Jonothon still hadn't managed to get any sleep. He remembered, somewhat hazily, somebody nudging him back toward his room last night after what had happened in New York, making certain that he didn't manage to break his neck on the stairs on the way up, or simply miss the dorms entirely. Emma? If he thought hard enough, he could almost remember her voice, somewhere in there, asking if he could walk, and then... reminding him how.
Rough night. He'd fallen face-first onto his bed, leather and all, scorch marks be damned, and had just stayed that way, with a small kitten curling up to sleep on the small of his back for most of the night. Joni's purring and kneading played the strangest counterpoint to the way it felt as though his insides were made of rocks instead of fire. And when morning rolled around again, it was the same kitten pawing curiously at his flames that managed to coax him into at least sitting up.
Really, Jono was learning that reaching his personal moping standard was going to be a difficult task to do with any sort of consistency when there was a cat in the equation. Especially one with an empty food dish.
[Jono isn't going to the library today, nooo way, but this post is open if anybody needs him. Or if they want to play with the kitty. I'm not judging, here.]
- Room 408, Sunday Afternoon