“You should go to bed and rest,” Thatcher suggested. He could see the upset on Halo’s face, and it made him frown. He didn’t think innocence should have to suffer in such a way that Halo has. “But first..” he started, slipping out the paper and pen. “If you write something such as ‘intruders’ on here, then I can handle if anyone tries to come in here. If not, then I cannot do anything to protect you.”
Halo looks up and nods, taking the paper. In small, curvy handwriting he writes, 'Intruders'. He places the piece of paper in the others hands before walking towards his room. "Goodnight." he says softly, walking up the stairs and disappearing from sight.
Thatcher glanced over the writing, nodding his head and grunting in response to the ‘goodnight’ from Halo. He stuffed the paper and pen back into the inside pocket of his trench coat. He gave a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair before leaning back on the sofa.
Happy curls up in bed, wrapping his wings around himself and sighs softly, shutting his eyes as he tries to focus and relax it was easier tonight than any other night since he knew he was being protected by Thatcher.
(Do you want to skip to the morning?)
Sure//
(Alright)
It was bright and early the next morning, and Thatcher seemed to be in the exact same spot as the night before. He had gotten up, just to wander around the home and check on Halo once or twice, but that was it. It was boring, yes, but there wasn’t much he could do.
Halo yawns softly, waking from his peaceful slumber. He crawls out of bed and stretched his wings. "Ngh… I hate mornings…" He mutters. He stretches and sighs softly.
Thatcher stood up, pacing over to a window to stretch his legs. He peered out, squinting at the outside. There hadn’t been anyone at the house that night. Even if anyone did come near the house, he was sure that Nike was nearby and that she would have most likely ripped them apart.
Halo walks down the stairs quietly, humming quietly to himself. He starts making some coffee, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His wings flutter a little, and he stretches a little bit. He had gotten a lot of sleep last night. He had been at ease for the first time in months.
Thatcher heard movement, and he turned around on his heel to find the source. He spotted Halo, who seemed to have just woken up. He pursed his lips, making his way into the kitchen with quiet steps. “You look rested,” he spoke up, lingering towards the entry way.
Halo jumps, dropping his cup. He looks down and shakes his head, quickly scurrying to clean up the glass with trembling fingers. His eyes look up. "O-oh good morning!" He calls nervously, smiling a little. Thatcher had surprised him, no doubt about that. He gulps softly and finishes picking up the glass shard.
“Sorry for scaring you,” Thatcher said, stepping over to Halo. He held out an open palm towards Halo. “I can take the glass so you don’t cut yourself,” he told Halo. The glass looked sharp, and Halo had fragile looking hands.
"It's okay! It happens." He says softly. He looks at the other and smiles. "N-no need. I have most of it." He says, smiling a little. His eyes shooting down cast and he carefully picks up the rest of the glass and throws it away.
Thatcher nodded his head, taking a step back. He leaned against a counter, watching Halo closely. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, a brow arching as he glanced Halo up and down.
Halo nods, "I slept fairly well, thank you for asking." He says softly, standing and washing his hands. He looks up at Thatcher and smiles warmly.
“That’s good,” Thatcher commented, looking down at Halo. He didn’t return any sort of smile, though, just glanced away. He wasn’t the best with showing his emotions. He never had anyone raise him or something like that, tell him that it was okay to not be so serious. He even looked like someone who was serious and intimidating, something he hated and liked at the same time. But Halo didn’t seem to mind, or maybe he was good at hiding it. After a moment, he did make the corners of his lips quirk up in a very faint smile.
Halo's amike falters a little when Thatcher turned his head away but shrugged. He didn't mind that the other didn't show any emotion. There were plenty of people like that. He hums softly. "So what did you do while I rested last night?" He asks, washing the dishes. He wasn't very good at small talk since he rarely interacted with other people.
“Not much, really. It was a very quiet night, so I sat around and wandered the house for a bit. I also checked on you once or twice,” Thatcher responded. He stepped to look out the window again, almost wishing that someone would come so he could do something. It wasn’t natural for a Reaper to not have work to do. He supposed now that he was bound, he would have to get used to not being so busy all of the time.
Halo nods slowly and hums, walking towards the living room to clean. "I'm relieved." He says quietly. He hated it when people came to his home. He was always hunted for his wings, and that scared him. He was no angel, quite the opposite really. A fallen angel. An angel that had disgraced god.
Thatcher’s lips pursed as he followed Halo. What was he supposed to do besides that? “Do you want help? With the cleaning?” He asked after a moment. That would give him something to do. It wasn’t killing or healing like he was made to do, but at least it would make him less fidgety for a short period of time.
Halo looks up, "Uh… sure? I mean, you're more than welcome to. I usually don't really have people help me clean." He smiles a little, "Then again I never really have people visit." He chuckles quietly. He leans back down and if you look carefully at the joins around his wings, thin long scars run around them, almost as if someone had tried to cut them off.
Thatcher frowned heavily when he noticed the scars on Halo’s wings. He squinted at them, hate and confusion edging into his mind. This happened before to innocent Halo? “Why did you think only to bind a Reaper now, and not the last time?” He questioned.
Halo jumps, looking up at the other. "P-pardon?" he asks quietly. He fidgets a little and places the pillow in his hands down. "E-elaborate please?" he asks quietly.
“When you were turned around, I noticed your wings,” Thatcher hummed, arms crossing over his chest. “There are more scars, and they look old. My question still stands.”