Five years later, New York City
Afternoon sun streams through the grimy windows, managing to strike Desmond straight in the eye. He groans, and tucks his head back into the cocoon of his covers.
Five years later, New York City
Afternoon sun streams through the grimy windows, managing to strike Desmond straight in the eye. He groans, and tucks his head back into the cocoon of his covers.
"Ugghhh." He was supposed to be meeting up with a girl on Friday. Oh well. "Sure. Is he going camping again?"
Josh laughs. "Probably more than most. Anyway, before I let you get your beauty sleep, I had a question from a friend."
"Friend of mine runs a camboy website. He reckons you'd make a fair bit of money. Way more than at the club."
"Ha." Desmond grabs the phone, and rolls over onto his back. "Yeah, that's not happening while I share a space with Sean."
"Yeah, he already barely believes that I stock a bodega overnight. He's gonna come looking if I stay out too long."
"Yeah. And paranoid. But tell your friend thanks. If Sean ever stops being a jackass I might take him up on his offer."
"All right, bud. You will let us know if you need to get out for a bit though, right?"
The implication is obvious.
And Desmond has no idea how to explain Sean's particular flavour of paranoia without sounding crazy.
"I'm all good, Josh. Really. I'll see you Friday."
Desmond flips the phone shut, and leaves it on the other side of his bed, curling back into his covers.
He doesn't sleep, but he does drift in and out of dreams, sometimes familiar faces floating through. Faces he'd rather forget.
Eventually, he gets restless enough that he can wake up fully, and sees that the sun hasn't quite set yet. A little before he'd usually wake up. He meanders out of his bedroom, and checks behind the curtained off area in the living room. Sean's bed is made, and his shoes are gone. At work, then.
He slumps into the shower, and boils the kettle while he eats a bowl of cereal. He then makes two cups of coffee, and heads downstairs.