Louis looked nothing like a man who had spent the night dealing with a drunk guest. His shirt was half unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a cigarette held loosely between his fingers. “How long has he been here, @Capturied?"
The question died in his throat when he saw the sofa.
Morwen was asleep with his head resting on Louis' lap, completely out of it. His hair was a mess, face still pale from the hangover, and one hand lying loosely against his brother thigh. He looked so comfortable there.
@silkenraze I’ve crossed paths with quite a few news anchors over the years. Perhaps I’ll add one more to the list. Something tells me you’re going to be pretty good at the question-asking part, Maira. Should I be worried about what you might ask me?
@philocalette Leon Sorrel / 1985. Mainly a film director, though I pick up occasional side quest when I get bored. I’m not much of a snacker, but I’ll never say no to something salty. Chips, usually. Easy, no preparation. If I’m eating before bed, I’d rather not make an event out of it.
Desire, once private and almost bearable, began to take the shape of entitlement. 𝘜𝘯��𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘮, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥.
But that single, shattering moment in the bathroom was not a catharsis, it was a catalyst. The months of filming that followed became a crucible, forging his obsession in the fires of daily proximity.