[ hawk’s room (petty, that he doesn’t see it as a shared room with tim, even though it is, because hawk’s entire life and being is shared with tim), surprisingly, doesn’t feel like a familiar space despite all the times he’s been in it. when he’s here, he’s mostly focused on one thing, and that one thing leads him straight to the bed, where he spends the rest of his time face down lost in carnal bliss, and any other moments are spent tangled up in the dark trying very hard not to assign meaning to the fact that he hasn’t left yet.
so when his hands slide over polished wood drawers and and golden handles, there’s a faraway — very faraway — thought in his clouded subconscious that he’s never really touched anything in this room before. he’s never touched any of hawk’s things.
the drawers slide open, embry’s eyes a glassy blue as he plucks at neatly rolled ties and velvet boxes of cufflinks and pins. below, there’s underwear, briefs and boxers and these things embry recognizes, because hawk in a state of undress is familiar. his fingers dive into the soft fabric, feeling around until he touches paper, and he shuffles it out, holding it up to find his own handwriting staring him in the face, a letter he wrote while hawk was six feet under that hawk told him he threw away on account of it being stupid. his eyes move unseeingly over the words, even as he hears a door open, even as he hears sudden, sharp words, even as he feels someone grasp his shoulder and forcibly turn him around.
embry doesn’t react, his expression blank, his eyes vacant. ]
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timeasmymeasure
— january sleepwalking.
Date: 2025-01-01 04:02 pm (UTC)so when his hands slide over polished wood drawers and and golden handles, there’s a faraway — very faraway — thought in his clouded subconscious that he’s never really touched anything in this room before. he’s never touched any of hawk’s things.
the drawers slide open, embry’s eyes a glassy blue as he plucks at neatly rolled ties and velvet boxes of cufflinks and pins. below, there’s underwear, briefs and boxers and these things embry recognizes, because hawk in a state of undress is familiar. his fingers dive into the soft fabric, feeling around until he touches paper, and he shuffles it out, holding it up to find his own handwriting staring him in the face, a letter he wrote while hawk was six feet under that hawk told him he threw away on account of it being stupid. his eyes move unseeingly over the words, even as he hears a door open, even as he hears sudden, sharp words, even as he feels someone grasp his shoulder and forcibly turn him around.
embry doesn’t react, his expression blank, his eyes vacant. ]