Upstairs, room 1001

[2goodarms]

It's late. Maybe. Late enough for Curtis to dim the lights in his and Edgar's room, anyway; he's been trying to follow the cues of the rest of the building, switching off the lights if he notices they're dimmer downstairs, or turning them on if bright light from the hallway starts to seep under their door.

It feels like controlling the movement of the sun. Controlling some small chunk of the world.

He doesn't know if he likes it.

But if he doesn't do it, it makes the time distortions feel even worse, so he'll just have to suck it the hell up.

The ambient noise on either side of them is all well and good, but hearing another person breathing an arm's length away calms Curtis way more than he expected. While he's not asleep yet, he's blinking drowsily at the ceiling, not much longer for the waking world.

Comments

[dejah_thoris]

There's a soft, tentative knock at the door.

[2goodarms]

It's soft enough that Curtis almost misses it. After half a second's thought, he realizes: no, that wasn't something dropping onto the floor next door, or someone knocking really loudly halfway down the hall.

Huh.

Scrubbing at his eyes, as if to physically clear the sleep away, he hauls himself out of bed and shuffles to the door. Low enough that he hopefully won't wake Edgar: "Yeah?"

[dejah_thoris]

"It's me." Her voice is pitched low, as tentative as the knock. "I just -- I hope it's not too late."

[2goodarms]

His eyebrows go up.

After a few sleepy seconds of fumbling with the door, Curtis pulls it open just enough to stick his head out. Surprise plain, he says, "No, uh -- s'fine. What's going on?"

They haven't seen each other, even in passing, since Dejah took those initial measurements for the prosthesis. Whatever's going on, he thinks, it must be serious.

[dejah_thoris]

She's clutching a piece of paper, folded in thirds. His name is written on the outside in a precise flowing script.

"Nothing, I just..." She tries to gauge his body language in the shadow of the doorway. "You said if I ever wanted to -- stop by. I can go, if you're sleeping."

[2goodarms]

Quickly, Curtis shakes his head and pushes the door open a foot further. "I wasn't asleep yet," he says.

His gaze flicks to the paper; he frowns, just a touch, at the sight of his name.

[dejah_thoris]

Her fingers fidget with the paper and she extends it to him. "Just a letter. Some thoughts I had. We haven't -- had much of a chance to talk, you and I. And I thought maybe -- we could. Some place where you're comfortable. Your place, as it were."

The words twist in her mouth and she grins, looking down at her bare toes poking out from under her skirt.

[2goodarms]

Curtis squeezes his right shoulder around the door so he can take the letter. When Dejah grins, he finds himself answering it unconsciously: not as big as hers, but not the barely-there wisps of a smile he's shown so often, either.

"I," he begins, only to be interrupted by a noise further inside the room.

[hate_gettin_older]

A voice, in fact. Bleary and only half-awake, but distinct: "Cur's? W'sgoinon, man?"

And Edgar's face comes into view past Curtis's shoulder, one hand rubbing his eyes. He's got an epic case of bedhead, and he's wearing only a pair of boxers and a strappy t-shirt.

He blinks at the newcomer, vaguely bewildered.

[dejah_thoris]

Dejah jumps back as if she's been burned, eyes wide and lips parted. Her cheeks pale and her breath hitches in her throat.

"I -- I'm sorry -- I had no idea." She takes another step back, one rising to rest on her chest.

[2goodarms]

"It's nothing, go back to -- " Curtis starts to say to Edgar, only to be drawn up short by Dejah's reaction. The smile vanishes; he glances from Edgar to Dejah, forehead wrinkling.

That's...a level of shock he didn't anticipate, even if he is still about one-quarter asleep.

"It's fine," he tries again.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar, meanwhile, blinks at Curtis and then at Dejah, still with that fuzzy bemusement that hasn't yet cohered into an actual question.

[dejah_thoris]

She looks to Curtis and back to Edgar. Her gaze lights on the younger man, and for a moment, for a very brief moment, it looks like she's been stabbed in the gut.

"I should go," she breathes, and before the words are out, she whirls and sets off down the corridor at almost a run. One hand reaches out to touch the wall as she goes, as if to steady herself.

[2goodarms]

"Dejah -- "

It's too late: she's already halfway down the hall.

"Son of a bitch," Curtis swears. He shoulders past Edgar and dashes to his hammock, shoving the letter underneath his rumpled blankets before running back to the door.

What the hell. What the hell just happened.

[hate_gettin_older]

"Curtis, what --" Edgar's definitely more awake, and alarmed.

When Curtis moves back to the door, Edgar pushes it wider to follow him.

[2goodarms]

Yeah, considering Dejah's reaction when she caught side of Edgar --

"No. Stay here," Curtis orders. "I'll be back in a second."

Without waiting for a response, he takes off after her.

[dejah_thoris]

She reaches down and grasps a handful of her skirts, flips them around her wrist and picks up the pace. She can hear feet moving down the corridor. Heading for the stairwell, she feels like her throat is closing.

She hisses under her breath. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

Without looking back, she bypasses the lift and heads straight for the door at the end of the corridor.

[2goodarms]

As the last of the sleep-fog clears, Curtis' brain whirs to life and clatters along its tracks. Dejah shows up; Dejah's fine until she sees Curtis isn't alone; Dejah freaks the fuck out and runs away.

...Dejah mentioned the last time they spoke that Curtis reminded her of her dead husband.

Oh, for fuck's sake, please say this is a joke.

He follows through the door three seconds after her. Score one for gym workouts and proper nutrition: he's not winded to hell and back yet.

[dejah_thoris]

She's half a flight of stairs above him and he can hear her feet, can hear her breath, high and tight. "What were you thinking, hmm? What in the seven hells were you thinking?" Her voice is thready with anger, and something else. Pain.

[2goodarms]

If that's directed at him, he can save it for later. If that's directed at herself -- well, he might have to save that for later, too, because seriously, for fuck's sake.

"Dejah!"

[dejah_thoris]

He can hear her steps falter, slow.

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry, I didn't know."

She doesn't stop, but if he hurries he might catch up with her.

[2goodarms]

He puts on a final burst of speed, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reaches Dejah, Curtis has to stop, plant his hand on the wall, and heave in a few extra breaths before he can speak.

Fuck big spaces, man. Fuck endurance running.

"Dejah," he finally manages after a couple seconds. "What the hell."

He still hopes he's got this wrong.

[dejah_thoris]

He's managed to plant himself between her and the next flight of stairs, halting her ascent. She's breathing hard, too, and her cheeks are wet.

"I didn't know. I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Curtis. You should go back."

She makes as if to dart passed him up the stairs.

[2goodarms]

...This is worse than he thought. Jesus.

Curtis shifts to try and intercept her. He keeps his hand up, palm out, as he eyes Dejah. "Edgar's from the train," he says. "He's not used to sleeping alone. That's it."

She's not the first person to wonder if there's more going on between Curtis and Edgar, but for God's sake, the kid's half his age and Curtis changed his diapers a couple decades back.

[dejah_thoris]

She takes a step back, her gaze directed anywhere but at him until he speaks. She looks up at him, wide-eyed, her heart and head churning as she tries to put together what he's telling her.

"He's.. from the..?"