It feels too honest, somehow. Too desperate. Kuan-hung's too thinned out by the hour, exposed in the liminal space between his dream and now that's still folding closed, scarring over. He rubs his cheek against his pillow, ducking his head down lower, as if he can creep closer to Fu Meng-po's voice. As if there's a body nearby to press himself into, if he just reaches far enough for it.
On the one night of their journey that suspends itself in the in-between, not yet Hetao but no longer home, Wang Zhi joins him for dinner.
The man in black knows the score, but who's counting?
Unpleasant things happen to Jim Halsey, several times in a row but not in any particular order.
Hickey thinks on what is to come for Billy Gibson and for himself.
A sabre is, by nature, forthright.
Aumerle lives to regret many things.
Irving takes it on himself to correct Mr. Hickey's permissive attitudes regarding buggery.
He feels Sui Zhou's smile unlace over his pulse, languid and nude in its amusement. "You've had the morning," he answers, unmoved. "The day won't keep for you."
As Kylo Ren awaits judgment, Poe Dameron seeks satisfaction.