The Stare *aka Mayn-payn*
Title: The Stare (Subtitled: Mayn-Payn)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 661
Pairing: Q-Tip/Christeson
Summary: Post OIF, Civilianfic, College verse. There are times when he catches the stare. He seems almost catatonic lost in thought. -- The war even haunts Q-Tip.
Author's Note: For the HBOWar-A-Thon @ tumblr
There are times when he catches the stare. He seems almost catatonic lost in thought. Any movement on John’s part is naturally just going to spook him out of the trance. It’s much like the way a deer that’s wandered out of the woods is scared by any sudden movement. Only, there is no fear, there is a mask and unspoken denial that he, Evan, had been lost in some thought. John could only presume this to be the case. He’d find Evan seated, on the bed, on the floor, on the couch, or at the dining room table just lost in that stare. Somewhere else and that stare was not the same as being lost in a thought staring out a window on a sunny day. John didn’t dare ask, “Where did you go?”
He’d come back to the house they share with a two other roommates, civilian university students and as trained, he’d come in silently. He saw Evan seated on the couch, back pressed to the cushion, one arm crossed over his chest, hand circled around the opposite arm just above the elbow, and his expression a void. John paused at the door and watched. He tried to memorize every detail as he saw it. He had a feeling his presence would be discovered.
It felt like forever that he stood frozen in the entryway watching Q-Tip stare at an imaginary spot on the wall just above the TV, which wasn’t even turned on. Then Q-Tip sniffed, he didn’t sniffle, but just drew in a noisy breath. John didn’t realize until then he’d been holding his. He let it out slow through his nostrils and then breathed more oxygen in. Evan had on a pair of white mesh on grey mesh athletic shorts that nearly covered his knees. John guessed he’d gone a size up and they’d hang lower once he stood. He had on white crew socks, pulled up straight to just covering his ankles. The white A-shirt, cheap and from a pack of five bought at a whatever-mart super center, clung to his all muscle sinewy frame. It left nothing to the imagination for every defined ab and peck as well as the rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t have a cap, bandana or rag on his head to cover up his wiry, curly hair that he’d recently shaved to a buzz.
“You gonna just stand there or what?”
The question startled John and he lowered his black backpack from where it hung on one shoulder. He didn’t move from where he stood, but he thought lowering his pack could be a sufficient response. Evan just sighed and twisted his head to look at John.
“You okay?” John asked, bag danging from his hand by the padded strap.
He usually unlaced his boots or shoes and put them toes facing the wall perfectly lined up at the edge of the entryway. He’d gone to his class wearing a yellow t-shirt with a ridiculous honeybadger cartoon drawn on it and the words “Honeybadger takes what it wants” on it. He had on a pair of woodland green cargo shorts he’d picked up at the Gap. His black on black vans completed the outfit.
Q-Tip slowly shook his head and pressed his lips together, tight.
John dropped his bag carelessly beside the couch and sunk onto the cushion next to Evan, resting sideways on his hip more than actually sitting.
“Mayn,” Evan started and then stopped.
He swiveled his head back and looked up at the spot above the TV and then up at the ceiling. John remained silent. Evan had the eagle, globe and anchor tattooed on his shoulder. John studied the black/green ink avoiding the awkwardness of an expectant concerned look boring a hole into Evan’s temple.
“Shit,” Evan sighed, wearily.
“I know,”
And Evan’s lips betrayed a grateful yet sympathetic smile.
John really did know. That made all the difference in the world.
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 661
Pairing: Q-Tip/Christeson
Summary: Post OIF, Civilianfic, College verse. There are times when he catches the stare. He seems almost catatonic lost in thought. -- The war even haunts Q-Tip.
Author's Note: For the HBOWar-A-Thon @ tumblr
There are times when he catches the stare. He seems almost catatonic lost in thought. Any movement on John’s part is naturally just going to spook him out of the trance. It’s much like the way a deer that’s wandered out of the woods is scared by any sudden movement. Only, there is no fear, there is a mask and unspoken denial that he, Evan, had been lost in some thought. John could only presume this to be the case. He’d find Evan seated, on the bed, on the floor, on the couch, or at the dining room table just lost in that stare. Somewhere else and that stare was not the same as being lost in a thought staring out a window on a sunny day. John didn’t dare ask, “Where did you go?”
He’d come back to the house they share with a two other roommates, civilian university students and as trained, he’d come in silently. He saw Evan seated on the couch, back pressed to the cushion, one arm crossed over his chest, hand circled around the opposite arm just above the elbow, and his expression a void. John paused at the door and watched. He tried to memorize every detail as he saw it. He had a feeling his presence would be discovered.
It felt like forever that he stood frozen in the entryway watching Q-Tip stare at an imaginary spot on the wall just above the TV, which wasn’t even turned on. Then Q-Tip sniffed, he didn’t sniffle, but just drew in a noisy breath. John didn’t realize until then he’d been holding his. He let it out slow through his nostrils and then breathed more oxygen in. Evan had on a pair of white mesh on grey mesh athletic shorts that nearly covered his knees. John guessed he’d gone a size up and they’d hang lower once he stood. He had on white crew socks, pulled up straight to just covering his ankles. The white A-shirt, cheap and from a pack of five bought at a whatever-mart super center, clung to his all muscle sinewy frame. It left nothing to the imagination for every defined ab and peck as well as the rise and fall of his chest. He didn’t have a cap, bandana or rag on his head to cover up his wiry, curly hair that he’d recently shaved to a buzz.
“You gonna just stand there or what?”
The question startled John and he lowered his black backpack from where it hung on one shoulder. He didn’t move from where he stood, but he thought lowering his pack could be a sufficient response. Evan just sighed and twisted his head to look at John.
“You okay?” John asked, bag danging from his hand by the padded strap.
He usually unlaced his boots or shoes and put them toes facing the wall perfectly lined up at the edge of the entryway. He’d gone to his class wearing a yellow t-shirt with a ridiculous honeybadger cartoon drawn on it and the words “Honeybadger takes what it wants” on it. He had on a pair of woodland green cargo shorts he’d picked up at the Gap. His black on black vans completed the outfit.
Q-Tip slowly shook his head and pressed his lips together, tight.
John dropped his bag carelessly beside the couch and sunk onto the cushion next to Evan, resting sideways on his hip more than actually sitting.
“Mayn,” Evan started and then stopped.
He swiveled his head back and looked up at the spot above the TV and then up at the ceiling. John remained silent. Evan had the eagle, globe and anchor tattooed on his shoulder. John studied the black/green ink avoiding the awkwardness of an expectant concerned look boring a hole into Evan’s temple.
“Shit,” Evan sighed, wearily.
“I know,”
And Evan’s lips betrayed a grateful yet sympathetic smile.
John really did know. That made all the difference in the world.