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it's all so incredibly loud //
The ship just seems so incredibly... quiet, without Ray. He knows he has no right to think that, he's not an OG member of this little crew, but he's learned the ins and outs of how they operate anyway. At first it was begrudgingly and now, as always, he finds himself in the crux of every stupid decision they make. He can scarcely remember the day he moved in now, some stupid quip about not playing dress-up; but it feels like a different lifetime. It was, wasn't it? A different timeline, anyway.
He hears footsteps past his doorway at every hour and he's learned to identify them all. The purposeful stride of Ava, the sharp staccato of Sara, the lumbering oafishness of Rory, the light and carefree steps of Behrad... and most recently, the high-pitched clack of Zari's heels. Most nights, he hides in here, drinks a fifth of a bottle or enough to sleep, whichever comes first. His priorities have shifted a bit since their jaunt out of time. It's the first truly selfish thing he's done in forever and he knows it was for Zari, too. It's what keeps the guilt from consuming him, though his fingers itch for a drink or a smoke. He bought another pack at some point, but it remains pristine in a drawer like an insurance policy rather than anything he intends to use.
The sound startles him, her heels outside his door. His heart pounds, trying to make himself wait and see if she'll pass by. Certainly, she would if he didn't intervene. He's not that interesting when he isn't doing magic, at least by his own perception. Yet she sticks around, she listens to him. He tries not to let it remind him of anything - or anyone.
At the last possible moment, he stumbles to the door, opening it with that unsatisfying Star Trek button. He misses wooden doors, tangible things. Convenience is all well and good, but he's an old-fashioned guy, and maybe just an old one, too. That's how he feels tonight anyway, taking a half-step into the hallway so that they nearly collide. He reaches out automatically to grab both her arms, feeling like he tripped and fell anyway, her eyes once again capturing his as he forgets to speak.
"...Hey." It's soft, betraying his vulnerability as well as the wetness in his own gaze. "You weren't comin' to see me, were ya?" Probably just wishful thinking, he knows, but when she rejects the notion he can just laugh it off like always.
He hears footsteps past his doorway at every hour and he's learned to identify them all. The purposeful stride of Ava, the sharp staccato of Sara, the lumbering oafishness of Rory, the light and carefree steps of Behrad... and most recently, the high-pitched clack of Zari's heels. Most nights, he hides in here, drinks a fifth of a bottle or enough to sleep, whichever comes first. His priorities have shifted a bit since their jaunt out of time. It's the first truly selfish thing he's done in forever and he knows it was for Zari, too. It's what keeps the guilt from consuming him, though his fingers itch for a drink or a smoke. He bought another pack at some point, but it remains pristine in a drawer like an insurance policy rather than anything he intends to use.
The sound startles him, her heels outside his door. His heart pounds, trying to make himself wait and see if she'll pass by. Certainly, she would if he didn't intervene. He's not that interesting when he isn't doing magic, at least by his own perception. Yet she sticks around, she listens to him. He tries not to let it remind him of anything - or anyone.
At the last possible moment, he stumbles to the door, opening it with that unsatisfying Star Trek button. He misses wooden doors, tangible things. Convenience is all well and good, but he's an old-fashioned guy, and maybe just an old one, too. That's how he feels tonight anyway, taking a half-step into the hallway so that they nearly collide. He reaches out automatically to grab both her arms, feeling like he tripped and fell anyway, her eyes once again capturing his as he forgets to speak.
"...Hey." It's soft, betraying his vulnerability as well as the wetness in his own gaze. "You weren't comin' to see me, were ya?" Probably just wishful thinking, he knows, but when she rejects the notion he can just laugh it off like always.