Take him home. Wouldn't that be nice. For a second—
Just for a second, Louis' driving him somewhere, they're near a less-impressive bridge than the one on all the postcards, veering towards Stockton, and a shitty apartment. Maybe it's 1973, and everyone's the same age that they look. 1992, maybe. He's divorced. He's going to get the fuck over himself, admit it all, finally, because the date he's on is maybe the best date he's ever had, and all that's happened is they laughed over a few drinks.
Wouldn't it be nice. Wouldn't it be nice, too, if it were six months from now, and Daniel was settled, and the idea of going on a flight with someone else, bringing them into his apartment, being scrutinized and watched over, didn't make his skin crawl. He feels bad about what he's about to do, but he also feel like he's going to claw his way out of the car if he doesn't do it. He's grateful for the help, guilty for the harm, and he just needs some space.
"The airport is fine."
Close enough to home.
"Or— couple blocks," he points, "should be a tube connection I can hop on. I've been to London fuck knows how many times. I just," man, this feels weird, "I'll make sure they don't take it out on you. I can make some calls. And I just need to figure it out, Louis. I need to know I can do it."
no subject
Just for a second, Louis' driving him somewhere, they're near a less-impressive bridge than the one on all the postcards, veering towards Stockton, and a shitty apartment. Maybe it's 1973, and everyone's the same age that they look. 1992, maybe. He's divorced. He's going to get the fuck over himself, admit it all, finally, because the date he's on is maybe the best date he's ever had, and all that's happened is they laughed over a few drinks.
Wouldn't it be nice. Wouldn't it be nice, too, if it were six months from now, and Daniel was settled, and the idea of going on a flight with someone else, bringing them into his apartment, being scrutinized and watched over, didn't make his skin crawl. He feels bad about what he's about to do, but he also feel like he's going to claw his way out of the car if he doesn't do it. He's grateful for the help, guilty for the harm, and he just needs some space.
"The airport is fine."
Close enough to home.
"Or— couple blocks," he points, "should be a tube connection I can hop on. I've been to London fuck knows how many times. I just," man, this feels weird, "I'll make sure they don't take it out on you. I can make some calls. And I just need to figure it out, Louis. I need to know I can do it."
Alone.