, but noticing that Randall is equally unoccupied, he clears his throat before speaking again. ]

I have a book in my bag. [ The duffel bag in the compartment above them. ] If you want to read it.

[ Even as he'd said it, it hadn't sounded right. But then how did he explain the sensation...? It makes his stomach twist and his chest ache, as if he'd done something wrong. His expression is one awaiting a scolding, fingers clenching at the thin fabric of his shirt.

But nothing comes. The sensation eases, and Heine's looking off out the window for a time. When he speaks up, Randall's ears twitch but remain turned back. ]

Ah— that's all right, I wouldn't get very far— but thank you. I'm a slow reader. The scenery is nice to watch since I've never seen this side of the country.

[ With Heine awake, though, and their meal warming him, he grows lethargic after a handful of minutes and the rhythm of passing lamplight makes him sleepy, nodding off as he too stares out the windows. A couple times he snaps back awake with the jostling of the train over the tracks, but third time's the charm and he's soon out like a light, slowly slumping back and ears relaxing, splaying. His tail, anxiously rigid and tucked against his side, also begins to fan back out and relaxes. ]

[ Heine shrugs, a subtle movement to avoid straining his back any more. He hates this, having to limit every little motion to avoid pain. As familiar with pain as he is, it's still pain. ]

If you say so.

[ Seeing that Randall is dozing off, Heine makes a concerted effort to stay awake. It's not too hard, now that he's had a walk around and can no longer find a comfortable position. He'd slept long enough, anyway; his traveling partner deserves a break.

It gives Heine a chance to really look at his new pet, too. For the first time he lets his gaze linger, traveling over the fluffy ears, hair, the scars on his face, the line of his broad shoulders—and again. There. Something in the way the dimmed train lights glances off Randall's hair breaks a block in Heine's mind, and he remembers—

—pain, as bad as he feels now when he moves the wrong way and hurts his back, because he'd lost half of his side in that attack, but it'd been worth it, there was nothing else he could do, he wouldn't, couldn't hurt—

—someone. The train jolts again and Heine loses the thread of memory. Frowning harder than before, he looks back out the window.

Time passes quietly until they reach Almsport's station. The conductor announces that the train will be stopping for another fifteen minutes, but they're not going to wait. The sky outside is dark, moon hidden behind clouds. Rather than physically wake Randall and risk a response that so many soldiers give on reflex, Heine clears his throat and speaks. ]

We're here. [ Already starting to get up. ] Grab our bags and let's go.

[ Whatever dreams had haunted him leave him murmuring under his breath, fingers twitching and body curling in on itself as he half-reclines across the seats on his side of the booth. When Heine speaks up and he rouses, he's left drifting in a discontent state, only remembering how very incredibly sad he had felt in his dream. Something that pierced his soul and had yet to heal over, carried with him through the ages. He had done something gravely wrong and some part of him still couldn't forgive himself, even if he could no longer remember just what that thing was.

He'll clutch at his chest again, thick fingers curling over even thicker scars beneath the thin fabric. His other hand drops to his hip, where something cold should have met his touch. But there's nothing. What would have been there...? On his left hip. It wasn't quite where a gun holster would've been, nor would the shape have been right. The lack of whatever it was leaves him feeling vulnerable, weak. Naked. His eyes are lost and unfocused for a long few moments, but he seems to realize the train has stopped and someone else was with him.

When he turns his attention back to Heine, it feels like his throat closes up on him and he has to wheeze for breath. Just as quickly as the sensation came it was already gone, slipping away on the ocean breeze. What was that all about...? ]

Ah... right, right. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep. After you'd just offered a book to read, too.

[ He goes about gathering their bags and tucking the pastries away in his duffel, stepping into the hall to let Heine out first, holding off any other passengers from crowding behind his master. It gives him time to try and recall his dream or the purpose behind the feeling he'd had upon seeing Heine when he woke. It was too familiar for them not to have met. So then, what...? ]

After you, Mas— I mean, Heine.

[ Heine's gaze sharpens when he sees how pained Randall looks. Is it that injury? He's grabbing at his chest, though, not his stomach where the round went through. ]

It's fine. [ He's just glad they can finally get off the train. The air's starting to feel stuffy.

He would protest the title, but at least Randall cuts himself off before saying the whole thing. Heine grudgingly gives in to being guarded as he gets off the train. Better than being jostled by the rest of the crowd, at least, and no one's holding his hand, so it's... fine. Heine gingerly descends the steps and gets onto the station without incident. He goes forward a couple feet to wait for Randall to catch up. Once he does, Heine moves toward the exit.

