Re: Log: Seven/Liam
And that was it, wasn't it? The goddamned typewriter. It was the only anchor in this whole sinking-ship-mess of a room, drawing the gaze of his green eyes and holding him down, stuck in place, like a sash weight. For just a moment he remembered back to the time when he had decided to buy it for a man that he loved more than anything - recalled the weight of the keys under his fingers and the click-clack sound that it had made as he imagined all of the words that Liam would tap out on reams of creamy white paper.
And then he was there. Swaying in the doorway of what must have been the master bedroom, with the rounded part of his palm pressed against his eye, hair disheveled in a way that made Seven want to reach out and comb his fingers through it.
There it was. The distance. The complete and utter indifference that made itself known in the even timbre of Liam's voice, like he was talking about the fucking weather. "That so?" Seven murmured, dragging his teeth over his own bottom lip, an attempt to ground himself in the roughness of that scrape. He lifted a hand so that long and calloused fingers ghosted over the keys, tracing out words unsaid. "It looks expensive. Someone must have loved you a lot."