[ josh is slow to answer and chris can practically feel him thinking it over, considering it with an intensity his slogging brain is probably finding a little difficult at the moment. ]
Well, I think she likes you, too.
[ chris gives a little shrug that's meant to be both encouraging and non-threatening. he doesn't want to apply too much pressure to the topic - they're both tired, both wary of pissing the other off - but he wants to know if josh has thought about the possibility before, and if he hasn't, chris wishes he would.
it definitely seems like sam likes him well enough. she's always honest about her feelings and chris has never seen her show any kind dislike for josh; she's usually in a good mood around him, smiley and teasing and at ease. and maybe that's not enough but it seems like an important start, one that has lots of potential. but he doesn't think that sam would be the one to ask, to start something. if josh wants to cross that bridge, he'll have to build it first. but that, too, seems pretty unlikely. this is the part of josh that chris does have trouble reading. feelings and intentions get shoved behind other things and chris can't work them out, can't be sure that he can identify them for what they truly are.
he watches josh rest his heavy head against the armrest like he's pulling himself away from the complicated thoughts. maybe that's best. still, he can't let josh pass off the facts as nothing. ]
Hey. [ he lifts his chin, a tired attempt to capture josh's attention. ] Maybe you just can't see it yet.
[ he nods, knowingly, looking at josh through heavy lids only getting heavier. there's always the possibility that a relationship like that - with sam, with someone really good and really smart and really caring - would be good for josh. ] Maybe it'd be great.
[ they're both terrible at taking their own advice; that's why they have to toss it back at each other every now and then, so maybe it'll seem fresh and new coming from the other person's mouth. ]
[ josh's foggy gaze fixes back on chris, who looks as tired as he feels—and who's still trying to be a bro, even when his eyes are falling shut. what a champ. ]
You think?
[ and maybe it's the liquor, but he can't squash the small bloom of hope at chris' words. sam, samantha, sammy... if only. hey, it probably would be great. josh can imagine it now: sam, his wife, two and a half kids, white picket fence. dreamy. yeah, right. ]
Yeah. [ but... ] Maybe.
[ maybe. maybe. maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong. josh allows the corner of his mouth to quirk up in a self-deprecating lilt. he's not so far gone not to realize what's happening here—that chris' is turning his own advice right back on him. serves him right, he guesses. a taste of his own medicine. still, he doesn't think he has it in him to sustain a conversation about that possibility, not when he's like this. it'll have to stay locked up inside him. but this time, it'll be chris' words knocking around his head instead of his own, and that's a little better. at least, for now, when he's too drunk to really think about it.
with a long sigh, he lets his eyes fall shut, focusing instead on how he can feel the rise and fall of his stomach underneath his hands with each steady breath. it's lulling; he feels the weight of his tiredness pour down on top of him in gentle, soothing waves. without opening his eyes, he nudges chris' leg again and mumbles out a topic change, cotton-headed and heavy-tongued. ]
Well, now I can't see at all. But don't even think about sneaking out on me, bro. I'll know. [ he means—when he's asleep, because he can feel it creeping up on him. it's a joke, almost; he knows chris is in no condition to be driving back home, but he wants to make sure, even so. ] And I know—I know where you live. I'll... drag you right back.
[ it doesn't even make sense, but he feels better confirming to himself that chris isn't going anywhere. ]
Edited (sometimes words get complicated) 2015-11-04 03:31 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Well, I think she likes you, too.
[ chris gives a little shrug that's meant to be both encouraging and non-threatening. he doesn't want to apply too much pressure to the topic - they're both tired, both wary of pissing the other off - but he wants to know if josh has thought about the possibility before, and if he hasn't, chris wishes he would.
it definitely seems like sam likes him well enough. she's always honest about her feelings and chris has never seen her show any kind dislike for josh; she's usually in a good mood around him, smiley and teasing and at ease. and maybe that's not enough but it seems like an important start, one that has lots of potential. but he doesn't think that sam would be the one to ask, to start something. if josh wants to cross that bridge, he'll have to build it first. but that, too, seems pretty unlikely. this is the part of josh that chris does have trouble reading. feelings and intentions get shoved behind other things and chris can't work them out, can't be sure that he can identify them for what they truly are.
he watches josh rest his heavy head against the armrest like he's pulling himself away from the complicated thoughts. maybe that's best. still, he can't let josh pass off the facts as nothing. ]
Hey. [ he lifts his chin, a tired attempt to capture josh's attention. ] Maybe you just can't see it yet.
[ he nods, knowingly, looking at josh through heavy lids only getting heavier. there's always the possibility that a relationship like that - with sam, with someone really good and really smart and really caring - would be good for josh. ] Maybe it'd be great.
[ they're both terrible at taking their own advice; that's why they have to toss it back at each other every now and then, so maybe it'll seem fresh and new coming from the other person's mouth. ]
no subject
You think?
[ and maybe it's the liquor, but he can't squash the small bloom of hope at chris' words. sam, samantha, sammy... if only. hey, it probably would be great. josh can imagine it now: sam, his wife, two and a half kids, white picket fence. dreamy. yeah, right. ]
Yeah. [ but... ] Maybe.
[ maybe. maybe. maybe he's right, maybe he's wrong. josh allows the corner of his mouth to quirk up in a self-deprecating lilt. he's not so far gone not to realize what's happening here—that chris' is turning his own advice right back on him. serves him right, he guesses. a taste of his own medicine. still, he doesn't think he has it in him to sustain a conversation about that possibility, not when he's like this. it'll have to stay locked up inside him. but this time, it'll be chris' words knocking around his head instead of his own, and that's a little better. at least, for now, when he's too drunk to really think about it.
with a long sigh, he lets his eyes fall shut, focusing instead on how he can feel the rise and fall of his stomach underneath his hands with each steady breath. it's lulling; he feels the weight of his tiredness pour down on top of him in gentle, soothing waves. without opening his eyes, he nudges chris' leg again and mumbles out a topic change, cotton-headed and heavy-tongued. ]
Well, now I can't see at all. But don't even think about sneaking out on me, bro. I'll know. [ he means—when he's asleep, because he can feel it creeping up on him. it's a joke, almost; he knows chris is in no condition to be driving back home, but he wants to make sure, even so. ] And I know—I know where you live. I'll... drag you right back.
[ it doesn't even make sense, but he feels better confirming to himself that chris isn't going anywhere. ]