Re: The Apartment: Jamie/Seven
The architecture, the modern-minimalist design shit, that was one thing, yeah? He’d paid somebody to design his house who actually gave a shit about it, about the clean lines and the overall aesthetic that he knew probably read cold to most people. Seven liked it because all he’d had to do was approve the mockups, the paint swatches, the tile samples. And because it was about as far in the opposite direction as the way he’d grown up that it was possible to get. He paid people to keep it at that level of sterility under the constant scatter of Sawyer’s toys underfoot, because he could afford it, and couldn’t see the logic in not doing it. And again - as far away as possible, yeah?
Some of Seven’s hair slipped over his forehead after he’d tugged his fingers through it, clean strands soft and slippery as he blew it back out of his face with a big exhale. He rolled his head on his neck again so that he was looking up at Jamie from where he’d slumped deeper into the couch cushions. A smile ticked at the corner of his mouth again after a moment. “Just that I need to keep it simple. Answer any questions she has, be honest and direct. Pretty much the exact same thing your sister said.” He felt his face soften at the edges as Jamie stroked over the line of his eyebrow, the pad of his thumb warm and smooth. The smile widened again when Jamie called him an asshole for the second time in as many minutes.
“So noted.” With a quiet snort. He’d let the path of Jamie’s touch smooth away the consternation on his forehead, and turned closer into the touch so that the guy’s palm nudged against his temple. To himself, he wondered what he could do to coax this side of Jamie out more. The reassurance that was sweetly sincere, not over-earnest. The fond affection. Was this just Jamie trying? “Okay,” he said simply, blinking up at the guy, holding his gaze steady now. “I’ve told you before, yeah? Anything you want, Jamie.”