milk-light of the moon / private, morgan

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it was another cold day, and malaise was having a flare-up.

he hated that word. it further pushed him into his grave of chronic illness, and he shivered. as a mortal, he was feeling new things, like pain and the burden of suffering. he was his own problem- deep down, he knew truly nobody cared him about his issues. he was just that unknown. would he forever be known as the sickly pale boy of tanglewood?

there was one who intrigued him the most. the rest seemed to fit nicely into boxes- 'asshole for kicks', 'bravado because they've got nothing else', 'snarky and sassy', and yet the leader fit into none of the stereotypes the rest of the clan seemed to embody. he was a warm presence in december.

he wanted to get to know him better. he was in too much pain to fly, so he simply walked. eyes folded half-way in fatigue, the angel paused outside morgan's residence. he really had no purpose to be here. why would such a busy leader want to speak to someone like him? he was a dying commoner.

"morgan, sir?" the quiet voice resounded, sounding awfully raspy today- the cold really made his throat swell up. "yeah, it's me, malaise... do you have a moment? if you're busy, i-i'll leave you be." he said, still trembling like a deer in the headlights.