« i guess i just want it to make some kind of sense. »
the sweat still makes the fabric of his shirt stick to his back, the summer heat licking at his skin, filling his lungs with thick air, din likes it. summer is children laughing, it's lazy days and late dinner outside, he doesn't remember it, not really, but it leaves the taste of happiness on his tongue anyway. it's not the same heat as the desert's, he's less on edge here, it's different. but everything is, nearly expecting sand to fly in his face, to find it in the shower against his skull, stuck among his curls.
a new bruise around his eye is hidden beneath the shadow provided by his cap, laying down under her sink, shirt slightly unveiling tan skin above the waistband of his jeans. din has come here a few times now, the pipes all shit, it had taken some convincing but mike had hired him to change the kitchen's whole plumbing. a bit skittish, mike's tenant, something in her eyes that remain weary, that double checks everything : he can't fault her, the world is full of shit.
still, sometimes she speaks, as if there are too many words in her chest, as if it's all bumbling and she needs to get it out, having no one but the weird guy that doesn't speak much and roams around her place here to listen. « if you like whatever your job is then it'll make sense, @scareal1ty » it took him a minute, to find the words, the ones that reflected his thoughts, to let them out, din has never been much of a talker, he's been raised with a love he only remembers as an aftertaste but he's been made a man through screams and acts and blood. it feels like they tried to beat that love away, to bury it definitely.
