Re: The Apartment: Jamie/Seven
It probably looked chill. Like, to a casual observer, Seven slung over the end of Jamie's - Mars's - couch like the room could just about fit around him, saran-wrapped tightly over a guy bigger than Mars's spindly way of folding herself up like an umbrella, more red hair than the rest of her and Jamie wasn't like, bulky. To a casual observer, the seamline of Jamie's thigh, his knee, in sweatpants was pressure against Seven's jeans, the guy's shoulders sagged comfortably against the back of a couch way too beat-up to qualify all the way as 'vintage' but def walking that line. But it wasn't.
Yeah, Cat was oblivious, but Cat had like, half-slit eyes and her claws furled just, like she could knife him if he moved even a little. Cat was cool, it was Jamie who was hanging out with what felt way uncertain, the fissure of bubbles in the pit of his stomach which was way too fucking close to butterflies. There was nothing fucking chill about it, and Jamie was like, a half-beat too late on the whole bed thing, because he had turned his chin into the knit of his own shoulder to observe the guy fully, the wash of faded, silky gold over the back of the couch and Jamie reached, with the kind of thoughtlessness of wanting and doing before he could think about wanting, and worked his fingers into it. The guy's hair was still outside-cool, like water, and Seven's thumb was pressure against his hand and none of it was fucking doing a thing to chill shit back out.
"It's normal sized. You'd need my entire apartment for that fucking thing," Seven's bed and Jamie sounded way steadier than he felt, his voice didn't like, crack or that kind of shit. "She has teeth." Which was a warning, as Cat yawned, and displayed tiny knives and Seven's shoes hit the floor.
He hadn't been all about contact. Like before, bodies had been tools. His own was kinda worn-down, shiny in places, the springs kinked instead of coiled tight, but bodies were bodies and he had gotten way used to touching people, peripheral, the way they slid together and apart was a day by day, rehearsal kind of feeling. Now, the heat of the guy's hip at his own felt livid, Seven's hand in his was the kind of warm that was generous about staying that way and yeah, okay butterflies.
"I kinda wanted to see you." Which was true, and he looked at Seven's face, like, tried to read the shit out of it, as if there he could figure out why Seven wanted to see Jamie, given he'd ditched him in a diner wearing day-old sweat and Jamie's mouth kinda dried out. "Holly thinks I should ask you out."