And that’s (Alice) the man himself over in the kitchen.
(Looking like. He belongs here?) (Fucking of course he does, it’s his home. Probably.) (Is this his blanket? (It smells nice.))
That’s the man himself telling Treavor there’s no. Hurry? Telling him take his time. (And wouldn’t Treavor like to sink back into halfway-sleeping, letting the cushion of this couch and the soft scent of this blanket and the not-too-noxious sound and smell of eggs (is someone cooking? the guy is cooking, but people don’t cook around Treavor) simmer around him, keeping him safe from whatever the day may bring?) (What fuckin. Day is it even? He doesn’t know. Whatever, who gives a shit about days.) Watching and then not watching and it isn’t an invasive look the guy’s giving, and Treavor doesn’t really hate it, or even offer the challenge of a pointed staring back. Treavor watches, bleary and curious, but maybe the guy can look if he wants.
It’s the intern’s home, right? He can do what he wants.
(Okay but why bring Treavor here? Nowhere else to go? Didn’t know where Treavor’s meant to go. That. Could make sense, sure. And he found Treavor and thought he had to take Treavor somewhere? Maybe had to take Treavor somewhere.
Hey, shit. Is that what the internship is? Being paid to take care of Treavor? Fuck, it isn’t unlikely.
Only. If this guy’s being paid for it, he’s… doing an okay job. Actually, too good of a job, because in what world would Custis and Morgan pay anybody to do more than hustle Treavor from one place to another? No way they’d pay someone to… Linger on the docks with him. Take him to an apartment that isn’t Treavor’s own?
(Wrap him soft in blankets. Sing to him?) (Leave him feeling pretty okay, like the night before was gentle, like he’s got no real reason to fear.)
Jesus, he can’t keep. Trying to work this out.)
He can’t think his way into understanding the situation and okay, okay in fairness, he couldn’t think his way out of a wet paper bag right now, and maybe it’s better not to know what’s happened (isn’t it always?) (but he… works with this guy) (is gonna see this guy again and again and again). Maybe the answer’ll present itself, or it won’t. Just. Let it be for now. Take the fallout when it comes, if it comes.
He thinks about getting up. (The guy said there’s aspirin. He could use aspirin.) (Could also use a drink, and that’s a lot more appealing than any little tablet of half-hearted healing.) Ends up drawing the blanket tighter around him (a flickered memory: softness draped around his shoulder, night air muffled suddenly; a blanket from out of nowhere, and a steady, unhostile hand). Looking around the room, clamping his eyes shut (he needs a breath; he needs that aspirin, he needs some scotch, then watching the guy again, the guy who’s busy with eggs or something, the guy who’s got his hair up and right, this guys got lots of hair, and he doesn’t look like a total jag with that bun, huh. ]
You’ve got glasses.
[ He winces against his own voice, tries to focus on those glasses, thinks to himself, ha ha, nerd.
…Ha ha, the guy doesn’t. Look like a nerd. Even if he is one. Who aside from nerds and sharks and shitty younger brothers would hang out in lawyer-land?
no subject
This is the intern’s (Alice’s) couch.
And that’s (Alice) the man himself over in the kitchen.
(Looking like. He belongs here?) (Fucking of course he does, it’s his home. Probably.) (Is this his blanket? (It smells nice.))
That’s the man himself telling Treavor there’s no. Hurry? Telling him take his time. (And wouldn’t Treavor like to sink back into halfway-sleeping, letting the cushion of this couch and the soft scent of this blanket and the not-too-noxious sound and smell of eggs (is someone cooking? the guy is cooking, but people don’t cook around Treavor) simmer around him, keeping him safe from whatever the day may bring?) (What fuckin. Day is it even? He doesn’t know. Whatever, who gives a shit about days.) Watching and then not watching and it isn’t an invasive look the guy’s giving, and Treavor doesn’t really hate it, or even offer the challenge of a pointed staring back. Treavor watches, bleary and curious, but maybe the guy can look if he wants.
It’s the intern’s home, right? He can do what he wants.
(Okay but why bring Treavor here? Nowhere else to go? Didn’t know where Treavor’s meant to go. That. Could make sense, sure. And he found Treavor and thought he had to take Treavor somewhere? Maybe had to take Treavor somewhere.
Hey, shit. Is that what the internship is? Being paid to take care of Treavor? Fuck, it isn’t unlikely.
Only. If this guy’s being paid for it, he’s… doing an okay job. Actually, too good of a job, because in what world would Custis and Morgan pay anybody to do more than hustle Treavor from one place to another? No way they’d pay someone to… Linger on the docks with him. Take him to an apartment that isn’t Treavor’s own?
(Wrap him soft in blankets. Sing to him?) (Leave him feeling pretty okay, like the night before was gentle, like he’s got no real reason to fear.)
Jesus, he can’t keep. Trying to work this out.)
He can’t think his way into understanding the situation and okay, okay in fairness, he couldn’t think his way out of a wet paper bag right now, and maybe it’s better not to know what’s happened (isn’t it always?) (but he… works with this guy) (is gonna see this guy again and again and again). Maybe the answer’ll present itself, or it won’t. Just. Let it be for now. Take the fallout when it comes, if it comes.
He thinks about getting up. (The guy said there’s aspirin. He could use aspirin.) (Could also use a drink, and that’s a lot more appealing than any little tablet of half-hearted healing.) Ends up drawing the blanket tighter around him (a flickered memory: softness draped around his shoulder, night air muffled suddenly; a blanket from out of nowhere, and a steady, unhostile hand). Looking around the room, clamping his eyes shut (he needs a breath; he needs that aspirin, he needs some scotch, then watching the guy again, the guy who’s busy with eggs or something, the guy who’s got his hair up and right, this guys got lots of hair, and he doesn’t look like a total jag with that bun, huh. ]
You’ve got glasses.
[ He winces against his own voice, tries to focus on those glasses, thinks to himself, ha ha, nerd.
…Ha ha, the guy doesn’t. Look like a nerd. Even if he is one. Who aside from nerds and sharks and shitty younger brothers would hang out in lawyer-land?
Anyway. And okay but, the real question… ]
Got anything to drink?