halcyon_houses

Who: James and Fisher
What: Movie time!
Where: Fisher's Room
Why: Fuck Tuesday!

Fisher stood in front of the full length mirror that hung on his closet door, trying to decide if he liked or hated how his new clothes made him look. He'd gone shopping with Ita yesterday, and she'd picked out some things that (she said) looked nice on him. But he wasn't sure. He hadn't worn anything not-gothy in over ten years, so this was a pretty big change.

"I feel like a fag," he told himself, in complete sincerity. Fisher was never really one to be PC. Still, the colors were a nice change on the eyes. "But I think I need a haircut," he mused. "Stringy, messy goth hair is not good with Express for Men. The Queer Eye guys would shoot me down."

As he twirled a few times, observing all angles, there was a sharp knock on the door. He figured it was Ita (who else could it be?), and thought she'd appreciate that he was wearing the clothes she'd picked out. When he opened the door, though, there was not a perky blonde standing there. "Uh-" he said, his voice strangled. Well shit.

Who: Ita and Fisher
What: Home baked happiness
Where: Fisher's room
When: Evening
Why: Because Ita is as sweet as gooseberry pie

Saturday had been blissfully inactive. Fisher spent the day hiding in his room, reading a few good books and enjoying the quiet. His shirt was hanging on the back of his desk chair, since sometime around lunch it had gotten too hot to handle. His kilt, however, was cool enough to keep on. Currently he was surfing the web, reading a few online comics and checking out what was going on in the world, according to Yahoo.com.

His stomach gurgled hungrily. It was almost five, which meant (according to his internal clock) it was almost time to eat. After six months of having a set eating schedule, it was hard to just let your body decide for itself when a good time for food was. Fisher rubbed his tummy a little, hoping this might fool it into thinking it was eating already. To be honest, he was feeling too damn lazy to get up and get some food. Maybe he'd go out to town tonight and try out that Italian bistro. But then he might run into James again, and... He shook his head. No, maybe he'd order a pizza and eat in his room instead.

His bedroom was pretty damn nice, considering. The old man who'd put him at Halcyon had provided him with a considerable bank account, and since Fisher didn't really need to buy food or clothing he'd decided to spruce up the basic room he'd been given. Of course, since he lived alone he was required to call St. Joseph Rehabilitation Center once a day to confirm that he was clean, sober and most importantly, alive. It had been in the fine print of the agreement with the old man, but as Fisher didn't plan to die anytime soon he felt it was fair enough.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, causing Fisher to snap to attention. He wasn't expecting anyone. Brushing his hair out of his eyes (but not bothering to put a damn shirt on), he went over and opened it. He hadn't been expecting company, and who he saw truly surprised him.