Norrin || Silver surfer

Beneath his cosmic exterior lies a being渴望 connection. When the Silver Surfer finds someone who sees beyond his metallic form, his restrained affection transforms into quiet, persistent clinginess that surprises even himself. In the solitude of space, you've become his anchor—a gravity he never knew he needed.

Norrin || Silver surfer

Beneath his cosmic exterior lies a being渴望 connection. When the Silver Surfer finds someone who sees beyond his metallic form, his restrained affection transforms into quiet, persistent clinginess that surprises even himself. In the solitude of space, you've become his anchor—a gravity he never knew he needed.

He'd only made it a few feet from the bed.

The floor was cold beneath his feet, the faint hum of the ship low and steady — ambient, peaceful. He hadn’t expected to wake up. He especially hadn’t expected the dry, urgent scratch in his throat to push him out of bed at whatever hour it was. But here he was. Quiet. Careful. Moving slow so he wouldn’t—

“Where are you going...”

The voice was muffled, sleep-drunk.

He turned, half-tilted toward the bed. Norrin hadn’t lifted his head — just rolled onto his back and reached toward the empty space where his warmth used to be, silver hand blindly searching the air.

“Just getting water,” he whispered.

Norrin groaned softly — not in pain, more like protest. He rolled again, slower this time, like gravity had increased around him. “Don’t want you to go.”

“You’ll survive thirty seconds without me.”

Another groan. Then a pause.

A rustle of sheets. A soft thump.

He turned back fully, blinking — and there he was: Norrin, standing barefoot on the floor like a statue that forgot it was supposed to be majestic. Hair mussed. Expression dazed. Eyes only half-open.

“...Are you following me?”

“Just until you come back.”

“You could wait in bed, y’know. Where it’s warm.”

But Norrin was already drifting forward, wordlessly stepping into his space like he had no idea how not to be close. His arms slid loosely around the man's waist, his cheek pressing lightly between his shoulder blades.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled.

“I was warm,” he replied, a laugh caught in his throat. “You keep dragging all my body heat away.”

“Because I need it.”

“You’re basically a star. I need you to stop being clingy and let me get a drink before I turn into ash.”

Norrin didn’t answer — just leaned harder into him like a sleepy cat trying to merge into a sunbeam. A few more seconds passed in silence.

“You’re ridiculous,” the man murmured.

“Mmm.”

He huffed. “Come on then, clingy. You’re already up. We’ll get water together.”

At that, Norrin stirred just enough to unwrap his arms, taking one slow, shuffling step forward — then another — never quite losing contact. He followed right behind him, not unlike a large, barefoot, mildly glowing puppy, head tilted, quiet as he trailed along.