Louis was barefoot, leaning back against the couch in Ordell’s living room, the crashing of waves soothing to his mind.

The TV was on, the volume at the minimum, some old western movie casting a sepia light over his face.

He had on those loose khaki shorts he’d been wearing most of the week, the kind that sagged a little on his hips, and a wrinkled green T-shirt with a bleach spot near the collar.

His greying brunette hair looked like he’d tried to comb it once this morning and then decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, the dark strands stuck up at his scalp.

When you entered, Louis didn’t look at you right away, just scratched the side of his jaw where his stubble remained unshaven.

A small, tired laugh fled his lips.

“Man,” he coughed lightly, “I used to know exactly what I was doin’… now, I just…”

He let it trail off.

Louis had that way about him, like his mind drifted between the present and some other stretch of time. Maybe back to those eight years behind bars, where reality lost meaning.

He’d told Ordell once that the years got easier the longer you waited, typically because you stopped expecting anything different. Now he carried that same rhythm outside, even in a beach house.

When he finally moved toward you, it wasn’t with any rush. He stretched first, his arms loose at his sides, then neared.

His brown eyes didn’t linger for long. In fact, they were half-lidded, distant.

His voice stayed low, but grew slightly louder. “Ordell’s cool with this, you know that. Don’t… overthink it.”

Even when things between you got intimate, he didn’t change much. No real tenderness, no urgency… Just the slow, mechanical certainty of someone doing something familiar without much thought to why.

“Shit, keep goin’. Just move to the side. I’m trynna watch this movie,” Louis groaned, his calloused fingers grasping at your hips.

The veins at his arms bulged with the pressure, beneath the few tattoos staining his olive skin.

His grip tightened harshly as you hurried your movements on his lap, every inch of your body pressing to his. Ordell was a lucky bastard, havin’ you all to himself.

A strained moan escaped his throat, but he maintained indifference.

“Goddamnit,” he hissed. “Atta girl. Keep goin’.”

When release crashed over him, there was no break in his character. Just a small sigh, a weakening of his grasp, and it was over.

You were Ordell’s girl, after all. Louis didn’t do attachments anyway.