Calling up directions that the seller of the cottage gave him, Heine turns down the road from the station towards the residential area. It's hard to move at even a decent pace on crutches, and knowing that Randall will have to slow down to keep pace makes him scowl again.

He keeps walking—or rather, crutching along. There's a wheelchair waiting for him, and that's probably going to be even worse. Distracted by such thoughts, he doesn't notice his crutch hitting an uneven stone in the dark road and almost loses his grip on the crutch completely. Swearing, he stumbles; the sudden movement sends a lance of agony down his spine. ]

[ He follows as diligently as ever, slowly getting a handle on Heine's preferred distance and trying to keep it, stopping to nod his thanks to the attendants as he passes them. The wound in his stomach is giving him little trouble, and a couple longer strides catch him up to Heine with no problem. The only good thing about being so tall was how much ground you could cover in stride. Randall can't help the way his head swivels, ears perked high and eyes straying this way and that in wonder. Night has fallen and all the windows were lit up by candlelight and electricity, the smell of fireplaces burning hung rich in the air, and savory fish and meat dinners were cooking nearly in every household.

Slowing down wasn't a problem at all. It gave him time to take in all the sights and smells and the scenery, a rounded bay studded in boats and ships docked at the fingers spreading out from the port. The lighthouse stood proud at the end of a small cliff around the bend of the bay, beckoning safe passage for any travelers on the sea.

His own distractions keep him from responding properly, but his ears still perk at the sound of plastic catching on stone, jerking to attention and throwing an arm in front of Heine's torso to keep him from falling and immediately seeming to regret his action, knowing how he didn't want any help. ]

I'm sorry— I'm sorry, Heine, I only— are you okay?

[ Randall's arm does keep him from falling, but the impact hurts, too. Heine says nothing for a moment, breathing all too heavily for his own liking. As he's straightening back up, he swallows hard, and again a memory slides into his mind like it's always been there: his stomach being torn open by some wound that he can't reconcile with any of the weapons of this war—and why "this" war?

Because he'd been in another one. As soon as he thinks it, Heine knows that it's true. He's fought some stupid battle before. And he must have died for it, that's what the pain is.

As ridiculous as it is, objectively speaking, Heine knows it now that he's thought of it. He's died before. He's felt pain even worse than this before, and it was worse because of how it happened. But the details still escape him, and Heine is abruptly aware that he's been silent for several seconds, leaning heavily on his crutches and not responding to Randall's question. ]

I'm fine. ...sorry.

[ Fortunately, the sudden realization that he's had some kind of past life keeps him from snapping at Randall for helping him stay upright. Heine's fairly sure that he's not just making things up for himself to believe. It just feels... right, when he thinks about it. Carefully keeping his expression blank, Heine starts moving again, trying to figure out why that brief contact of Randall's arm against his side felt so welcome and yet an uncomfortable shock at the same time.

The cottage isn't far. Heine's still tired when they get there, though, and fumbles the lock twice before successfully opening the front door for the first time. The building is worn but sturdy, built for some other seaside civilian who's since moved away. The furnishings suit the salty ocean air, some small decorations still left around and a folded blanket set on the couch to ward off the wind off the water. Heine moves over to the entryway table and picks up the envelope on it—a message left by the seller, about housekeeping and useful information.

It's all very nice and quaint. Heine tosses it back onto the table after reading the first two lines with a soft sigh. He doesn't feel like he belongs here, but nor can he think of a place that would be any better. With a glance over his shoulder at Randall, he starts moving deeper into the house. It's all unfamiliar shadows and edges, until he finds a light switch and then it becomes an unfamiliar house. ]

I'm going to lie down.

[ Even with the quiet of the small town and the comforting hush of the ocean not too far away, it's too much all at once. The war's over, but Heine's now remembering another one. ]

[ Randall isn't smooth enough to let his arm move as he falls, ease the impact; it's harsh and sudden and his ears flatten to near-invisibility, tail tucked tight between his thighs. If Heine wants to use his arm for stability he won't move, but he'll pull away as soon as he seems finished with his presence and backs away out of his personal space. Heine apologizes after a long pause, but why? Randall's the one that needed to apologize. ]

No! ...No, that's what I'm here for, please. Anything I can do. Don't apologize.

[ He keeps a diligent distance when they continue on, hyper-vigilant against any future stumbling or tripping.

