Brian's not sure whether Frank's going to fight him or thank him; Frank's shoulders are tight, but he put his hand on Brian's shoulder when he levered himself out of the van. He's got the bag held loosely in his fingers, but he hasn't turned back to see if Brian is following. If it's going to be a fight, Brian won't mind; he'll apologize, move on. He just hates the feeling that he's done his job badly, that he's let somebody -- let Frank -- down.
The door is a little warped, and Brian has to lift up on the doorknob to get the lock to click into place. One day his band won't have stay in shitholes, he thinks, and turns around.
Frank's got his shirt off, bunched in his hands. The way he glances up through his eyelashes, the way he bites his lip, should make him look unsure, but his mouth is curving up at the corners, and his eyes look giddy. "You bought me women's underwear," he says. Brian exhales, relieved, and shrugs.
"You were wearing ugly shit."
"Can I-- I'm kind of drunk," Frank starts, like an explanation, and Brian waves him off.
"Whatever you want. I've got a date with a beer and TV."
Frank takes the bag into the bathroom, but he leaves the door slightly ajar. Brian cracks open a beer and flips on the television, which of course has no selection to speak of; he settles on CNN and scoots back until his back is against the headboard.
The bathroom is just a shower, a toilet, and a towel rack behind a door; there's a counter outside the bathroom with a sink and a mirror that stretches across the wall. Brian didn't even think of this until he's a few sips into his beer, when Frank ducks his head around the doorway and says, "Brian?"
"Yeah?"
"I-- I kind of want the mirror."
"Oh," Brian says, "Did you. Huh. You want me to take off for a little bit?"
"Nah," Frank says. His hair's falling over one eye, and he tosses it back. "If it freaks you out, though, you can leave."
"Can't say it does," Brian says, and turns his eyes back to the TV.
[And, okay, there will be more later, but I have to do laundry and go to NYC, so I knew it would be kind of hard to predict when. Ahahaha wtf self?)
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why so epic? (3)
1/2/08 14:46 (UTC)The door is a little warped, and Brian has to lift up on the doorknob to get the lock to click into place. One day his band won't have stay in shitholes, he thinks, and turns around.
Frank's got his shirt off, bunched in his hands. The way he glances up through his eyelashes, the way he bites his lip, should make him look unsure, but his mouth is curving up at the corners, and his eyes look giddy. "You bought me women's underwear," he says. Brian exhales, relieved, and shrugs.
"You were wearing ugly shit."
"Can I-- I'm kind of drunk," Frank starts, like an explanation, and Brian waves him off.
"Whatever you want. I've got a date with a beer and TV."
Frank takes the bag into the bathroom, but he leaves the door slightly ajar. Brian cracks open a beer and flips on the television, which of course has no selection to speak of; he settles on CNN and scoots back until his back is against the headboard.
The bathroom is just a shower, a toilet, and a towel rack behind a door; there's a counter outside the bathroom with a sink and a mirror that stretches across the wall. Brian didn't even think of this until he's a few sips into his beer, when Frank ducks his head around the doorway and says, "Brian?"
"Yeah?"
"I-- I kind of want the mirror."
"Oh," Brian says, "Did you. Huh. You want me to take off for a little bit?"
"Nah," Frank says. His hair's falling over one eye, and he tosses it back. "If it freaks you out, though, you can leave."
"Can't say it does," Brian says, and turns his eyes back to the TV.
[And, okay, there will be more later, but I have to do laundry and go to NYC, so I knew it would be kind of hard to predict when. Ahahaha wtf self?)