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You know, the days had ticked away, and for almost 48 hours Atton had been able to ignore it. It was a win for him, even if it was a small one. 48 solid hours of ignorance before realization hit him like a hammer, and he wound up sitting on the floor of his mostly-empty bedroom, staring at the window.
Was this ever going to be easier?
Maybe some other year. Maybe not ten years after exactly (or was it eleven? It was so easy to lose track, with that one year in the middle...). But maybe sometime? The lightness he'd felt these past two months hadn't come from nowhere. It hadn't just appeared. He'd... he'd done the work. He was doing the work. He was getting better.
And still he was back on the floor.
The door opened. Creaked. Almost startled him, until the familiar Force signature wafted over him and he looked up over his shoulder even though he couldn't see the front door from here. There was a rustling, a faint sense of confusion, worry--
Then Dane's face, peeking in through the door. "Hey," he said quietly. "Picked up some soda and some snacks. You wanna come out into the living room? It's probably more comfortable."
"Why are you--" Atton heard his voice creaked. He swallowed. Wetted his lips, eyes set determinedly at the window. "Why are you here? You're not skipping--"
"I moved some shifts around," Dane said. He passed quietly into the bedroom, brushing past the doorway. "Just making sure I'm not gone five nights in a row for the next couple of weeks."
Atton's brow crickled into a frown. "Why?"
"Because it's August, and I know what August means, Jack." Dane held his hand out. "And don't worry, I took the 17th off, too. We can go do something. Or we can hang out here on the floor. Whichever."
Oh.
Oh.
"Yeah," Atton said slowly. He felt like he was moving at half speed, reaching out for Dane's hand like that. Letting the guy pull him up. "Yeah. You're right. Sofa's probably more comfortable."
August. He hated August.
[[ can be open for calls, etcetera. ]]
Was this ever going to be easier?
Maybe some other year. Maybe not ten years after exactly (or was it eleven? It was so easy to lose track, with that one year in the middle...). But maybe sometime? The lightness he'd felt these past two months hadn't come from nowhere. It hadn't just appeared. He'd... he'd done the work. He was doing the work. He was getting better.
And still he was back on the floor.
The door opened. Creaked. Almost startled him, until the familiar Force signature wafted over him and he looked up over his shoulder even though he couldn't see the front door from here. There was a rustling, a faint sense of confusion, worry--
Then Dane's face, peeking in through the door. "Hey," he said quietly. "Picked up some soda and some snacks. You wanna come out into the living room? It's probably more comfortable."
"Why are you--" Atton heard his voice creaked. He swallowed. Wetted his lips, eyes set determinedly at the window. "Why are you here? You're not skipping--"
"I moved some shifts around," Dane said. He passed quietly into the bedroom, brushing past the doorway. "Just making sure I'm not gone five nights in a row for the next couple of weeks."
Atton's brow crickled into a frown. "Why?"
"Because it's August, and I know what August means, Jack." Dane held his hand out. "And don't worry, I took the 17th off, too. We can go do something. Or we can hang out here on the floor. Whichever."
Oh.
Oh.
"Yeah," Atton said slowly. He felt like he was moving at half speed, reaching out for Dane's hand like that. Letting the guy pull him up. "Yeah. You're right. Sofa's probably more comfortable."
August. He hated August.
[[ can be open for calls, etcetera. ]]
