The Tangle composer but never composed

The touch goes away, and though Alaister chases it with a lean, he steadies himself a moment later. Numerous times he’s expressed his interest, yet every one leads to Nereus slipping from his fingers—Alaister could be an ass, but he’s respectful of personal space if anything.
Hm, he hums, having not thought that far ahead—it’d been a spur of the moment to distract them both. They ought to preserve their energy for the onward travel, but what worth would it be if they cannot let themselves enjoy the life they still live? To have a moment where they play and have fun.
We could play hide and seek, like old times. A simpler time. Then there were the quiet moments where their mothers wouldn’t tolerate their rough-housing and demand they sit still; they’d develop a game of cloud shapes, and came up with ridiculous personas for objects and bugs alike.