It's dark, dark, dark, and Ulysses' eyelids flutter open all the same. Just like they always do. Sleeping may essential activity, but it has never been his strong suit, and by now he's no stranger to the feeling of bobbing back to consciousness at some unholy hour. A few minutes pass. Sleep remains elusive.
He'll go for a walk. A short one, not the kind that makes his roommates worry. No one will notice he's gone. Carefully, he crawls over Iliya and Mackenzie and unzips his tent. The fall air is crisp, and it cuts into the warmth of little space as he does so. Shit. He hopes it doesn't wake them.
There are a few other students outside already, but Ulysses is one of the very first. So, it's not hard to see why they're starting to gather. Oh. Huh. Would you look at that?
Vaguely, distantly, Ulysses understands what's going on here. He knows who this boy must be, under the shawl and mask. He has opportunity to talk, to ask one of the questions that keep pulling him awake in the middle of the night, and yet... he doesn't. His mind feels like a frozen lake, smooth and perfect and completely opaque. Any intelligent thoughts he might've had stay trapped below the surface; uncharacteristically, he finds he has nothing to say.
Instead, he watches. The boy is ... beautiful, and that's a funny thing to notice. He is beautiful, though, and there are flowers blooming in the grass beneath his feet. How strange, innocent. Ulysses takes a few steps in his direction and then bends down to pluck one of the violets that are now growing in the slightly damp grass. He half expects the whole scene to melt away when he does, like instead of a flower stem, he was pulling on a bathtub stopper and now, the illusion would all go swirling down the drain. It doesn't. He stares at the violet, then, after a small while, back at the boy. If the teenage entity catches his eyes, he'll smile.
Ulysses
He'll go for a walk. A short one, not the kind that makes his roommates worry. No one will notice he's gone. Carefully, he crawls over Iliya and Mackenzie and unzips his tent. The fall air is crisp, and it cuts into the warmth of little space as he does so. Shit. He hopes it doesn't wake them.
There are a few other students outside already, but Ulysses is one of the very first. So, it's not hard to see why they're starting to gather. Oh. Huh. Would you look at that?
Vaguely, distantly, Ulysses understands what's going on here. He knows who this boy must be, under the shawl and mask. He has opportunity to talk, to ask one of the questions that keep pulling him awake in the middle of the night, and yet... he doesn't. His mind feels like a frozen lake, smooth and perfect and completely opaque. Any intelligent thoughts he might've had stay trapped below the surface; uncharacteristically, he finds he has nothing to say.
Instead, he watches. The boy is ... beautiful, and that's a funny thing to notice. He is beautiful, though, and there are flowers blooming in the grass beneath his feet. How strange, innocent. Ulysses takes a few steps in his direction and then bends down to pluck one of the violets that are now growing in the slightly damp grass. He half expects the whole scene to melt away when he does, like instead of a flower stem, he was pulling on a bathtub stopper and now, the illusion would all go swirling down the drain. It doesn't. He stares at the violet, then, after a small while, back at the boy. If the teenage entity catches his eyes, he'll smile.