FA: Not Enough
May. 1st, 2007 07:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sissyTitle: More
Fandom: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent
Prompt: 034. Not Enough
Word Count: 274
Rating:PG
Summary: Waiting is always the hardest part.
Table
They were somewhere between “where we should be”, “where we could be”, and “where we used to be”/
It was a terrible kind of awkwardness, something that they’d never encountered in their seven-some years of being friends. Ford, grimacing down shot after shot of burning alcohol, wished more than anything that he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
Oh yeah, he’d been real froody during the whole confession. And so confident, as if he’d really thought that…
Friends. That’s what Ford just knew Arthur was going to say when he came back with an answer. We can still be friends. That’s what made everything taste like ash. If being friends was okay, he’d never have said anything in the first place. There was just so much that he wanted, so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about. So much that he couldn’t have.
Ford drowned another burning, painful mouthful and when Arthur sat beside him, he could feel that “I’m sorry” without even looking up. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes down.
Arthur’s hand is light against his arm, but it felt like the fire of a thousand broken hearts. “Ford.” Arthur was coaxing him. “Ford.”
Ford would much rather spend the rest of forever staring into his glass, but he’d always been a sucker for that particular pitch of whine in the human’s voice.
Arthur was still just Arthur, even in the smoke and hazy lighting of the bar.
“I think I’d like it.” Arthur’s lips curled after the words and Ford thinks of a hundred cool England afternoons, a hundred warm nights on a warm couch. “I think I like you.”
Fandom: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Characters: Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent
Prompt: 034. Not Enough
Word Count: 274
Rating:PG
Summary: Waiting is always the hardest part.
Table
They were somewhere between “where we should be”, “where we could be”, and “where we used to be”/
It was a terrible kind of awkwardness, something that they’d never encountered in their seven-some years of being friends. Ford, grimacing down shot after shot of burning alcohol, wished more than anything that he’d kept his damn mouth shut.
Oh yeah, he’d been real froody during the whole confession. And so confident, as if he’d really thought that…
Friends. That’s what Ford just knew Arthur was going to say when he came back with an answer. We can still be friends. That’s what made everything taste like ash. If being friends was okay, he’d never have said anything in the first place. There was just so much that he wanted, so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about. So much that he couldn’t have.
Ford drowned another burning, painful mouthful and when Arthur sat beside him, he could feel that “I’m sorry” without even looking up. He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes down.
Arthur’s hand is light against his arm, but it felt like the fire of a thousand broken hearts. “Ford.” Arthur was coaxing him. “Ford.”
Ford would much rather spend the rest of forever staring into his glass, but he’d always been a sucker for that particular pitch of whine in the human’s voice.
Arthur was still just Arthur, even in the smoke and hazy lighting of the bar.
“I think I’d like it.” Arthur’s lips curled after the words and Ford thinks of a hundred cool England afternoons, a hundred warm nights on a warm couch. “I think I like you.”