Re: log: sam, russ, and louis
Louis's voice rang with something Russ hadn't heard too often in the yawn of years between being a kid and being a man but he recognized as easily as if he'd heard it every day. Disappointment, and that dismissal was coldly polite, like Louis was too good-mannered to tell him to go fuck himself the way he probably would have if it was all reversed. He'd fucked it: the trip over to see the new place and he knew he had before Sam said all that shit from across the distance by the door, like glass breaking into pieces, splinters.
It was familiar and it wasn't, like a circus mirror tilted up against the wall in a fairground fun-house, the truth warped and twisted like the hotel prying out memories and putting them into glasses. He was pissed, and he wasn't and Russ looked at Louis, blankly, like trying to stuff the whole mess back into the bottle wasn't real likely to happen at all. He'd never wanted a beer more and the remembered itch scratched somewhere out of reach.
"It's a real nice place," he said, the words tight against his teeth and his hands dug into his pockets because he couldn't figure what else to do with them, and feeling like ten years old and shit broken that couldn't be put back together or paid for, the looming threat of some kind of punishment heavy overhead. "But I probably," he shrugged one shoulder toward the door, shut tight. Louis didn't want him anymore than Sam had wanted to stick the fuck around.