#peaches 002

no sign of skyler. anywhere. and how’s sonny wells supposed to get through anything without a laurier? at every turn, the bright blue eyes of the fallen olympian seem to not be able to find what he needs. in his pursuit for comfort after a stupid fight, in his navigation of his situation with frankie, in the way he yearns for more and more attention – anything to replace the way he had once felt on the side of the mountain. and nothing works. so here he is, pack of instant peanut noodles in his hand, walking into the newsroom without the matching set to georgia’s twinship for the first time in his life. slight limp in his step, more prevalent than usual from the fall earlier in the night, greyson navigates through to the back where the late night work is well under way. one in the morning and a luminescent georgia laurier pours over the paper. it takes sonny just one brief moment to remind himself that anyone, surely, would look good in dim lighting, a sweater, and the end of a pen in their mouth. “georgia,” a rare moment of her actual name leaving his lips as he sets her comfort food atop her desk. there’s a bit of purple rising beneath his eye, the yellow will come later and he’s sure he looks like hell, but as he sits down in a chair beside georgia, his thoughts spin to something else entirely. was he too out of control to trust himself? too angry to handle people telling him the truth about himself? he needed someone who really knew him to look into his eyes and tell him he was ( or hopefully wasn’t ) the monster he seemed to be becoming. blues meet mahogany hues, a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “i know, i know you’re working. but can you work while i say some shit i never expect... want you to remember?”