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[hymned_in]

The rain had arrived the day after Eugene, and for most of the month he's been unable to shake the pervasive thought that he'd brought it with him. It had seemed to mirror his mood: Dank and gray and a little confused, as if it wasn't certain whether it wanted to become a genuine storm or simply simmer up there instead. When it breaks, though,

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[whatdiesinside]

He'd missed Shari today, though he doubts she took it badly at all. The first thing he'd done when he saw sun slanting through the window was sigh out a breath it felt like he'd been holding all month, and his face gone sore from lack of sleep had finally relaxed into it. All morning, Snafu had just slept, dead to the world. When he woke up, he'd almost expected to be on the train again, find out it was a long, ugly dream and they'd still been cutting through New Mexico, but the barracks were still there, the sun was still shining and he feels okay, finally

[hymned_in]

"Just notes," is Eugene's reply, tone infinitely more patient than the day he'd arrived, or hell, most days since, cooped up in the same space and trying to decide whether he wanted to beat his funk or give into it. "More room than a Bible, at least," although the truth is it feels strange, all this bright, pristine paper waiting to be filled.

[whatdiesinside]

Finally deciding on a place for his hands, he braces them further back on the rock, leans against it like something cold-blooded, ready to soak up the sun before it gets moving. "Lost that, did you," he asks, looking sideways at Eugene to see if the answer comes with a reaction, more meaning in it than words. "Gonna start a new tally, let me know how long we been here once Christmas rolls around?"

[hymned_in]

"There's an actual calendar here," Eugene points out as he sets the notebook aside and digs into his pockets for his pipe. There's plenty written between the lines of that Bible comment, but he doesn't feel like rising to the bait, not today, no matter how much Snafu might want him to.

"I could start a tally of how many times that muffin girl tells you no, now that might be useful information to have," he adds with a barely-restrained smirk.

[whatdiesinside]

Eyes rolling in tandem with the lift and tilt of his head, Snafu managed an unimpressed stare before he has to let out a short laugh: Eugene's fucking got him there. "She's sayin' no for now, but she still comes 'round," he says lightly, hooding his eyes and tilting his chin in false confidence.

It's not like he expects any of them to say yes; not to him, not anymore. "Maybe she's waiting for you to ask. You go on ahead, I'll even hold your little diary for you."

[hymned_in]

"No," Eugene immediately chirps with a quick, dismissive shake of his head. "Not me she's there for. Maybe she just enjoys seeing you drool." Pausing in locating his lighter, he motions to Snafu with his pipe. "Maybe you should tell her about how you drool onto your pillow at night."

[whatdiesinside]

The only reason Snafu's halfway dressed is to have a pocket to keep his lighter and scavenged cigarettes in, and in mistaking the gesture, his hand falters and lowers to fetch the lighter for Eugene, aborting the impulse to shove him. Flicking it open and alight, he holds the flame out to Eugene before he goes back to digging around for his own. "Maybe I should swap the pillows and tell her it's you."

Pausing, he appears to give the scenario further thought, "Shit, she'd probably just bring you a fresh one."

[hymned_in]

Lighting a pipe doesn't quite work like that, doesn't allow for such briefly altruistic gestures, and Eugene blinks at the extended flame for a moment before plucking the lighter from Snafu's hand. Settling the pipe between his teeth, he bends against the breeze and flicks the lighter against the bowl until he's satisfied and can pass it back.

"She does seem helpful that way," he allows after exhaling.

[whatdiesinside]

"Helpful if you like writin' shit down and pictures of birds," he agrees, eyes rolling almost elegantly away as he collects the lighter and lights his own cigarette. It tastes like shit--most cigarettes taste like shit when you're used to Camels--but it's better than nothing.

She reminds him of the nurses, sometimes, and not just the way she puts up her hair. Helpful in a way that isn't quite personal and, as she often reminds him, off limits. "You eat yet," he asks around the cigarette, releasing thinned smoke. Depending on the answer, he might just stick to coffee today.

[hymned_in]

"Not really," Eugene admits, and although he's only just lit the pipe, instinctively begins to slide from the boulder onto his feet. Pipe clamped firm between his teeth, he squints up at the blue of the sky and reckons it's around time for lunch anyway.