this is not a hardship
You know what you all should do? You should go out and write Kevin Jonas/Mike Carden and then post it at sodamnskippy. You should also join that, by the way. And write. This is the pairing of my soul, friends. The pairing of my soul.
“There is something seriously wrong with you.”
Kevin jerks his head up. Carden is looming above him, half under the overhang. He’s got an army jacket on, rain beading up on the canvas, and fingers pinching a cigarette, hand half curled over the tip to keep it dry.
Carden stares down at him. He shifts a little, gaze dropping to the kittens in Kevin’s lap, then he rolls his eyes. He flicks his cigarette out into the rain and grabs the handlebars of Kevin’s bike from where it’s leaning up against the side of the shed. “Come on,” he says, and then he starts off across the field without looking back.
“Uh.” Kevin scrambles to his feet, juggling the kittens. Two of them have fallen asleep, lumped together. The third paws at his sweatshirt, and its mouth opens in a soundless, pathetic meow. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers, then follows Carden up into the parking lot. He at least needs to get his bike back.
When he gets to Carden’s car, though - an old, beat-up Bronco - Carden’s already trying to stuff his bike in the backseat.
“It, uh-there’s a lever to make it fold up,” Kevin says.
Carden gives a noncommittal grunt, but he steps back and lets Kevin move forward - and Kevin drops the squirmy, awake kitten in Carden’s hands on his way past, and when he turns back around again, Carden’s sort of-grinning down at it, and Kevin’s heart hitches, then starts pounding. It’s almost painful, being this breathless, but Carden is grinning at a kitten, and Kevin’s pretty sure he’s never seen that look on Carden’s face before.
“There is something seriously wrong with you.”
Kevin jerks his head up. Carden is looming above him, half under the overhang. He’s got an army jacket on, rain beading up on the canvas, and fingers pinching a cigarette, hand half curled over the tip to keep it dry.
Carden stares down at him. He shifts a little, gaze dropping to the kittens in Kevin’s lap, then he rolls his eyes. He flicks his cigarette out into the rain and grabs the handlebars of Kevin’s bike from where it’s leaning up against the side of the shed. “Come on,” he says, and then he starts off across the field without looking back.
“Uh.” Kevin scrambles to his feet, juggling the kittens. Two of them have fallen asleep, lumped together. The third paws at his sweatshirt, and its mouth opens in a soundless, pathetic meow. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers, then follows Carden up into the parking lot. He at least needs to get his bike back.
When he gets to Carden’s car, though - an old, beat-up Bronco - Carden’s already trying to stuff his bike in the backseat.
“It, uh-there’s a lever to make it fold up,” Kevin says.
Carden gives a noncommittal grunt, but he steps back and lets Kevin move forward - and Kevin drops the squirmy, awake kitten in Carden’s hands on his way past, and when he turns back around again, Carden’s sort of-grinning down at it, and Kevin’s heart hitches, then starts pounding. It’s almost painful, being this breathless, but Carden is grinning at a kitten, and Kevin’s pretty sure he’s never seen that look on Carden’s face before.