The Highs Are Too High, and The LoMo's Way Too Low
by feldman
Jool stands rooted in the corridor, clutching the pink scar on her arm and crying. No sound, no tears, just screaming red hair and shaking.
Chiana is drained to the point of aching, but she can't leave her there. "Hey."
Jool sucks in a ragged breath and hides her face in her hands.
She still doesn't cry, just gasps and drips tears onto the bedroom floor as Chiana removes stiff leather and wraps her in bare skin and cool slippery sheets, whispers outrageous stories into her ear until she smirks through the tears, until they both fall into dreamless sleep.