[for Bush] acquaint a man with strange bedfellows...
Archie had pretended to forget about the annual mysterious arrival of various presents, brand new things without any sort of negative connotation associated with them usually, but as the end of the month drew closer he found himself disappointed by the lack of packages addressed to him arriving on their doorstep. Perhaps it was for the better, he told himself. Who really knew what the island's twisted sense of humor would provide? But then Archie began to wonder if it was some sort of sign, some omen. William hadn't received anything either, not yet. What did that mean?
None of these particular thoughts he mentioned to the other man of course, knowing the sort of dismissive reply he would receive and knowing that he rather would deserve it. Island magic and nonsense was just island nonsense, and often times they were better off without it. But sometimes, maybe just as often, it was just fun. And that's what Archie missed for the thirty days of January while nothing was gifted to him.
So it was with uncharacteristic reluctance that Archie faced the morning of January 31st. Reluctance that did not permit him to so much as open his eyes when consciousness slowly crept upon him. Instead, safely more than half asleep, he rolled over in bed and pressed closer to the warm, solid shape of William. The only active thing about the morning was his attempts to ignore the strange chirping noises and wetness near his toes (as if something were licking his bare foot) that his mind was thankfully too clogged with dreams and cobwebs to give notice to.
None of these particular thoughts he mentioned to the other man of course, knowing the sort of dismissive reply he would receive and knowing that he rather would deserve it. Island magic and nonsense was just island nonsense, and often times they were better off without it. But sometimes, maybe just as often, it was just fun. And that's what Archie missed for the thirty days of January while nothing was gifted to him.
So it was with uncharacteristic reluctance that Archie faced the morning of January 31st. Reluctance that did not permit him to so much as open his eyes when consciousness slowly crept upon him. Instead, safely more than half asleep, he rolled over in bed and pressed closer to the warm, solid shape of William. The only active thing about the morning was his attempts to ignore the strange chirping noises and wetness near his toes (as if something were licking his bare foot) that his mind was thankfully too clogged with dreams and cobwebs to give notice to.
