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Feb. 21st, 2012 03:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freedrinkplease//"What's the color of love, Pig?"
"What sort of love, love?"
"Don't know. But you know the way things, they got a color. I wonder what the color of love is."
"Jesus, Runt. You could read a thousand thick books and never know the answer to that quiz."
"It's be a good one to know, ah?"
"It'd be brilliant, Runt. It's around here somewhere."//
He couldn't sleep.
He'd had a dinner of eggs and spam and he just couldn't sleep after Tillman had closed his door. He tried pacing, he tried talking to himself, but every time he laid down he leaned over and tried to reach a hand out through a wall that wasn't there, reaching in to grasp a hand that didn't exist.
Maybe Runt had found it.
The only reason he slept was because he was tired, too tired, and this place was so warm he even took his socks off, using the couch's arm as a pillow. It was still uncomfortable and it still gave him a horrible crick in the neck, but it was better than a bus stop.
Once he did finally go to sleep, though, it was easy to tune things out. It came from living with a rambunctious toddler, it came from hearing Runt's parents yell at each other every morning, it came from his mom parking herself in front of the television and ignoring everything for that brief hour in the morning when she was free of work.
It was the smell that dropped him out of his light snoring, and his hand twitched--it was odd, but since he was little, he couldn't sleep without Runt's hand in his. Even in the hospital.
"It's around here somewhere, Runt," He said softly, before the smell hit him. His stomach rumbled loudly and he opened his eyes, jarred out of slumber from his own hunger.
"Jesus," he mumbled, getting up and rubbing his face. Where was he?
"What sort of love, love?"
"Don't know. But you know the way things, they got a color. I wonder what the color of love is."
"Jesus, Runt. You could read a thousand thick books and never know the answer to that quiz."
"It's be a good one to know, ah?"
"It'd be brilliant, Runt. It's around here somewhere."//
He couldn't sleep.
He'd had a dinner of eggs and spam and he just couldn't sleep after Tillman had closed his door. He tried pacing, he tried talking to himself, but every time he laid down he leaned over and tried to reach a hand out through a wall that wasn't there, reaching in to grasp a hand that didn't exist.
Maybe Runt had found it.
The only reason he slept was because he was tired, too tired, and this place was so warm he even took his socks off, using the couch's arm as a pillow. It was still uncomfortable and it still gave him a horrible crick in the neck, but it was better than a bus stop.
Once he did finally go to sleep, though, it was easy to tune things out. It came from living with a rambunctious toddler, it came from hearing Runt's parents yell at each other every morning, it came from his mom parking herself in front of the television and ignoring everything for that brief hour in the morning when she was free of work.
It was the smell that dropped him out of his light snoring, and his hand twitched--it was odd, but since he was little, he couldn't sleep without Runt's hand in his. Even in the hospital.
"It's around here somewhere, Runt," He said softly, before the smell hit him. His stomach rumbled loudly and he opened his eyes, jarred out of slumber from his own hunger.
"Jesus," he mumbled, getting up and rubbing his face. Where was he?
