( it takes a while for jim to arrive but the time flies in eddie’s mind, too quiet and somehow filled with a million racing thoughts. some are laced with panic, the others regret. others still with fear. alone with them, he feels nauseous.
when jim slips inside, eddie’s sitting on the bed wrapped in furs. he’s smoking a mostly tobacco cigarette, breathing out the smoke through an open window. the place is being aired out, the small fire going in the wood burning stove isn’t doing much because he hasn’t tended to it since billy left. jem’s at john’s, he thinks. she told him but he doesn’t remember.
he pushes himself out of the bed when jim’s inside, stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray. ) Here, let me get those.
( he doesn’t scurry over as he normally would, eager to dig through the haul like a raccoon that’s found a new hoard of garbage. there’s no glee at riffling through everything and commenting on jim’s choices. instead he moves slow, furs wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
getting those really just means taking the goods from jim to set them in the counter in the kitchenette. the shack is just one room and a bathroom, a workshop not meant to be a home but eddie moved in a bed after passing out scribbling in his journals too many times. the bed’s covered in furs, clothes that are and aren’t his tucked into it too like a nest.
he turns toward jim, watches him strip out of his winter coat and layers and waits for the opportunity to shuffle in close, to hide his face in jim’s broad chest and inhale the scent of him. if he moves first, he thinks, it won’t make him flinch. )
no subject
when jim slips inside, eddie’s sitting on the bed wrapped in furs. he’s smoking a mostly tobacco cigarette, breathing out the smoke through an open window. the place is being aired out, the small fire going in the wood burning stove isn’t doing much because he hasn’t tended to it since billy left. jem’s at john’s, he thinks. she told him but he doesn’t remember.
he pushes himself out of the bed when jim’s inside, stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray. ) Here, let me get those.
( he doesn’t scurry over as he normally would, eager to dig through the haul like a raccoon that’s found a new hoard of garbage. there’s no glee at riffling through everything and commenting on jim’s choices. instead he moves slow, furs wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
getting those really just means taking the goods from jim to set them in the counter in the kitchenette. the shack is just one room and a bathroom, a workshop not meant to be a home but eddie moved in a bed after passing out scribbling in his journals too many times. the bed’s covered in furs, clothes that are and aren’t his tucked into it too like a nest.
he turns toward jim, watches him strip out of his winter coat and layers and waits for the opportunity to shuffle in close, to hide his face in jim’s broad chest and inhale the scent of him. if he moves first, he thinks, it won’t make him flinch. )