(Untitled)

[soldier_singled]

It's been about an hour and Joe's been sitting on his bed with his heels on the edge of the mattress, biting the edge of his thumbnail and working his way through two cigarettes, one after the other. Every morning since they've both been there, he's been woken up by Web opening the door between the rooms. Every morning, but now it's mid-morning,

Comments

[thewordofweb]

I'd woken up at dawn thanks to the trusty circadian rhythms my body has come to produce and when I went to check on Joe, things went downhill very quickly. And no, no, it wasn't that I was upset because of our fight. I'm a big boy, I can handle it. I can even handle the inexplicably awkward kiss that I've written off as a mistake.

What I can't handle is waking up with tits. Tits and long hair and distinctly lacking various other parts of anatomy and one look in the shiniest surface I can find told me that yes, I was for all intents and purposes, a woman.

That had been when I crawled back into bed in my Harvard sweatshirt, baggy shorts and socks, dragged the covers over my head and resolved to wait it out. As if suffering a cold. I thought it'd be okay, even, until suddenly I hear the door swing open and I cringe heavily, curling tighter on myself and kicking myself for unlocking the door when I had meant to lock it tightly.

Shit. Go away, Joe, just go away. Think I'm pissed at you, I think in a constant litany.

[soldier_singled]

"Look, Web," says Joe, feeling a little awkward but determined to stick it out because he's a Paratrooper goddamnit, and he's not going to act like...

He's not leaving.

"I know you're pissed at me. After...I know you're pissed. But you've got to eat."

[thewordofweb]

In my head, I go through a litany of about ten swear words and then switch to German and swear a little more because of course Joe is this stubborn and determined and of course I can't escape this unscathed and sleep whatever this little bug is off. I don't move and the covers are my only bastion at this point.

All Joe gets is a grunt, because I don't need to eat. (Well, yes, yes, I do, as my growling stomach informs me, but fear of humiliation wins out, every time). Maybe, maybe I can feign sleep, at this point and I keep my eyes on the light coming in through the covers, still whispering to myself for Joe to go.

[soldier_singled]

During the long, sleepless night, Joe had sort of hoped that they were going to pretend that...it hadn't happened, but evidently that ain't gonna be the fuckin' case. Joe's jaw tightens and he takes a quick drag on his cigarette.

"Fuck," he hisses and then more out of habit than anything, he bends over and picks one of Web's t-shirts up off the floor. Back home, all those kids, he spent his life picking up the house for his Ma.

Maybe this ain't so different.

[thewordofweb]

Honest to god, part of me is reaching a boiling point because Joe is still there and I exhale shakily, trying to get my emotions under control. They're already having a hard time of it all considering the morning and now this little confrontation seems to be approaching inevitability and so I figure I might as well bring on the moment of humiliation.

I sit up, throwing the covers off and give Joe a long glare, bedraggled as I am. "Would you put the clothes down," I sharply remark, both fists digging into sheets and covers both and gripping tight.

[soldier_singled]

Jesus fuckin' Christ there's a broad in Web's bed and she's beautiful.

For a moment, Joe can't do anything but stare, t-shirt in one hand, pair of Webster's skivvies in the other. He just stares.

"...Shit. Christ, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I thought it was...my buddy in there."

[thewordofweb]

In a moment, I forget that I could just go with this and easily run with Joe's mistake because I'm so utterly fixated on my clothes in his hands (and which clothes, specifically) that my eyes widen slightly in a panic and irritation and I'm bristling at about ten things at once, at this point. "...Don't call me sweetheart," is all I can manage, still as sharp as before.

[soldier_singled]

It's the tone. It's the tone and the blue eyes and the posture and that's when Joe realises. The cigarette drops from between his lips and it takes a moments scrabbling to put it out.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ...Webster?"

[thewordofweb]

That's my apparent cue to shift right back to my side and yank the covers all the way over my head again because now that Joe understands the issue, he might just leave me the fuck alone. I do manage a miserable, "Yes," at him from beneath layers of fabric and don't know what else he wants.

It must be some kind of punishment. Maybe kissing Joe brought on this fable-like curse and I'm doomed until some mystical force undoes it.

[soldier_singled]

Christ. It is Webster. Joe figures it's some kind of magic island bullshit that's given Web a face that pretty. Joe's pretty sure he wouldn't be pleased if it was him, either.

"You can't stay there all day," he points out. "You're gonna suffocate in all those clothes, and you do gotta eat. C'mon. I'll make pancakes."

[thewordofweb]

My words come announced through the veil of pillows and sheets and hair in my face. "I am not going anywhere," I say, voice edging and crawling towards shrill in the sheer annoyance and panic that can only be seen as an understatement. "I am staying in bed and I weathering this out and when I open my eyes, everything is going to be different and I am going to be normal!" I announce to the universe at large and I shut them tight.

Except when I open them, I'm still the new me and I groan and manage to sit up, my breathing still quicker than before. "Joe, just fuck off, would you," I mutter, tone bitchy (the best way to put it). "Might as well leave before you catch it, too."

[soldier_singled]

"Catch it?" Joe arches both eyebrows, and, yeah, he laughs a little bit, even though he knows it's bound to make Webster spit like a kitten, pretty or not.

"I'm not sure you catch magic island bullshit, Webster," he says, folding the t-shirt in his hands. "I think you've just gotta...you know...ride it out. I think I read my kid sisters a story like this one once."

Yeah, he's laughing. Just a tiny little bit.

[thewordofweb]

"Oh, fuck you," I whine slightly and lean forward to grab my t-shirt back from Joe's hands, managing to unfold it in the process, but I do manage to swat at his wrists at the same time, gripping them to shove him off my clothes.

I yank the baggy sweatshirt tighter around me as I glare at him, more displeased than before. "Whatever deal you made with whatever pagan gods decide this, it's not fair," I spit out, shoving the covers aside and sitting on the edge of the bed, getting up for the first time since I woke up changed.

[soldier_singled]

Joe dances back a step, laughing a little bit when Web swatted at him, holding up both hands in surrender and dropped down into a crouch, putting his head lower than Web's and looking up at him, amusement still twitching in the corners of his mouth.

"I didn't do shit, Web, and you know it," he says. "You don't figure that an island that could yank our asses here and give you a boat couldn't come up with a pair of titties just to fuck with you?"

[thewordofweb]

Rolling my eyes, I manage to push at Joe's face with a hand, shoving it to the side before hunching my back and shoving a hand into the pockets of the hooded sweatshirt to conceal any existence of breasts, as if somehow if I ignore them, they'll go away. "So why are you normal, Newton?" I level back at him with heavy sarcasm. "Why me and not you?"

[soldier_singled]

Maybe it's because it's a slender woman's hand, but Joe has to resist the urge to turn his head and kiss the palm when Webster shoves his face.

"Shitty luck?" Joe shrugs. "I ain't sayin' I've got answers, Web."