[ he hasn't been to bob's room, and almost doesn't come now despite being the one to ask. rather — he stands outside bob's door for several long minutes, wondering what exactly he means to do. why he's even here. drawing closer to the danger feels like the complete fucking opposite of what he should be doing, and yet here he is. world's most pathetic moth, flying directly into robert reynolds' flame. if he's lucky, bob will kill him this time. if he's lucky —
bob will be on the bed, waiting for him. understanding without words the pain churning through him. the dark thing that ash hates, the thing that makes him the first one to run toward death, because if it's him, it's not anyone else. if it's him, he can stop hating himself for at least a moment.
he's lucky, because bob is there, and something spreads through embry at the sight of him. something sharp and bright, like the points of a star. he's thankful there's only the golden glow of a lamp to light the room, so maybe the heat in his cheeks and glimmer in his eyes are less visible. either way, he shuts the door behind him, trying not to think about how trapped he feels. how he walked into this trap willingly, with open eyes, each step deliberate. ]
Hi.
[ quiet. his eyes quickly scan the room, drinking in all the little details that make this place bob's — different from his own, which even after a year has little in the way of personal effects. boarding school year after year, summers at home, off to yale next, then off to a war. even his condo back home had been put together by morgan's interior designer, and playing house with abilene had been like living in a horror show.
he steps closer. closer still, until he's at the bed, his eyes shadowed, dark hair in a messy sweep along his forehead. he looks at bob and thinks about the void, a cold shudder creeping along his spine. ]
I don't want anything. [ his throat bobs, then the bed dips slightly as he lowers himself down. head on the pillow, he lifts his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. ] I just want you.
[ dressed in an oversized hoodie and boxers (both varying shades of blue), bob waits on the bed cross-legged, picking at the pulled-back sheets. he can hear embry before he enters, the soft shuffle of his footsteps, the steady but quickening beat of his heart. something desolate in his expression. he’s not coming in, when he knows bob is the danger. he is, because he knows that and hopes for the end. no-win scenario.
except —
the door opens, and bob perks, features opening and lifting, blue eyes brighter for embry’s fleeting attention. he watches as embry peers around the space — as he considers the clutter that makes this room bob’s, bereft of any intentional decor — and holds his breath. waits for the mockery. the rejection. in for one, two, three, four. out for four, three, two, one. none comes.
embry settles, like he means to stay, and, for a moment, all bob can do is marvel at the fact of him, real and breathing beside him. not doing anything to push him away. looking much the way bob feels inside, on the verge of disintegration. bob reaches out, palm pressed into the mattress, near enough to touch. a gentle precursor, a test, before bob scoots into him, slotting into the opening beneath embry’s raised arm, head bumping his princely jaw. too late to turn him away, although he doesn’t dare ask for more, fiddling with the string and toggle of his hoodie instead of touching embry. clumsy, in his attempts at comfort, when so few have offered it to him. ]
You got me. [ here, like this. not the shadow or the light that casts it, just a boy. ] I’m glad you’re here.
[ in his room, in the house, in bob’s life despite both their efforts to break apart. ]
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bob will be on the bed, waiting for him. understanding without words the pain churning through him. the dark thing that ash hates, the thing that makes him the first one to run toward death, because if it's him, it's not anyone else. if it's him, he can stop hating himself for at least a moment.
he's lucky, because bob is there, and something spreads through embry at the sight of him. something sharp and bright, like the points of a star. he's thankful there's only the golden glow of a lamp to light the room, so maybe the heat in his cheeks and glimmer in his eyes are less visible. either way, he shuts the door behind him, trying not to think about how trapped he feels. how he walked into this trap willingly, with open eyes, each step deliberate. ]
Hi.
[ quiet. his eyes quickly scan the room, drinking in all the little details that make this place bob's — different from his own, which even after a year has little in the way of personal effects. boarding school year after year, summers at home, off to yale next, then off to a war. even his condo back home had been put together by morgan's interior designer, and playing house with abilene had been like living in a horror show.
he steps closer. closer still, until he's at the bed, his eyes shadowed, dark hair in a messy sweep along his forehead. he looks at bob and thinks about the void, a cold shudder creeping along his spine. ]
I don't want anything. [ his throat bobs, then the bed dips slightly as he lowers himself down. head on the pillow, he lifts his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. ] I just want you.
no subject
except —
the door opens, and bob perks, features opening and lifting, blue eyes brighter for embry’s fleeting attention. he watches as embry peers around the space — as he considers the clutter that makes this room bob’s, bereft of any intentional decor — and holds his breath. waits for the mockery. the rejection. in for one, two, three, four. out for four, three, two, one. none comes.
embry settles, like he means to stay, and, for a moment, all bob can do is marvel at the fact of him, real and breathing beside him. not doing anything to push him away. looking much the way bob feels inside, on the verge of disintegration. bob reaches out, palm pressed into the mattress, near enough to touch. a gentle precursor, a test, before bob scoots into him, slotting into the opening beneath embry’s raised arm, head bumping his princely jaw. too late to turn him away, although he doesn’t dare ask for more, fiddling with the string and toggle of his hoodie instead of touching embry. clumsy, in his attempts at comfort, when so few have offered it to him. ]
You got me. [ here, like this. not the shadow or the light that casts it, just a boy. ] I’m glad you’re here.
[ in his room, in the house, in bob’s life despite both their efforts to break apart. ]