![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Lee's been in Darrow now about a week and a half, and he's been to every bar in the city limits, met all of the owners, and offered to tailor each of their wine lists. He wasn't getting paid for any of this, but based on the amount of money in his bank account, his monthly stipend, and the cost of rent, he didn't really need money to get by day to day. And he certainly didn't need to save up for anything.
He still hasn't bothered to see a doctor. He feels like he probably should, just so someone in the city (besides his dear friend Susan) knows what was going on with him. But he'll get to that later.
Today he's out for a run. His running shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, and he's been itching to get his pulse up. He never feels as alive as he does when he's out on the street, feet pounding against the pavement, sweating freely, breathing hard. Sex is a very close second, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good, hard sprint.
He doesn't have a route yet, just sort of turning left and right at intersections with no rhyme or reason. He's planning on doing six miles today, using the app on his phone to track his progress; so far he's just over four miles, maintaining something close to an eight minute mile pace, nice and respectable.
But then, turning a corner, he stops, abruptly enough that he nearly stumbles. It's been a few days since he last saw Connor, his last glimpse when Connor slipped out of his apartment. He'd thought about calling a few times, just to check on him, but for some reason Lee had always changed his mind.
Here he is now, walking down the street, late afternoon sun lighting up his face. Lee's thought about him a lot, about what it had been like to be with him, but also worrying about him, all that sorrow filling him up, sending him on a self-destructive path. He looks good, right now, not happy really but not falling into himself like he had been a few nights ago.
He can't make himself say anything, just stands and watches Connor walk his way on the opposite side of the street. He's breathing heavily from running, covered in sweat, and his heart is pounding, but some of that has to do with seeing Connor again. More than he's willing to admit even to himself.
He still hasn't bothered to see a doctor. He feels like he probably should, just so someone in the city (besides his dear friend Susan) knows what was going on with him. But he'll get to that later.
Today he's out for a run. His running shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, and he's been itching to get his pulse up. He never feels as alive as he does when he's out on the street, feet pounding against the pavement, sweating freely, breathing hard. Sex is a very close second, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good, hard sprint.
He doesn't have a route yet, just sort of turning left and right at intersections with no rhyme or reason. He's planning on doing six miles today, using the app on his phone to track his progress; so far he's just over four miles, maintaining something close to an eight minute mile pace, nice and respectable.
But then, turning a corner, he stops, abruptly enough that he nearly stumbles. It's been a few days since he last saw Connor, his last glimpse when Connor slipped out of his apartment. He'd thought about calling a few times, just to check on him, but for some reason Lee had always changed his mind.
Here he is now, walking down the street, late afternoon sun lighting up his face. Lee's thought about him a lot, about what it had been like to be with him, but also worrying about him, all that sorrow filling him up, sending him on a self-destructive path. He looks good, right now, not happy really but not falling into himself like he had been a few nights ago.
He can't make himself say anything, just stands and watches Connor walk his way on the opposite side of the street. He's breathing heavily from running, covered in sweat, and his heart is pounding, but some of that has to do with seeing Connor again. More than he's willing to admit even to himself.
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 10:56 pm (UTC)From:"I've bought a couple of decent ones since I got here," he says, ruffling his free hand through his hair. "I haven't managed to replicate my wardrobe back in Philadelphia, but it's something."
Shirts. He misses his shirts. And his boots.
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 11:09 pm (UTC)From:“You’re doing better than me,” Lee replies, fighting the urge to turn his hand so he can hold Connor’s properly. “I need to go shopping before Christmas. I wouldn’t want to look like a scrub out on a date with a hot guy like you,” he adds with a laugh.
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 11:24 pm (UTC)From:"You'd look good in a suit," says Connor, turning to look at Lee's profile. "I mean, you look great in running gear, but you could absolutely carry off tailoring."
no subject
Date: 2015-12-29 11:31 pm (UTC)From:The compliment makes Lee feel warm in a strange way, a way he really likes, and it causes a surge of feelings that he has to fight hard to swallow back down. “I will definitely make an effort so that I look like I belong out with you,” he says, and god, he wishes he were younger or healthier, because there’s a part of him that wants Connor for something so much more than a sex partner.