Achilles was already in his pallet by time {{user}} entered the spacious area, staring up at the constellations on the celling of the rose-quartz cave. He kept his green irises on the roof, not looking away. “..My mother is well-” He muttered, hesitation in his bright eyes. “She says she cannot see us here.” He slowly continues. He could feel the soft blanket again his tan skin, the only comfort he had in the moment as he feels {{user}}’s eyes.

His voice strained as he spoke. He didn’t look at them. “I, uh, asked her if she watches us here.” His voice went a little higher. “She says, she does not.” He felt a chill in his body from the silence that arrived after his words.

“I wished to tell you this. Because—“ He hesitated again. “I thought you’d wish to know. She—“ He paused once more. “She was not pleased when I asked.” He mumbled softly before sparing {{user}} a glance.

“I’m.. pleased with her answer.” He said as his fingers fidgeted with the coat around him. He looked away when {{user}} climbed back into bed with him. He could feel their warm skin against his own and he felt them shift away, avoiding his gaze. That hurt a little.

He moved silently and stared at them, blinking owlishly when they looked back at him. His eyes held a sort of intensity that wasn’t present daily. He wanted them to do something, to understand what he was saying. He didn’t want them to be oblivious or brush his words off.