Entry tags:
After the Shindig
Quatre's lying on the sofa in his apartment, socked feet resting up on one of the arm rests as he reads a book. He's vaguely waiting for his boyfriend (he hasn't changed out of what he is wearing for the party, though he's pulled his sleeves back down), but it's the type of book -- and he has the type of patience -- that he can probably wait near-infinitely (for sums of the infinite under 12 hours).
Hopefully, though, he won't have to.
Hopefully, though, he won't have to.
no subject
Eventually, though, one of the sets of footsteps coming down the hall has a possibly familiar rhythm, and is followed by a hand on the doorknob. (A hand that the lock is keyed to, in case Quatre was in any doubt. He's Quatre; he wasn't.)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)