*grabs blanket* – Meg's Mumbles

alexander-the-tiny:

so im sad about a fic so here goes

what if james flint sings. like maybe he used to sing to miranda’s playing after they pester him for what seems like an eternity to everyone (”but we love your singing! see, even this plant bloomed after you sang near it!” “or maybe, you know, because it’s spring”)

and his singing is actually nice. nothing to impress theatres with but comforting and clear, even though he never really sings loudly bc it’s sort of intimate, a thing only he has ever heard clearly.

after shit happens, flint develops a habit of humming or singing to himself when he’s alone in his cabin and is overcome by nostagia or. you know. the crippling loneliness he feels. it’s soothing and always used to remind him of nice stuff.

more shit happens and their visit to charles town results in an annoying bitch perched on his window seat. and holy shit, flint does feel lonely. he’s alone in this world once more. lost, without a course. his cause seems distant and becomes hazy because of all the pain.

he figures that silver is passed out when he starts quietly humming a melody miranda enjoyed playing. thomas would always sit that one out, just watching them weave their music together.

he remembers another one that thomas always danced to, sometimes riddiculously, sometimes graciously. they created a fusion of moods, a thing of art of their very own

but then he realizes where he is as silver shifts. he stops singing and just continues doing his work in silence.

“why’d you stop?”

“didn’t want to wake you.”

“don’t lie to me.”

“you mean that you miraculously know me so well you can tell this much?” flint sneers.

to his surprise, he finds that silver, in fact, does. he ends up humming the next evening too. this time without interruption. he stops when he’s lying down to go to sleep.

there’s something warmer about both their chests that night. air gets easier to breathe. they don’t have nightmares.