It was the first time that Noah was using this key; the key of Jim’s flat. It felt weird, intrusive even, yet here he was. The writer had given him the key to use in emergencies. Although this wasn’t a real emergency, he longed for a friend. Since he didn’t have any, his boss was the next best thing.
Noah was some sort of personal assistant, preparing jobs, doing groceries, searching for inspiration, taking calls and keeping track of Jim’s agenda. It had been a weird job but he had grown to like it.
“Jim? Are you home? I-.. Uh-.. Came to drop off some interviews.”
writingcrimes
The sound of Noah’s voice drifted to his ears and he resisted the urge to groan. He’s publicist had hired the boy as some kind of... PA, despite the fact Jim continued to insist he didn’t need a baby sitter -- apparently his publicist thought he did because he was still stuck with the kid. Perhaps that was unfair, Noah was a good kid... inexperienced and a bit on the annoying side, but kind nonetheless.
Letting out a sigh, Jim draped his arm back over his eyes, “I’m in here.” He called just loud enough for the other to hear him. He’d shot up not too long ago and the effects were just starting to take hold. “What interviews?” He asked once he heard the footsteps were close enough that he could lower his voice down into a more lazy drawl.
