Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
“Not a mattress on the floor,” he echoed, just a slight dip of his chin for a nod because he wasn’t completely clear on Jamie’s angle in all of this, and that bugged him. The not-knowing. It felt like a pocket of something foreign, some unknown substance that sucked the air from between them and that he kept bumping into with his knees while it felt like they were circling - something. There were so many new layers to the fact that they were here and it wasn’t to strip one another down to raw skin and fucked-out incapacity and bruises on Seven’s neck, and the guy was kinda fucking confusing him. It was comforting, then, when Jamie’s version of nicely banished him so that he could stride away into the bathroom.
The rest of the suit ended up tossed over the back of another chair before Seven padded barefoot onto heated tile, warm under his toes on the way to the shower, which was fucking enormous ftr, and steamed all the glass up in seconds so that condensation dripped like the first bead of water off the end of his nose when he stepped under the spray. It wasn’t a shower meant to be contemplative, or cathartic. He wasn’t washing half a decade of ache off his shoulders. It had been a long day of boring meetings, numbers and shit that Seven didn’t give a fuck about, and chairs that were way too expensive to get away with being so uncomfortable. The shower was just part of the routine, too. And anyway, he fucking hated the feeling of getting into clean sheets unshowered, always had. It was a whole thing.
He hadn’t heard the knock over the water echoing off tile, but after towelling off and exiting the bathroom in a billow of thick steam, the overnight bag he kept in the trunk was waiting by the front door. Crossing the room naked but no longer dripping, still rubbing a towel against the hair at the nape of his neck, the smirk played again at the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight of Jamie’s sprawl. His bag thumped onto the cushion of one of the chairs and he found a pair of sweatpants, soft and black, stepped into them and knotted the string loosely. Then he came to stand near the end of the couch and reached out to rest his hand lightly against the side of Jamie’s knee.
“This seems like a double standard on falling asleep.”