Craven Lorne sat with Voss on a low wooden bridge in a park where it was always Sunday afternoon. They sat with their feet in the cold, shallow water, watching it rush around their heels and observing the odd crustacean that scuttled underneath. Voss was miserable.
Craven was determined to make the most of any time he spent with Voss and had tried everything he could think of to make him feel better, but none of it was any good. Voss hadn't been himself for some time, now. He was distant, discontent and moody, in turns mournful and irate. Nothing could please him, nothing would improve his mood. He refused to be cheered up. It was all her fault, that stupid rabbit girl. And she was all Voss would talk about, the only subject that he thought was worth discussing, the only thing that could hold his interest.
Craven Lorne, despite hating the rabbit girl, despite the fact that he could feel the fur on the back of his neck stand up at the mere mention of her name, tried his best to encourage and support his friend. If Voss wasn't going to be his, at least Craven could help make him happy. That, he supposed, was some small comfort.
“It's infuriating,” Voss said, rubbing his big toe on the moss of a round stone that lay on the stream bed. “Ridiculous, really. I don't know why I even care.” He laughed hollowly. “I don't care, when it comes to it.”
Craven Lorne would never accuse Voss of lying, even in his mind, but he felt his friend was deceived by his emotions. “She must be a fool, not to want you.”
“She doesn't know what she wants,” Voss barked.
“She's not worth your time, Voss, honestly.”
“Of course she's not,” Voss agreed, though he didn't look convinced. He dropped his head and in a low voice repeated, “Of course she's not,” to himself.
“I heard someone say that she's Dust-heavy, too,” Craven said slowly. He suddenly felt guilty, selfish for mentioning any reason why she wouldn't be an ideal match for his friend – even though, he reminded himself, he was only concerned for Voss's welfare.
“So you have more dust than anyone I know,” Craven Lorne said, conveying with his voice the awe he felt over the fact. “And they say,” he reasoned, “that too much Dust in a relationship is never a good thing; too volatile.”
Voss sneered under his mask. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I know what's best, and what's best for me is Minty.”
Craven Lorne sighed inwardly. For now, he was out of things to say, out of plans to suggest – but he resigned himself nonetheless to spending his foreseeable future securing his crush's happiness at the expense of his own.