The cottage is beautiful. The salt air had washed everything in pastels and worn the woods down to the perfect driftwood texture, quaint and cozy and wonderful. This was his new home...? His tail wags with a noisy swish, quick to set the bags down and drift around the house, checking out every nook and cranny. Wasn't it wonderful? When Heine speaks up, his attention snaps back from across the living room, fingertips resting on the back of a rocking chair that looks like he may actually fit in. ]

Right! Of course. Did you want me to put our things away in the dressers...? I'll be quiet. And um, if it'd be all right, I'd like to take a quick bath.

[ His clothes still smell like the shelter and he doesn't like it. ]

[ At this point, Heine generally just feels like shit. The pain in his back isn't flaring up, but it's still a steady, obvious ache. He seeks out the hallway toward the bedroom. ]

You can do whatever you want. [ He knocks his crutch against the doorway, eyes darting around the new place in search of something safe to land on. He turns on another light, spots a folded up wheelchair at one end of the hallway.

Not yet. He can't put himself in that yet. ]

Just let me—use the bathroom first for a minute.

[ Just to wash his face and maybe brush his teeth. He should take a bath too, honestly, but he's too tired for that. Even getting changed into his bedclothes is going to be difficult. In the back of his mind, he's aware that it's unlikely he'll be able to bathe on his own very easily. It's something he'll deal with later, Heine decides.

He exits the bathroom after a few minutes, long enough for Randall to at least get a start on putting things away. Then he settles on the bed in the connected bedroom, setting his crutches to the side. Slowly, he works off his boots and the trousers he has on over his cast, then his jacket, and his shirt. It's a slow process. After tugging on a looser shirt and pants for bed, he just lies down on top of the covers, waiting with the lights still on for Randall to get back out of the bathroom. ]

[ He'll take that as a yes, then, and move Heine's bags to the bedroom, unzipping them to get started. He hasn't even looked at rooms yet; he can't be sure he even has his own. This is a fine start for now, though, and that's a problem that can be sorted out later. He could always sleep on the couch.

He doesn't miss passing by the wheelchair, either. Or the disdainful look it gets from his master. ]

Take your time! I'll start unpacking your things.

[ He empties one bag, carefully sorting the clothes inside into drawers. Underclothes and socks in the top drawer, shirts below that, trousers on the bottom. Any personal items are carefully set atop the dresser in neat groups so they're easy to find, and the empty bag is folded and left in a chair in the corner. Heine comes back out of the bathroom just as he opens the second one and started to add more shirts to the middle drawer, glancing up with a small, timid smile.

Should he leave...? Or stay?? His back is to the bed, either way, but he'll use the bathroom first, probably. That would give him privacy to change or whatever else he may want to do. ]

I won't be long; just call if you need anything, though!

[ It takes him a little more than a few minutes to empty his bladder and wash up, a quick shallow bath just to scrub off the smell of the shelter and wash his head.

He completely neglected to bring his own things in when he'd rushed in, and he peeks out the door with a towel about his waist. He's still embarrassed by his body, covered in pits and scars and the fresh bandages over the entrance and exit wound at his stomach. ]

Sorry, I forgot to bring my bag in— I'm just going to—

[ Make a run for it, basically. His steps are ginger but he darts out of the room even so, grabbing clothes from his duffel to pull on in the living room. His sleepclothes are a little small on him, but they'd do the job. When he does peek back in the room, his ears are splayed, one back and one relaxed. ]

Is there anything you need? Before bed, or if you'd like me to do anything in the morning...

[ Even as he asks, though, he's stepping in and going for the extra blankets folded up on the back of the chair he'd set his empty bag in, moving to cover Heine. They're lightweight enough and easy to manipulate, but he doesn't want him catching a cold right off the bat. ]

[ Heine stays sprawled out on the bedsheets, willing to doze off but in too much discomfort to. He needs to adjust his position again, make sure that he's supported on both sides so he won't roll around in his sleep and hurt his spine more, but it's all so much trouble.

He opens his eyes again when Randall returns, squinting as he darts in to grab his things and runs back out. The next time he comes back, Heine keeps his eyes closed and just mumbles his responses. ]

Pillows. [ Cracking an eye open, he can't even get himself up on his elbows to look around. ] Just move them down...

[ He can't reach so far above his head in this position, and he needs them before he actually falls asleep. ]

Of course— [ He says, as if he has any actual idea why. Move the pillows down? But they're for your head? Ah, but wait, the way he's been moving— maybe to support something? His leg? He sets the blankets draped over his arm at the foot of the bed and reaches over Heine for the other pillows, one in each hand and tilting his head in question. ]

Where did you want them? [ Besides down. That doesn't help him any. ]

Here. [ Heine pats the bed to the right of his ribcage lightly. ] And on the other side.

