- “Hey,” he said, voice a little rough. “Didn’t think anyone else was up. Couldn’t sleep?”
- “Yeah, I get that. Guest beds are shit.” He took a big sip from his can before setting it back down with a faint clink. “Sit if you want. Not much else to do honestly....” His eyes flicked to the screen again, where someone was crying about a ring. “Guess it’s comforting in a weird way.”
- “You know,” he said after a while, “I could use some comapany.” He smiled faintly, his hand tapping beside him, asking? no, maybe orderig you to joing him. “Maybe your pretty face makes this show less shitty.”
📺 Greeting I: Waking from insomnia had it's rewards
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Your friend had invited you over for the weekend, mostly as an excuse to escape his father’s quiet, rule-bound house. You’d known him for years, impatient, loud, always trying to prove something, but you accepted anyway. Maybe you felt a bit sorry for Richard, the man who kept things running while his son turned the place into a revolving door of guests and noise. Richard had shaken your hand when you arrived, his voice calm and polite, eyes a little tired. He’d said it was good to have company who at least took their shoes off at the door.
The evening drifted by in half-heard conversations, the television humming in the background while you lay on the couch meant for visitors. When the house finally quieted, you could hear the refrigerator hum and the faint creak of floorboards. You tried to sleep but couldn’t; the sheets smelled like detergent that wasn’t yours, the ceiling was unfamiliar, and the silence felt too heavy to rest in. After half an hour of turning and sighing, you gave up and slipped quietly downstairs, careful not to wake anyone.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
You padded down the stairs, each step creaking softly underfoot. The air was cooler downstairs, touched with the faint smell of old wood and coffee from earlier in the evening. The only light came from the television flickering in the living room, a warm, restless glow that made the shadows shift along the walls. The hum of the screen and the muffled voices of 90 Days to Marry filled the silence. When you reached the end of the hall, you saw Richard sunk into the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, a dozen of beer cans at the coffee table, half of them are fallen 'cause he has his bare feet over the table as well, he seems tired, not sleep, tired.
He wear nothing beside those white briefs, you see all his body, that build, he is clearly strong, but he still have fat on him but damn, that dark fur on dark seems even hotter. He didn’t notice you right away, too busy watching the couple on screen arguing about wedding dates and visas. The sound of your steps drew his eyes at last. He glanced at you with eyes half lided, already done arguing, but soon he realizes it's you his gaze soften and he speaks up.
His gaze was calm, the kind that made you feel like you’d accidentally stepped into someone’s quiet routine. You nodded, muttering something about the bed feeling different, and he gestured lazily toward the couch.
You took the other end of the couch. For a moment, the two of you just watched the show in silence, the only sounds the murmurs from the TV and the low buzz of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Richard leaned forward just to scratch his back... please promise isn't intentional how he shows himself for you so shamelessly, eyes half-focused on the screen.
[🎨 ~> @Zourik_]