Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
The thing was, Jamie didn't see the guy seething. There was nothing teeming, massing behind like, blue eyes and a broad smile. Seven's voice was markedly relaxed, it had like, chill written through and it was like idk, not sandpaper, but the scrape of a fingernail just light enough to lift the hairs at the back of Jamie's neck. It wasn't the same, walking into a hotel room with the guy as it would have been if the guy had been like, ruffled but like, did it need to be? Jamie bit the side of his lip, paused outside the door waiting for the guy to fish the keycard into the door and expected - well, what exactly? Ritzy room. The hotel wasn't like, going to turn out anything less than four star if the lobby had shit to do with it. Jamie wasn't like, intimidated by money. But he watched the side of Seven's face, where the shadow fell across the slice of his jaw, his nose and looked at him as he muscled the door open. The thing was, he knew Seven saw stuff in money, in the way wealth felt, that it was like looking at the surface and seeing through water.
"A VIP? Are you Very or Important?" and yeah, it felt like, a little, entitlement. But that wasn't bratty, it was just like the guy had hit the point where shit like this was due, yk? This wasn't the guy who'd had a friend fall, unregulated under the table work or whatever, Seven who swanned into the - not room, but fuck-off suite. He like, wore it like cologne, and Jamie barely heard him talk about different worlds, and fishes, and watched the guy shed his coat and his tie with the relaxed ease that furled in Jamie's throat, petalling like a flower.
"You get this isn't like, a room. This is an apartment," Jamie said, seriously. His mouth ticked at the corner, his gaze sifted over Seven's face, to the top button of his shirt. He looked way more normal half-dressed than in the suit, and like, for a second - for a second, he thought about kissing the guy. The way Seven's mouth caught, spread like he'd heard the best goddamn joke. It felt for a second, like real. He could imagine it, the same way he could imagine the cotton of the guy's shirt against his palm. For a second, it felt so real he kinda swayed weight over his knee to turn toward the guy, and Jamie hesitated, the weight of his gaze on the guy's mouth.
It wasn't like, the flare of lighting fuel. Like, Jamie could push that shit, meld into it. Instead, it felt like, realler. Momentary, as the seconds stretched. He could see, under the lights, the fan of faint lines at the sides of Seven's eyes as the guy smiled.
And nah, he didn't want room service, from the phone in what was like, seriously a living room. Jamie shrugged out of the denim jacket that felt like, ridiculous in the room and rolled his shoulder, his right in clinging cotton tee. "I'm good here." He leaned forward, deliberately, and tugged his sneakers loose enough to kick them off. "Don't like, fall asleep in there."