Oh sure, take off your shoes. Why the fuck not. Stay a while.
The internal sarcasm bubbles up and pops, eyes roll, before Near can remind himself Jude is staying a while, isn't he? Still, it is unspeakably annoying that he can waltz in, kick up his feet, and look more at home Near's drab little apartment than Near feels on a typical day. He wants, briefly, to hurl his keys toward the couch, shout fine just keep it, and storm off into the sad Seattle drizzle. Crazy. He's not usually the histrionic one between two personalities in his house. The opposite: he is the solid wall still standing through other people's hurricanes. He likes it that way. But maybe he's always just been the less histrionic one, inadvertently soaking up melodrama all this time.
He has not taken off his own shoes. Rarely does, a habit formed in deference to an adult lifetime of floors left unvacuumed because there were better things to do. Or at least not worse things. He did buy a vacuum. On sale. Bagless. It lives a mostly undisturbed existence in the hall closet.
"As serious as anything else," he answers for either or both of his fulfilling life developments, which is meaningless unless you know that nothing Near Farr has, does, says, is ever serious. Or so he's been told. It is not something Guthrie would be pleased to hear. And, "Yeah, but I figured we hated each other." A little thing they could have in common.
The internal sarcasm bubbles up and pops, eyes roll, before Near can remind himself Jude is staying a while, isn't he? Still, it is unspeakably annoying that he can waltz in, kick up his feet, and look more at home Near's drab little apartment than Near feels on a typical day. He wants, briefly, to hurl his keys toward the couch, shout fine just keep it, and storm off into the sad Seattle drizzle. Crazy. He's not usually the histrionic one between two personalities in his house. The opposite: he is the solid wall still standing through other people's hurricanes. He likes it that way. But maybe he's always just been the less histrionic one, inadvertently soaking up melodrama all this time.
He has not taken off his own shoes. Rarely does, a habit formed in deference to an adult lifetime of floors left unvacuumed because there were better things to do. Or at least not worse things. He did buy a vacuum. On sale. Bagless. It lives a mostly undisturbed existence in the hall closet.
"As serious as anything else," he answers for either or both of his fulfilling life developments, which is meaningless unless you know that nothing Near Farr has, does, says, is ever serious. Or so he's been told. It is not something Guthrie would be pleased to hear. And, "Yeah, but I figured we hated each other." A little thing they could have in common.