(no subject)

Adam paces his room, thoughts swirling in his head. He can't stop thinking about it - the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she tasted. But most of all the she. And tomorrow he must go and deal with her brother - her cute brother - and not say anything, not do anything, certainly not fuck anything up.

He thinks of the past year, of all the men, and all the boys. He thinks of the bar and the school, he thinks of Paul.

Three times he's almost left the flat to go back to the apartment, three times he was at the door with his things, ready to go, ready to go back and find her, go back and find him, go back and find anybody. Go back and get a drink to help clear his head.

His mind keeps playing all the moments over and over again. Her smile, her laugh, his hands, his voice, the way she looks at him.

Adam searches through Crowley's flat until he finds what he's looking for - a bottle of something, anything, just to help him relax. He sits down, and when he drinks, he thinks of her.

Adam-Lucy-Edmund, WTF

( In which Hat and Mir help me understand my own brain, and why it actually worked out the way it should have without that being the intention. )

(no subject)

Adam lays in the bed at Crowley's flat, bruised and battered. The girl- Lucy, it was Lucy who'd helped him here. Lucy had tried her drink again, and it hadn't just tasted bad this time, it had burned. Burned all the way down, and Adam choked and begged her to bring him here.

He knows he's alive- most of the time, anyway. But it hurts to breathe, and it hurts to move, and it hurts to be. But he is.