⋆ ⭒ ˚ . ⋆ MORBID CURIOSITY. ACCEPTING.
“do you want me to stay? it doesn’t have to mean anything.” — @bdazzled.
he’s hugging his knees when she gets there, temple pressed against the window as he watches the world go by without him. cars ambling onto their destinations, to families or lovers or friend circles or any combination of the three. holiday seasons of any kind always raise an ugly lump in his throat, colleagues sharing plans of their celebrations and in turn asking him what he’s up to.
i can only fumble around so many false answers before i get tired of lying. i took the time off, easy to do as a teacher when all the kids are equally busied, but with limited options as to what to do with it, i’ve found myself in the big apple. again.
when he reaches his usual dingy stay, he second guesses himself. it’s not fair to take her away from whatever she’s got planned ( she’s a busy gal, he knows this ) and with the mood he’s in, he’s only going to be a downer anyways. a string of texts is sent in a borderline fugue state, claiming a flu is taking him out and bigging up the details to really push the nail in that he’s not fit to see her.
[ TXT ] sorry to cancel last minute, but you really don’t wanna be catching this. have a great time, speak soon 🫂
the finality of his last message hopefully drives it home, but what he doesn’t anticipate is her desire to help regardless. she talks about bringing medication and fluids and soup and all those good remedies and he insists he’ll be fine and staves off the questions, until she eventually relents. or so he thought.
when he sees her striding through the motel’s parking lot with supplies in hand, he panics. he’s fit as a fiddle and moments away from being caught in the web of lies he’s fabricated. ryland briefly considers not answering the door and feigning a deep sick - laden sleep, but she spots him at the window before he can put this plan in action and waves peppily, and he hisses ‘ shit ‘ under his breath as he stumbles through the unkempt room to find something, anything that might make this better.
the jig is up rather quickly once he lets her in, bashfully keeping his eyes on the ground and sinking into that cold feet feeling he’s been having all day. his excuses are mumbled from the corners of his mouth rather than uttered with any sort of confidence, and really he just looks . . . small. when her offer comes, it’s laced with such a careful softness he could burst into tears, won’t burst into tears, and he can’t bring himself to outright push her away. loneliness covers him like a shroud and a small light is shone his way, if only he’s brave enough to look into it.
❛ i don’t know, it’s . . . not exactly the penthouse suite in here. ❜ a feeble attempt at a joke that doesn’t reach his eyes. he gestures at their surroundings, dimly lit and sparsely decorated, hand coming pluck his glasses off and clean them briskly. it’s not a no.