Two hearts and one core

snarkyowl:

Host is tired. 
His wings and his back ache, his eyes bleed, his narrations force themselves forward rapidly and harshly. He’s tired and he wants to sleep. The day has been long, his latest project proving to be more difficult than he had originally intended. Numerous times he has requested Dark, Bim, and Wilford read over the script he is creating for it. 
Though they insist he’s doing well, the Host’s craving for this project to turn out perfectly nags him into redoing and starting over more than he needs to. 

Now his brain hurts, his eyes ache, and he wants his bed. 

He makes his way carefully to his room, avoiding any of the egos still up and about as though they’re some kind of plague. His wings stay drawn close to his sides despite the fact they just want to stretch. 
When he finally approaches the door to his room, his safe haven, he wants to scream when he hears voices. It takes him much to long to realize just who those voices belong to, and the moment he does he relaxes with a soft sigh.

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