[ It takes close to twenty. Eddie isnāt parked too far from the theater, and traffic at this hour is pretty much non-existent, but it does take him more time than usual to haul himself out of his van and up the stairs to the projection room. Heās well on his way to healing, miraculously, but itās slow going and the pain hasnāt really subsided much.
He raps his knuckles against the door to announce himself, then lets himself in anyway. ]
Youād better not be dead in here or Iāll kill you myself, Mike.
[ Which makes no sense but itās likeā¦fond and worried and stuff. ]
[ Well, Mike certainly isn't dead, so that's a plus. He also hasn't moved an inch from the sleeping bag in the corner, where he's still curled up with his phone in one hand, finger resting on the buttons. The only light in the space is from the red EXIT signs out in the theater, bleeding in through the booth's windows.
He doesn't make much of an effort to move when Eddie steps in, instead just lifting up his head to peer around his sweatshirt hood. Even in the poor lighting, there's already a mark visible next to one eye.]
Counterproductive.
[ A flat response, a few moments too slow. His voice sounds the same, in shape and pitch, but there's a tired monotony to it. ]
[ Well, at least only one of them is deadā¦maybe. Hoping that what he finds wonāt be worse than what he already sees and hears, he flips on the light.
Andā¦Mike isnāt mangled. He looks tired, beaten, slightly older, but not totally ripped to shreds like Eddie, and he finds himself letting out a breath that he didnāt know he was holding. He cares about these little shits, more than heāll ever let on, and he doesnāt how what heād do if something happens to any of them. ]
Anything you wanna share, or...just needed the company?
[ Because there has to be more to this than gaining a birthday or two. Without invitation, and with extreme difficulty, Eddie lowers himself onto the floor beside Mike's sleeping bag. This is why you keep popping stitches, Eddie. ]
[ Mike may be in one piece, but he doesn't make a nice picture, grimy with smeared dirt. Blood has dried in a trail down his temple, wiped unsuccessfully with the back of one hand, and he smells - quite frankly - a bit terrible. Grey water, day-old sweat, the tinge of something that's been burned. In the eighteen hours since he snapped back into his head, gasping for breath and full of fresh, clawing terror, scoping out a shower at the gym hadn't been high on his list of priorities. Nothing had been, except for curling up in the dark, trying to hide from his own head.
He looks up at Eddie and thinks about lying. Thinks about the look that's going to be on his face, and the words he might say. The sadness, and the hurt, bigger than Mike knows what to do with. But this isn't something that's made to be kept close. It isn't something he can swallow without heaving it back up. ]
It wasn't even for my friends.
[ His mouth feels numb. His whole head feels numb, like he'll slip out of his body if he doesn't hold on, and drift off into nothing. He digs his fingernails into skin, bitten ends scraping into cuticles like lifelines. ]
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satanicpanics) wrote2025-05-14 05:18 pm
no subject
do you hve anything
no subject
still at the theater?
no subject
[ He'd left it that way when he got here for his shift, already reeling and gasping. Someone can break in and steal all the cash, for all he cares. ]
no subject
give me 10
[ It takes close to twenty. Eddie isnāt parked too far from the theater, and traffic at this hour is pretty much non-existent, but it does take him more time than usual to haul himself out of his van and up the stairs to the projection room. Heās well on his way to healing, miraculously, but itās slow going and the pain hasnāt really subsided much.
He raps his knuckles against the door to announce himself, then lets himself in anyway. ]
Youād better not be dead in here or Iāll kill you myself, Mike.
[ Which makes no sense but itās likeā¦fond and worried and stuff. ]
no subject
He doesn't make much of an effort to move when Eddie steps in, instead just lifting up his head to peer around his sweatshirt hood. Even in the poor lighting, there's already a mark visible next to one eye.]
Counterproductive.
[ A flat response, a few moments too slow. His voice sounds the same, in shape and pitch, but there's a tired monotony to it. ]
Get the lights.
no subject
Andā¦Mike isnāt mangled. He looks tired, beaten, slightly older, but not totally ripped to shreds like Eddie, and he finds himself letting out a breath that he didnāt know he was holding. He cares about these little shits, more than heāll ever let on, and he doesnāt how what heād do if something happens to any of them. ]
Anything you wanna share, or...just needed the company?
[ Because there has to be more to this than gaining a birthday or two. Without invitation, and with extreme difficulty, Eddie lowers himself onto the floor beside Mike's sleeping bag. This is why you keep popping stitches, Eddie. ]
no subject
He looks up at Eddie and thinks about lying. Thinks about the look that's going to be on his face, and the words he might say. The sadness, and the hurt, bigger than Mike knows what to do with. But this isn't something that's made to be kept close. It isn't something he can swallow without heaving it back up. ]
It wasn't even for my friends.
[ His mouth feels numb. His whole head feels numb, like he'll slip out of his body if he doesn't hold on, and drift off into nothing. He digs his fingernails into skin, bitten ends scraping into cuticles like lifelines. ]