Darker London

Ray was standing over him and there was nothing Flynn could do about it. He couldn't run, because letting Ray fuck him was the only way he could keep a roof over his head. And without the roof over his head, he would end up as desperate and lost as he had been those six years he'd spent on the street. It wasn't a choice at all ready. Flynn had to let Ray do whatever in the hell he wanted, and he had to pretend he didn't detest every second of it.

( Karmic Trauma )

Ever since the flight in Stephie's helicopter, Flynn had been thinking about kids. About how Stephie lit up when she was talking about Marie, and everything she said made it sound like the sun shone out of Marie's heart. Flynn was James Littleton's godfather as well, and he had watched the little boy grow in Thomas' care. There was something magical about watching Thomas with his kids, and Flynn wanted that.

He really wanted that.

He still waited for a week or so after he had flown with Stephie, so that it wasn't just a knee-jerk reaction to feeling so awesomely free after feeling so awfully not. He knew sudden brain chemistry changes could lead to sudden decisions people regretted later, so he let it sit in the back of his mind for a while, though the thought of kids never strayed too far.

While they made breakfast, Flynn kept envisioning making it for three, with a smileyface pancake or two. During their quiet evenings, Flynn imagined watching Quinn reading stories to their child before bedtime. When they were out, he kept thinking about how it would feel to take a kid with them to the grocery store, or to the park. When they slept, he imagined their child slipping into the room to join them. And Flynn would open the covers and let them in, cuddling them in the dark to chase away whatever nightmare had seen them seeking out their parents in the first place.

Finally, when he literally couldn't spend more than five minutes without thinking about being a parent, Flynn knew he should talk to Quinn. Flynn found his husband sitting in their bedroom, typing madly away on the computer, probably on his thesis. It was due in a few weeks which would mean it was over by the time any child was actually here. This was pretty good timing, right? "Hey," Flynn said softly, announcing himself before walking over to the bed.

Quinn's hand ached to the bones, but he wasn't going to complain about it. As he and Flynn spent their waking hours searching through the lost alleyways and dark corners, Flynn had needed to cling and Quinn was going to let him cling.

( Tour of woe )

It was the worst weather London had seen in years, and Flynn and Quinn both had prepared to spend the next few days at the shelter. They would sleep in shifts, doing everything they could to accommodate the people who would inevitably arrive at the shelter door seeking safety during the storm. Libero shelter could provide warmth and food and they wouldn't turn anyone away, not in weather like this.

Or so Flynn would have thought.

( Empty )

Now that Eamon lived at the House of Rock, Quinn felt like his life was shaping up pretty damn well. Sure he still found it in him to engage in a bit of light 'little brother antics' but he never took it very far. Eamon was, after all, the person who had drawn him out of his depression after losing Flynn the first time. And then he had done it again and again, not to mention literally burning his hands to pull an unconscious Quinn out of a burning car. In Quinn's eyes, Eamon could pretty much wear a superhero outfit and not look out of place.

( Check out my fucking writing mojo man! )

Every time Adrina turned her head on the tube ride home she could smell Eamon. He was all over her and by the time she'd reached home the overwhelming sadness had lifted from her and now she was filled with a bittersweetness about it all. She had been given one last night with Eamon. She had been able to end it all on their own shared terms. They were over, but it would be okay. Not tomorrow and not next month but, eventually, Adrina would be okay and missing him would become easier.

She showered slowly, letting the hot water drown her and not minding that it was washing Eamon's handprints away. It felt good and ritual and needed. She felt good.

She toweled herself dry and made her way to Quinn and Flynn's bedroom, knocking on their door and poking her head in. Birds were singing by now and sunlight was just beginning to properly enter the world.

"Quinny?" she asked. "You awake?"

Adrina had completely lost the will to do anything beyond lying in her bed. She'd called in sick to work, claiming flu, and one day had turned into five. She knew it was no good to stay here like this, and she knew that it was no good to skip her therapist appointment, and she knew it was no good to shower or to eat or to skip everything else life-related but... Eamon.

Her limbs were heavy and her skin felt clammy and the world had a certain unreal sense to it. Maybe she really did have flu after all. Maybe she'd made herself sick just through sadness.

She was so pathetic. Not just because of how she was acting now, but because of the way she'd managed to lose Eamon so easily. She'd let him slip away, let him walk away and end it. What else could she have done? No, she knew what she should have done: she should have fought for him. She shouldn't have backed down from his stupid words about 'doing what was best for her'. Dammit, didn't she get to decide what was best for her??

Mouth dry, Adrina reached down beside her bed for her water bottle but after sliding her fingers around in the air for a few seconds and not finding it she gave up and pressed her face into the bed. She hadn't cried - not since she'd left Eamon's place. Not since he'd ended it. She felt like she'd forgotten how to cry.

"Do you mind that I'm a musician?"

The question had cut through the silence in their bedroom, though Quinn was used to Flynn asking deep questions out of seemingly nowhere. He had been reading for his thesis but he set aside the book by Kant easily enough and leaned forward in his chair. Flynn was stretched out on their bed, the covers draped lazily across his knees as he played with his tablet. He hadn't even looked up when he asked, though once Quinn moved, Flynn smiled over at him. "Something on your mind, Bub?" Quinn asked, rather than answering the question directly. Flynn didn't often use a lot of words, and it was better to understand where this was coming from before stumbling into the conversation blindly.

( Synergy )