[ He tries to take the pillows from Randall, despite the fact that he's finding it very difficult to move any more without triggering another burst of pain in his back.

Once they're settled on either side of him, Heine lies still, eyes shuttering. He talks with his eyes closed, mostly resigned to whatever Randall plans to do with the blankets. ]

There's another bedroom down the hall. Just turn off the light on your way out.

[ He'll allow Heine to take one of the pillows, setting the other against his opposite side for easy access to adjust himself if... he can. He takes the blankets he'd left from the foot of the bed and will be ready to cover him up as soon as he's situated, layering him in three and making sure he's covered the other man's feet. There's more he could be doing. He has to be patient, however, and let Heine adjust to him, hopefully proving himself trustworthy over time.

There's a deep pit in his soul that still aches, and he feels that he owes something to this man he's never met before. This is one small step towards that unfathomable redemption. ]

There, that should do it. Um, if you need anything— anything at all, really. Just call for me. I'll be able to hear you throughout the house. Sleep well, Heine.

[ His ears twitch upright before splaying once more, and he'll make his way out of the room, hitting the light switch at the doorway and leaning it closed. A couple doors open before he finds "his" room, happening upon a closet and the door to the laundry room before he'd found the right one. He'll go get his bag from the living room and push it in a corner, eyeing the small single bed in the center of the room draped in a lacy bedspread and pastel pillows. Well. It'd have to do.

There's a loud creak as he climbs carefully into the bed, curled up with his knees poking off the side and his feet still hanging off the end of the bed, head cricked uncomfortably against the headboard to fit as much of himself on it as possible. Even like this, he falls asleep near-immediately. ]

[ Heine adjusts the pillows as well as he can before lying completely still once more. The blankets immediately help him warm up. Heine shifts them a little, but then lies still again. ]

Right. [ Marginal politeness from Heine, who just blinks again, a little more slowly, as Randall turns off the light. ] Night.

[ Heine sleeps more or less soundly, which at this point means waking up five times or less throughout the night. His back constantly hurts him, and it would take a lot of painkillers to keep it from affecting him—more painkillers than he's willing to take.

The sun wakes him up in the morning. It's past 8, he'd guess, staring blearily up at the ceiling and judging the brightness of the light. It takes a while longer for him to consider levering himself out of bed. He carefully lifts himself up, hissing through his teeth since there's no one around to notice.

Crutches next. He slowly gets out of bed, trying not to stretch too much. He gets over to the bathroom, thankfully with no trouble, where he uses the bathroom, washes his face and hands, and braces himself for going out... at least into the rest of the house. He should probably get a look around where he'll be living—where they'll be living. He wonders if Randall's awake yet, and shuffles down the hallway to see if he is. ]

[ Randall was out like a light, and the sun didn't shine in his room to wake him up until far later in the day, he'd find. Yesterday's adventure, excitement, and high-strung nerves had exhausted him thoroughly and he'll still be asleep by the time Heine makes his way to his room, curled up tight and still hanging off three edges of the bed. His tail's come out from under the lacy quilt, feet turned ice cubes and knees left to the elements as they all hung free in the cold. His door was left halfway open with no sense of his own privacy, ensuring he'd be able to hear Heine if he'd called for him.

He hadn't, but the sound of crutches is distinct on hardwood floors. His ears twitch first when Heine gets to his door, then his tail pulls back in against his body before he stretches, heels of his feet hitting the floor with a rude thump that jolts him to the bone when his legs fall off the end of the bed at the knee.

From that point, he's begrudgingly, painfully awake, groaning. And when he rolls over, he'll see his master in the doorway.

And just stare, sleep still keeping a firm grasp on his eyelids. Was his brain even working yet? Had it frozen over as well? It's hard to say. It takes a few seconds before his eyes widen and he seems to realize just who he'd been blearily staring at, and then he sits up in bed fast enough to about launch himself off the bed and look around wildly, still confused. ]

Was there... Did you call for me? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep so late— [ What time is it, anyway? With how dark his room looks and how stiff his body feels, it must be the afternoon. He's a bit horrified! But he catches sight of an old clock on the wall and then... provided it's even correct, sighs in relief. It couldn't possibly be 9PM with the light outside like this. 9AM, then. That wasn't as bad. ]

[ Resting his weight on his crutches, Heine peers into the open doorway of Randall's room. Looks like he's just about waking up. Heine sees his ears twitching, the way he almost tumbles out of the bed. It's really too small for him, isn't it... the bed in Heine's room is bigger, but probably still not big enough.

