Does he want to talk about Lecter some more? Will's eyes close, eyebrows going up, mouth opening in a horrified pain that quickly recedes back into a self-deprecating smile. "You know, I think I've talked about him enough for the rest of my life?" He sits back a bit heavier in the chair, thighs each pressing against either arm of it, staring at his coffee. "Or at least until tomorrow. The after-I've-slept tomorrow, not... This is technically tomorrow, I guess." Nearly there, at least. Will barely cares enough to glance at his (weatherproof, or he'd be in trouble) watch and confirm that it's a few minutes past midnight.
Will looks over, watches Rust start his deposited cigarette back up again. The smoke curls into the room, a scent Will had never really cared for but apparently got adjusted to while he was busy dripping all over the man's carpet. The renewal of the scent is the only thing that reaches him, stuffy and hot and aching in his own chest.
The procrastinator's suicide. To be fair, Will thinks that phrase fits a lot of behaviors a lot of people have, to be fair. "Actually, yeah." Will sips his coffee, the only prop his habits are offering him while he sits in Rust's lawn chair in Rust's living room. "Did you want to explain why you've got a whole carton of those in your cabinet? I was looking for a spoon and found your end-of-days stash."
*
He doesn't mean to fall asleep. Will so rarely wants to fall asleep, even when he's tucked himself into bed at home, dogs on the floor by the fireplace.
Mud squelches under his feet, nearly sucking him in and catching his ankles. Will keeps walking, slow and steady, ignoring everything except what's ahead. The lake gathers around his feet and then under. Walking soft across the lake's surface, feet causing ripples and no more, Will comes to the center of the water and looks down.
His own corpse stares back at him, green and pale and eyeless.
Will jerks awake, eyes opening to a flurry of motion right in front of them. He realizes, after listening to them bounce off the arm of the chair, that his glasses just fell off.
He heaves a sigh, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, leaning the other elbow into his thighs while he rocks forward. He's pretty sure he wasn't talking in his sleep, and he didn't yell when he woke up, just-- startled breathing.
It's almost pitch-black, but Will thinks he saw what woke him. "Rust?" There's only slats of light coming in from street lamps outside. Even the distant kitchen light is off. In a room that's only newly familiar, Will takes a moment to orient himself. He clearly fell asleep in the lawn chair. Rust's bed is in this room. So, logically, Rust was turning off the lights and heading back over to...
Will's words come on the tail end of a heavy, grounding sigh. It's far from the worst nightmare he's ever had, and they've all been less gripping after the encephalitis was treated. He's already shaking it off. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pass out on you in your bedroom."
no subject
Will looks over, watches Rust start his deposited cigarette back up again. The smoke curls into the room, a scent Will had never really cared for but apparently got adjusted to while he was busy dripping all over the man's carpet. The renewal of the scent is the only thing that reaches him, stuffy and hot and aching in his own chest.
The procrastinator's suicide. To be fair, Will thinks that phrase fits a lot of behaviors a lot of people have, to be fair. "Actually, yeah." Will sips his coffee, the only prop his habits are offering him while he sits in Rust's lawn chair in Rust's living room. "Did you want to explain why you've got a whole carton of those in your cabinet? I was looking for a spoon and found your end-of-days stash."
*
He doesn't mean to fall asleep. Will so rarely wants to fall asleep, even when he's tucked himself into bed at home, dogs on the floor by the fireplace.
Mud squelches under his feet, nearly sucking him in and catching his ankles. Will keeps walking, slow and steady, ignoring everything except what's ahead. The lake gathers around his feet and then under. Walking soft across the lake's surface, feet causing ripples and no more, Will comes to the center of the water and looks down.
His own corpse stares back at him, green and pale and eyeless.
Will jerks awake, eyes opening to a flurry of motion right in front of them. He realizes, after listening to them bounce off the arm of the chair, that his glasses just fell off.
He heaves a sigh, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, leaning the other elbow into his thighs while he rocks forward. He's pretty sure he wasn't talking in his sleep, and he didn't yell when he woke up, just-- startled breathing.
It's almost pitch-black, but Will thinks he saw what woke him. "Rust?" There's only slats of light coming in from street lamps outside. Even the distant kitchen light is off. In a room that's only newly familiar, Will takes a moment to orient himself. He clearly fell asleep in the lawn chair. Rust's bed is in this room. So, logically, Rust was turning off the lights and heading back over to...
Will's words come on the tail end of a heavy, grounding sigh. It's far from the worst nightmare he's ever had, and they've all been less gripping after the encephalitis was treated. He's already shaking it off. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pass out on you in your bedroom."