May 2, 2020
‘wish we could go out,’ eddie mutters. he’s placed himself at the window in bill’s room, looking out with what can only be described as a pitiful expression, speaking only wistfully. it’s pouring out, see, and even if he did have the right protective gear as it were (and he doesn’t, mind you - sometimes the weather forecast is wrong and a mother doesn’t always prepare that far), it’s unlikely he’d head out anyway. catch a cold or, worse, catch his death, or so he’s regularly warned. he sighs and looks back at bill. ‘mom’d have a fit if i came home drenched. i miss the sunshine.’ he abandons the window. ‘what’s there to do?’
with @fisthrust
