|Dylan is (volatile) wrote in repose,|
@ 2018-04-15 20:30:00
|Entry tags:||*log, dylan michaels, mary moreau|
Dylan & Mary: the movies
[Who: Dylan M and Mary M
What: The date of awk.
Warnings: This is probs gonna be PG at most
Dylan asked the guys at work.
He woulda asked P but it seemed like the kind of thing a guy just knew how to do. The other guys, the ones who bunked with him and who had ordinary duty they signed up for, they knew he could beat the tar out of them if they said anything wrong. He wouldn't, but he could. It was a perk of being permanent state of limbo and waiting for the crackle of the intercom. So he asked one guy, who looked like the kind of guy who had been on a lot of dates and when Dylan showed up, it was dude-approved purple button-down over clean jeans. The jeans were old and they were kind of beat-up, as were his sneakers but the shirt was still almost-new.
The guy had been running on edgy tension and it had nothing to do with the date. Nah, it was all about counting down the days until the inevitable and this morning had been a blood-draw, sat in a medical chair with the smell in his nose and the ball in his fist and he had squeezed and squeezed until he had to be told for the third time to stop. He took the tension to the gym. Whaled on a guy for a little while (the guy was fine, and it was appropriate whaling, everyone signed up to it) and his knuckles showed none of it.
He had a prickle in the back of his head, and a tight feeling in his throat but Dylan abandoned it deliberate as he crossed the street to M's place. He didn't know if she had a roommate yet. He saw the post, he'd talked to her, but he didn't know if she'd found a roommate and this seemed like the kinda thing you knew before you showed up to a girl's place. And there was the conversation with P lodged in the back of his head along with the blood-draw, and Dyl was determined to do this thing the right way.
He knocked, and he shuffled around on her doorstep, hands in his pockets and staring at the tips of his sneakers.