[closed] I guess I just brushed through your mind more gently than I intended to

[powerdealer]

Seth has had a pretty uneventful few days since he last spoke to Daniel, if you don't count getting pretty intensely rained on yesterday (which had sucked, but at least the city isn't exactly cold these days), and thinking for a moment he'd met someone from his home universe before that. That had admittedly been pretty weird, even if it had become evident more or less immediately that Eliot was not Curtis. Still, minor occurrences in pretty slow days, really. Days which have largely been spent mulling about his life.

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It's been the worst day since yesterday [closed]

[peacefulexplorer]

The knotted mass of guilt in Daniel's chest hasn't gone away by the time he's on his way to Seth's apartment building, again, hands clenching and unclenching and wandering and ducking into his pockets and back out again a minute later.

Daniel feels like an idiot.

He feels like an idiot, because what good could an ordinary library in Manhattan possibly be for this kind of thing? Yesterday had passed in sporadic bursts of anxiety, horror over what the hell might be happening, creeping dread that this might not be reversible and then finally today Daniel's traitorous phone had buzzed to deliver several texts in rapid succession. Texts he should have received a full day ago. Short bursts of words and questions that should read as neutral and impersonal like any other text but don't because Seth had clearly, clearly not been in a good place by the time he'd faded from Daniel's range of vision and he must not have heard or processed any of the prior warnings because the texts all make it bleakly obvious he'd had no idea what was happening. Seth must have assumed the worse.

That would not be atypical for Seth to have assumed the worse.

The idea that Daniel had most assuredly been the cause of that makes him faintly, mildly nauseous.

He has to halt outside the building for a tight minute, his lungs a paradoxical mess of relief and jittering apprehension and no small amount of the always-persistent guilt until at last he makes an unerring line for the figure in front. The visible figure. Daniel's eyes don't slide right past and he doesn't need to constantly refocus and the gradually mounting panic tentatively starts to give way.