1.86.1.E. Sweet - Love is Like Oxygen
Time is no healer
If you're not there
Lonely fever
Sad words in the air
Mohinder sat on the fire escape, staring out over the empty block at the back of the apartments.
A book rested on his lap, untouched for the last two hours. Some small part of his mind was tuned into the apartment, but in reality he didn’t listen. The far off look in his eyes was familiar, the suggestion of deep thoughts when in truth there was none.
He was remembering.
His fingers brushed absently over his wrist, feeling the warm leather and metal of his watch. He didn’t wear it for keeping track of the time, it hadn’t run in nearly three months, permanently locked onto ten past five and thirty six seconds. The moment he’d hit the ground and heard the gunshots. He wore it so he couldn’t forget, so that moment couldn’t ever fade into obscurity.
He was recalling the feel of fine calloused hands in his own, the weight of a sharp shoulder leaning against his own. He was conjuring the memories of a wide, wolfish smile and a shy laugh and wicked, wicked chuckle when hands curled on his hips to move him out of the way.
The scent of chai, drifting under his nose-
“Mohinder?”
He blinked and looked over, hand dropping from his wrist. “Hm?”
“Matt made tea for you.” She held up the cup.
“Oh.” He took it, inhaling the scent, hands cupping the green tea cup. “Thank you. It’s just what I needed.”
Word Count: 243
If you're not there
Lonely fever
Sad words in the air
Mohinder sat on the fire escape, staring out over the empty block at the back of the apartments.
A book rested on his lap, untouched for the last two hours. Some small part of his mind was tuned into the apartment, but in reality he didn’t listen. The far off look in his eyes was familiar, the suggestion of deep thoughts when in truth there was none.
He was remembering.
His fingers brushed absently over his wrist, feeling the warm leather and metal of his watch. He didn’t wear it for keeping track of the time, it hadn’t run in nearly three months, permanently locked onto ten past five and thirty six seconds. The moment he’d hit the ground and heard the gunshots. He wore it so he couldn’t forget, so that moment couldn’t ever fade into obscurity.
He was recalling the feel of fine calloused hands in his own, the weight of a sharp shoulder leaning against his own. He was conjuring the memories of a wide, wolfish smile and a shy laugh and wicked, wicked chuckle when hands curled on his hips to move him out of the way.
The scent of chai, drifting under his nose-
“Mohinder?”
He blinked and looked over, hand dropping from his wrist. “Hm?”
“Matt made tea for you.” She held up the cup.
“Oh.” He took it, inhaling the scent, hands cupping the green tea cup. “Thank you. It’s just what I needed.”
Word Count: 243