Return. [RP for John's husbands.]
[SET ON SUNDAY, APRIL 17th]
The small suite wasn’t too bad, actually. John had stayed in worse in his time. It wasn’t anything like his homey apartment he had with Doug and Jean-Paul, of course. But he didn’t want it to be. It was just a temporary place to stay.
It was already furnished -- small bed and dresser in the bedroom, small kitchen with a table, old but decent sofa and a television. No pictures, or decorations, or anything like that. Not that John was good with that sort of thing -- it was all JP’s doing, and John didn’t want that here anyway.
So he unpacked the few belongings he had with him, shoved the dufflebag in the closet. He went into the livingroom and stood there, hands on his hips and looked around. It was tempting to just stay there. Turn on the tv and mindlessly watch it, avoiding the outside world.
But, nah. Time to move on, he supposed.
He slipped on a hoodie over his t-shirt, grabbed his keys and shoved them in his pockets, and he went out.
Freedom again. It was -- weird. Kinda nice, but weird.
He walked about, for what could’ve been hours but felt like minutes, weaving in and out of the crowds, passing by familiar places with barely a glance, just trying to keep walking and walking and not thinking.
He lost track of the time but eventually he ended up at Central Park. He found a bench to sit on, took his cell phone out of his pocket, and stared at it. Stared and stared and stared.
And then he sent a text to his husbands.
So. Sitting in Central Park. Where’re you?
The small suite wasn’t too bad, actually. John had stayed in worse in his time. It wasn’t anything like his homey apartment he had with Doug and Jean-Paul, of course. But he didn’t want it to be. It was just a temporary place to stay.
It was already furnished -- small bed and dresser in the bedroom, small kitchen with a table, old but decent sofa and a television. No pictures, or decorations, or anything like that. Not that John was good with that sort of thing -- it was all JP’s doing, and John didn’t want that here anyway.
So he unpacked the few belongings he had with him, shoved the dufflebag in the closet. He went into the livingroom and stood there, hands on his hips and looked around. It was tempting to just stay there. Turn on the tv and mindlessly watch it, avoiding the outside world.
But, nah. Time to move on, he supposed.
He slipped on a hoodie over his t-shirt, grabbed his keys and shoved them in his pockets, and he went out.
Freedom again. It was -- weird. Kinda nice, but weird.
He walked about, for what could’ve been hours but felt like minutes, weaving in and out of the crowds, passing by familiar places with barely a glance, just trying to keep walking and walking and not thinking.
He lost track of the time but eventually he ended up at Central Park. He found a bench to sit on, took his cell phone out of his pocket, and stared at it. Stared and stared and stared.
And then he sent a text to his husbands.
So. Sitting in Central Park. Where’re you?