#*richard.

i could do this officially but i'd rather make it a simple rundown. perhaps to be expanded upon later!

beverly meets his husband-to-be, in london, in the 90s. beverly is a few years out of university and his husband-to-be is studying abroad, taking his own education a bit slower

they marry before they're 30. they have two or three kids

after a stretch in the uk, it's the husband's "turn": they move to pittsburgh, where beverly remains following his death

beverly is a nurse at the pittsburgh trauma medical center

and on the man himself:

          if there has ever been anything akin to sleep for him , it was something more of a dormant lying of spirit within an empty shell , like a reflection that lingers a bit too long in the mirror before fading away.  but just before he can do just that , his attention is awakening a sleeping corpse to the sound of her voice.  head tilts downwards a bit , it’s easy to see by the shifting of mask against the soft surface of pillow brushing against the feathers donning the back.  cold hands bend stiff fingers along her skin , pressing in as he shifts and takes her with him.

          previously , jacket was downstairs in the bedroom organizing a bag needed for the trip to be soon taken.  he’d put another outfit in there , surprisingly , just in case it called for a night’s stay at a hotel or just a rest in the van - and headed back up to the living room.  though , as he ascended the first set of stairs - then the next - then the next - the darkness at the top of the last flight is what seems to unnerve him.  he makes his steps slow , progressing forward.

          she isn’t talking to just him.  from the tone of her voice combined with the words said , jacket sends his vision along the room and around the corner as he finally steps into the living area.  a squint , brows furrowed into the darkness that gaze isn’t well-adjusted to yet.  where is he ?  no time to worry about that right now.

          jacket reaches the couch.  he moves one of the pillows over , gently sits down beside her with a hand steadily placed on her thigh.  it’s strange to him that she’s covered up - the touch of fabric against the palm of his hand catching him a bit off-guard.  “ you okay . . . ? ” body twists , left hand reaching to brush a bit of her hair behind her ear.  and that’s when he hears it.

          he doesn’t notice at first , not until he’s complying with the request to pull her closer , fingers gently tugging at the shoulder opposite to him.  eyes flicker up , a sudden wave washing over his face like a cold sweat and making the redness under his eyes and the pressure behind them begin to burn like it all must be the only warm aspect of his body.  his fingertips and palm press into her shoulder rougher now - like he’s trying to pull her away and let nothing else have her.  jacket’s heartbeat hitches for a moment. 

          but jacket knows how she feels about him - the inner workings of his mind brought to life to not only plague him , but everyone he’s ever loved - everyone he’s ever hated.  richard has never been a clean spot in his brain , but instead the darkest part that sometimes envelopes it entirely . . . and tries to block out everything good.  jacket readies himself for the worst.

          richard usually has things to say.  a lecture to give jacket about his actions that day - that week - that month - year - so on & so forth.  but this time , there is nothing but the silence , hands stuffed into the pockets of letterman and eyes settled on something besides jacket for once ; at least for a moment.  an approach , slow , hesitant , as if not to startle the man with his arm wrapped so tightly around girl.  he can nearly feel the burn of that white-fingertip grip he has on her shoulder.

          PATHETIC.

          richard always has a way to do things.  he’s sitting in the chair with his arms on both armrests , as should be , but he’s slumped - one leg crossed over the other out in front of him.  the back of his - jacket’s - HIS letterman is bunched from where he’d shifted & slid to get more comfortable prior.  he’s waiting for something - something that hasn’t arrived yet.

          an interruption.