Sapathetic

The explosion sends them flying, the sky spins. Then, Jim is screaming, clawing at Shorty’s too still body. He begs the gods to give him back, but his cries are lost amongst the crashing waves, the water turning red with sacrifice.

"Okay, as team captain I'm asking you this in total confidence: how do you stop an erection?" Jim looked up from his half-packed suitcase, uncomprehending, as Roger's words filtered belatedly through his airpods. Then he choked on nothing but his own spit. "Jesus Christ," he said, reduced to coughing for a second before he could say anything more eloquent than profanities. "Are you twelve?" "No! I just…" Roger's face was flaming, but it was too late to take the words back. He soldiered on. "When I was twelve I always used to just try to hide them." "Why can't you hide it now?" That was a valid question, even if it stemmed more from Jim's desire to end the conversation and get back to his podcast than any genuine attempt to help. It was also a question Roger wasn't sure he could answer in the few hours Jim had left in Seattle. He sighed, shoulders sagging despite his best efforts to look unbothered by the brush-off. "It's… complicated." "I dunno, man. Meditate or something?" Jim turned back to his suitcase, a clear indication that he had nothing left to say—but not before adding a snide, "not sure what's so complicated about a boner, though. They're about as straightforward as you can get." It wasn't complicated, really, Roger acknowledged as he made his way back to his own room. The problem was, as Jim had said, very straightforward: sometimes, it turned out, childhood dreams didn't mesh all that well with adult realities. And the reality was that Roger's dream was scheduled to come true in less than twenty-four hours, and he wasn't at all sure he would survive it.