Well, they'll deal with that later. Heine raises his eyebrows at how disoriented Randall looks. ]

No. I just got up. [ He didn't want to call for help. ] And it's not that late.

[ It's near breakfast-time, though, and he's hungry. Heine turns in the hallway to go back to the kitchen. ]

Where'd you put those croissants?

[ A custom bed is in his future, unfortunately. He's likely the most problematic pet Heine could have come home with; awkwardly sized and dotted with injuries and too earnest for his own good. He doesn't react adversely to being in a new environment, at least, even if he hadn't initially remembered. Just confusion that hadn't been helped by icy feet and a crick in his neck.

He's slow to get out of bed, pant legs twisted and hiked nearly up to his knees in his sleep, taking the time to straighten his appearance out. ]

Oh good; I wanted to make sure to wake up when you did, if possible! [ To help. ] The croissants? I left them on the kitchen counter, if I remember correctly. I could fix some coffee— [ Wait, are there even groceries in the house? What if all they had was tap water and chocolate croissants?? He takes his time to stretch, hands hitting the ceiling before he stifles a yawn into his scarred hand and moves to pad out to the kitchen. ]

[ Heine just sort of grunts in acknowledgement. He still would like to protest that he doesn't need help, but... he did have trouble getting out of bed earlier, and not just because he was still tired. Years in the military have ingrained a system of waking up regardless of physical state when roused, and so far, it's a system still firmly in place. ]

There probably isn't any food left in the house. Tap water— [ He yawns a moment after Randall does. ] —is fine.

[ Rather than get out of the way in the hall, Heine crutches down the hall into the kitchen. In the morning light, everything looks well-used but homey, if mostly unfurnished. They'll have to go shopping later. But for now, breakfast.

Heine searches the cabinets until he finds a set of glasses. He has to stretch to get them, which makes him scowl again mightily. After rinsing them, he fills two with water and leaves them on the counter, leaning against it. ]

I need to buy a lot of things. And you're gonna need a new bed, huh. [ Heine, at least, seems to consider tap water and chocolate croissants a perfectly serviceable breakfast. ]

[ Randall follows diligently, humming an acknowledgement to what Heine had said, even if it seemed problematic. They'd have to go grocery shopping, then, amongst other things. He wonders idly if he'd be able to carry everything they needed.

He procures the croissants from where he'd left them, moving to turn on the oven to heat them back up and soften them. He turns just as Heine stretches for glasses and winces when the other man shows his pain, immediately awake when he considers having to be on guard for these sorts of things. He has to be more diligent. Randall will take his glass of water gratefully and sip at it, nice and cold out of the pipes as if it were winter. ]

Ah... I don't mind the one I have. Really. I can sleep anywhere. [ Not comfortably, maybe, but he could sleep anywhere. The military hadn't particularly been accommodating to a mutt off the streets, either, so he isn't too worried about it.

When the oven's warmed up enough, Randall goes ahead and slides the croissants right onto the rack and closes the door again, looking back at the clock. A few minutes should do it. ]

Would you want to go back into town today?

[ His ears perk at the prospect alone, and he thinks he'd rather like the seaside town during the day as much as he had by night. Small and homey and filled with warm people. That was his initial impression and he's sure it was right on the money. ]

Well, you're not going to fit on my bed either.

[ Heine's had enough experience with sleeping in awkward places. He'd like to avoid that from now on, and help Randall do the same. As for why—probably just decency, and an attempt to leave behind what the war was.

Part of that is making a new life in this tiny town. Heine looks at the clock when Randall does. ]

Yeah. We need food and stuff, right?

[ Heine makes a list of priorities in his head. Food, bank, clothes... and finding a carpenter or someone capable of making a bed. ]

[ He's immediately flustered with the mention of it, waving a hand dismissively at Heine. ] There's no way I could take your bed! Please don't even joke about it!

[ With the followup, though, he starts to look through the cupboards and fridge, looking a little sheepish. ]

Well, yes. There isn't anything here except for some baking soda. Are you up for it? I wouldn't mind going into town alone, either, if that'd be acceptable.

[ If he's trusted; he wouldn't take offense if he isn't, either. That's a lot of money to put in a stranger's hands.

When he looks back at the clock, he goes to open the oven and poke at one of the croissants— nice and flaky again, and warm to the touch. That'd do. He takes two of the simple plates in the cupboard out and shuffles a croissant onto each, turning the oven off and moving to set them down on the little table in front of a large window that took up most of the front wall overlooking the beach. He'll hover for a moment, wanting Heine to sit before he takes his own seat. ]

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