(no subject)
Chase swore to his bones that he could feel whenever something strange was coming on. Maybe he couldn't actually, but he'd written a thesis about the damn place. It was why, when he woke up, the first thing he did was roll onto his back, stare at the ceiling, and without even looking at himself, he uttered a loud 'fuck'.
Then he shut up because Nate might have heard and the last thing Chase needed was for Nate to pick up on the fact that his Dad's swearing away like a sailor.
He didn't risk looking over just yet, tugging the covers up even higher -- grateful that he'd worn a t-shirt and shorts to bed. He could feel the itch of the hair at the nape of his neck, the weight of his body resettled in new places, the muscles shifted. He didn't have to look to know those things. He just did.
"Fuck," he muttered again, quieter.
Then he shut up because Nate might have heard and the last thing Chase needed was for Nate to pick up on the fact that his Dad's swearing away like a sailor.
He didn't risk looking over just yet, tugging the covers up even higher -- grateful that he'd worn a t-shirt and shorts to bed. He could feel the itch of the hair at the nape of his neck, the weight of his body resettled in new places, the muscles shifted. He didn't have to look to know those things. He just did.
"Fuck," he muttered again, quieter.