WIP Meme
Post a sentence (or two or a paragraph) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached.
Jon lead Ryan to a seat in one of the back rows, partially hidden by shadows. The theater was already beginning to get crowded, and Ryan’s natural instinct to avoid attention appreciated the shadows. He had no idea what story they were going to be seeing, and he didn’t much care. With a soft sigh, Ryan leaned to the side of his seat, dropping his head onto Jon’s shoulder. The older man laughed a little, softly, and laced their hands together on the armrest of the seat.
----
The hot California sun beat down on a small black coupe as it sped along the highway; one in the long lines of cars streaming towards the Los Angeles metropolitan area one Saturday in mid-September. A quiet, dark-haired 17 year old boy sat statically in the passenger seat of the car, hazel eyes fixed on the suburbs just visible off the highway. His posture was closed off, curled away from the smartly dressed young woman sitting in the drivers seat.
----
Still, when Ryan curled up tight against Jon’s side one night and admitted that most of his problems (his inability to trust people, his tendency towards infidelity) stemmed from the fact that he didn’t really believe people wanted him, he hadn’t expected Jon to see as far into the little window he’d opened as the older man did. He took the little insight that Ryan gave him, and was able to make more of it then Ryan had in 23 years.
Jon lead Ryan to a seat in one of the back rows, partially hidden by shadows. The theater was already beginning to get crowded, and Ryan’s natural instinct to avoid attention appreciated the shadows. He had no idea what story they were going to be seeing, and he didn’t much care. With a soft sigh, Ryan leaned to the side of his seat, dropping his head onto Jon’s shoulder. The older man laughed a little, softly, and laced their hands together on the armrest of the seat.
----
The hot California sun beat down on a small black coupe as it sped along the highway; one in the long lines of cars streaming towards the Los Angeles metropolitan area one Saturday in mid-September. A quiet, dark-haired 17 year old boy sat statically in the passenger seat of the car, hazel eyes fixed on the suburbs just visible off the highway. His posture was closed off, curled away from the smartly dressed young woman sitting in the drivers seat.
----
Still, when Ryan curled up tight against Jon’s side one night and admitted that most of his problems (his inability to trust people, his tendency towards infidelity) stemmed from the fact that he didn’t really believe people wanted him, he hadn’t expected Jon to see as far into the little window he’d opened as the older man did. He took the little insight that Ryan gave him, and was able to make more of it then Ryan had in 23 years.