Re: Quicklog, Clem's lakehouse: Graham R/Shane A
[He could do fucking different if he fucking tried, yeah? But that was the thing with Graham—he didn't like to try. Shane didn't either, to be fucking honest about it, but he still did it a helluva lot more than his friend. Because things changed or whatever, and he just fucking rolled with it. There was no use resisting, when it came the fuck down to it, so, largely, he didn't, yeah? He didn't hold the fuck onto things. Not like Graham (though, who fucking did?).—He wasn't surprised by the reception on his friend's part, yeah? Not really. But Shane wouldn't have been fucking surprised if it'd gone the other way either. Graham was hard to read, yeah, but he was predictable in that or whatever. Unlike Peaches though, Shane didn't fucking care, not really.
He wanted fucking Graham to be receptive to shit—the way everyone fucking did, yeah?—but if he hadn't been, Shane could've moved on easy. It was just how he was. He didn't fucking wish shit was different than it was, but he'd never been that kind of man. Ambition? Guilt? Whatever the fuck it was that made people think that way, it wasn't him.
He got the betrayal or whatever, the feelings of it—or, better fucking put, he got why Graham felt them, because he'd known him long enough. He just thought it was stupid. More stupid now he had a new fucking baby. Being held back before was whatever, yeah? Jake was across the fucking country. But now, the baby needed her fucking dad—he couldn't fucking pretend it was before, not with proof right there, rosy cheeks and all.
Shane rolled his eyes at the admission that Graham thought Clementine wanted to be in her kid's life more than she was now.] No fucking kidding, Sherlock. She said she wanted you to have her, yeah, but you think all that time with her before, she's just gonna forget? And you giving her permission to see the kid—that doesn't fucking help. [The man shrugged in his robe, rubbing his palms together, before shoving fingers through his flyaway hair. Shane bumped his shoulder again Graham's playfully—well, as fucking playfully as he got, wry smile and low-lidded blue eyes.] You wanna come with us—when we go or whatever? Try?