The runner feels cold. Basilio knows it isn’t. Not really. He’s just so used to having another warm body next to his. They’d always been that way, hadn’t they? Fidelio and him curled together in their meager room during the igniter experiments and then again as they struggled on the streets of Grand Trad.

A bitter, fond smile crosses the tall paripus’ face as he breaks onto the deck of the runner. It’s gone just as fast, because he suddenly remembers that he’ll never have that back. Basilio is nearly ready to forget sleeping anymore for the night. At least he’d gotten a couple of hours.

Instead he’ll watch the sea crash against the sides of the ship and try not to get too melancholic. Del wouldn’t want him to be.