FOOL FOR YOU // HISTORY STORAGE

[B. DELORIA]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4; color:black"]There was nothing left for them to do. Val's father -the whole point of their journey- had died, and Val continued his work, nearly sacrificing himself in the process too, but he'd lived, thankfully. Butch worried that he didn't feel the same way, but regardless, here they were, with everything and nothing ahead of them; it was overwhelming, the way leaving the vault had been, seeing a whole new world and not quite knowing what to do with that. For now, though, they were simply sitting together, watching the sunset over desert hills, or at least, that was where Val had his eyes. Butch had stopped watching the sunset as soon as he saw Val lit up by the blending colors, his fur softly glowing a brighter gold, and the longer he stared, the stronger his belly flipped. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, and he'd felt this before, like the world was about to tip on its axis, or like balancing on a thin wire soon to snap. There was nothing similar to it, and no other person had ever- it was just Val. It was always Val, and his breath caught when the light melted the shepherd's eyes into liquid; distantly, he recognized Val could probably see him creeping if he looked in his peripheral vision, and that scooting closer wasn't subtle at all, but didn't want to tiptoe and hang onto the edge anymore.

[color=#447ab9]"Val," Butch murmured, [color=#447ab9]"I want to- just look at me. There's something I gotta do."

[WANDERER]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Nothing feels like an understatement, at this point. For a while, life had felt exceedingly pointless. There had always been a goal. Finding his dad had been the only thing he cared about for an eternity, even when he was angry, even when all he could think about was the fact that he'd been abandoned for a science project. Then, once that goal had been met, he wanted to finish it with him. Maybe for some chance at going back to normal, going home. But then, eventually, he'd realized he didn't want to. Part of it was the company still sitting at his side, through thick and thin, but the other part — well, it's half of what he's staring at. His eyes keep shifting from the sunset to smooth black and white as if they're somehow comparable in his mind. They are, without question. He's hardly needed a sunset to call Butch pretty, but it puts it into perspective. He's done his best so far not to glance at him, but he's right: Val noticed. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the prick of his ears. Everything feels hot under his fur, even as the desert sands start to cool. It gets immobilizing with proximity, his lungs on fire.

Moments like these had always passed before. It'd be a lie to say it's the first time he'd hoped so desperately for — something, there are never words. An urge to lean closer, the ache in his chest begging him to take a chance. Because for months now, Butch hadn't been as bad; he'd been saying that for so damn long now. For some reason, he doesn't want to look at him. (Fear, he's afraid, but it still wars with wants.) He turns his head. "Huh?" he murmurs, as if he doesn't know. Even when his eyes struggle to stay focused where they should be.