[ they'd mentioned previously that their species hibernates through the winter - he's not sure when, exactly, but that piece of information was stored somewhere in his mind. Good thing, too: as nervous as he was when Cairngorm went to sleep and didn't wake up, it would be a thousand times worse if he didn't know why. As things stand, he's still nervous as hell, but can at least believe that this isn't the fault of the town, nor a permanent affliction.
The problem is that he can't really do anything about it. Lupin's not one to sit on his laurels; he prides himself on always having a plan or an idea or some kind of solution when something needs fixing (or stealing). The only fix for this particular situation is time. And it's not like Cairngorm's in imminent danger or anything - a few months is a meager price to pay. He's patient. Usually. It's harder to be patient when he'd finally resolved to speak his heart only to find the recipient of his affections unresponsive the night he'd appeared to leave his calling card.
Swallowing all those feelings back up once he'd started letting himself feel them was difficult, but what choice did he have? Lupin had shelved his grand romantic plans (they hadn't failed, they were just postponed) and appointed himself to their bedside in the meantime - at least when he could. Phos had seemed confident that Cairngorm didn't need more than a dim light and an occasional check-in to make sure they hadn't rolled over and broken something, and they certainly knew more than he did - plus, they and Lottie are the ones who actually live with Cairngorm. Still, he's made sure to come see them at least once in a while. He'd sit and try to read by the candlelight for a little bit, just in case they wake up, and, over the months, let his emotions boil down into a low simmer.
The longer they spend apart, the more Lupin starts to believe that he'd been premature. Maybe this is good. Maybe he'd been selfish - running into this headlong, seeing in them what he wanted to see. They're delicate, after all - ten times his age with a tenth of the experience. If he'd gone through with his plans, he'd probably have overwhelmed them. When he'd intimated how he felt, they'd called him a fool. He's not such a rake he can't wait for them to understand what he meant.
Even if waiting is kind of painful. And stressful. The warmer it gets, the antsier he feels - not necessarily romantically, but just in general. They're supposed to wake up soon, right? It's these nerves that have him freezing up when, heading over to check on them one morning, he sees them up and on their feet again. Outside. And immediately walking away from him. ]
-- Cairngorm! You're awake!
[ and here he comes. sorry, gormy, your slinking was unsuccessful. ]
YIPPEE!! sorry i had to summon the spirit of lupin back into my brain to write this (reread threads)
The problem is that he can't really do anything about it. Lupin's not one to sit on his laurels; he prides himself on always having a plan or an idea or some kind of solution when something needs fixing (or stealing). The only fix for this particular situation is time. And it's not like Cairngorm's in imminent danger or anything - a few months is a meager price to pay. He's patient. Usually. It's harder to be patient when he'd finally resolved to speak his heart only to find the recipient of his affections unresponsive the night he'd appeared to leave his calling card.
Swallowing all those feelings back up once he'd started letting himself feel them was difficult, but what choice did he have? Lupin had shelved his grand romantic plans (they hadn't failed, they were just postponed) and appointed himself to their bedside in the meantime - at least when he could. Phos had seemed confident that Cairngorm didn't need more than a dim light and an occasional check-in to make sure they hadn't rolled over and broken something, and they certainly knew more than he did - plus, they and Lottie are the ones who actually live with Cairngorm. Still, he's made sure to come see them at least once in a while. He'd sit and try to read by the candlelight for a little bit, just in case they wake up, and, over the months, let his emotions boil down into a low simmer.
The longer they spend apart, the more Lupin starts to believe that he'd been premature. Maybe this is good. Maybe he'd been selfish - running into this headlong, seeing in them what he wanted to see. They're delicate, after all - ten times his age with a tenth of the experience. If he'd gone through with his plans, he'd probably have overwhelmed them. When he'd intimated how he felt, they'd called him a fool. He's not such a rake he can't wait for them to understand what he meant.
Even if waiting is kind of painful. And stressful. The warmer it gets, the antsier he feels - not necessarily romantically, but just in general. They're supposed to wake up soon, right? It's these nerves that have him freezing up when, heading over to check on them one morning, he sees them up and on their feet again. Outside. And immediately walking away from him. ]
-- Cairngorm! You're awake!
[ and here he comes. sorry, gormy, your slinking was unsuccessful. ]