Unsure - Isaac and Everett

Eyes fluttering open, the first thing Everett thought was that the professor’s apartment was really cold. The second thing he realized was that he was in his own apartment. The third, he was shivering. Hard. Hands shaking, teeth chattering. The couch was rather uncomfortable, and he wondered why he wasn’t at his professor’s apartment, warm, waking up to a bright smile and happy remark. Looking around, he coughed at the taste of smoke in his mouth, wondering why that was there. He didn’t smoke, not ever, because his great uncle died of lung cancer when he was six and it had horrified him to this day.

Sitting up and realizing just how severe the shivering was, a wave of panic hit him. Hypothermia could be a possibility. Taking a shaky, calming breath, his quivering hands reached through the darkness, searching around for his phone. Upon finding it, he quickly found the little device and hit the number for Isaac’s phone which he had, admittedly, made a speed-dial.

Keeping the phone to the ear, his teeth chattered and he blinked back confused, scared tears. Why was he here? Why wasn’t he with his kindhearted professor?

professor-morton started following you

“Now isn't particularly a good time, I’m afraid,” Sebastian muttered, gritting his teeth when the old doctor’s fingers pushed the needle through his skin. He glanced up towards the door, finally seeing who it was. “Actually… stay. I can finish this myself.”

Watching the doctor silently leave, Sebastian took hold of the needle in his right hand, carefully pricking it through his skin. “I suppose there’s a reason you’re here?”

Returned- OT3

When Everett woke up, it was not in the small, dark room they had kept him in most of the time. It was bright, so bright it made the artist whimper and curl further in on himself. Everything hurt, and he was starving and exhausted and just wanted to be home. Home and away from all this pain. Blinking against the too-bright light, Everett realized, with a start, he was home. Well, left before the door. Eyes growing wide, he rose a shaking hand and hit the door as hard as he could once, twice, before finding himself too tired and curling into a smaller ball.

[2 AM reply.] Not a bother at all. Fortunately I’ve been awake. I understand what that feeling is—the bad dreams and such. In my own experience, nothing truly heals the loss of one except time.

[text] I hope you don’t mind me asking, but who did you lose? - MH

A Child's Life

This was all too much. He couldn’t handle this. Too many things to think of, too many things he’d never had to ever consider before. It was far too much. 

And he couldn’t do it alone.

Even making the trip to Isaac’s house had taken longer than it should. Too many things to carry and consider. 

So when he knocked on Isaac’s door at seven in the morning, he was already tired and irritated and the squirming bundle in his arms wasn’t helping. “Morton!” He called, irritation growing as the child in his arms began to wail. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!” he tried to bounce the kid, but that just made him cry harder. 

Terror - Open

Everett couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was stand there, eyes wide, body shaking. The university’s campus wobbled around him, tilting at all angles as he tried to suck in a shaky breath, only managing to wheeze. People around him were giving him odd looks, of course, but they flew over the boy’s head.

No, that was a lie. The didn’t fly over his head, they pierced at him, each glittering eye sparkled with ill intent, lips curled into sneers, hands seemed ready to lunge at him. They wanted to hurt him, all of them, every single one. All they planned was to hurt him, to make him live in pain for the rest of his life. As this cold fear gripped his body it paralyzed him, making what was once his feet heavy lead weights that cemented him to the ground.

It was only when a hand brushed his shoulder that he moved, stumbling forwards with a loud yelp of fright.


[voicemail] “M-Morton. So-sorry. I-there-a case-it was-they had-coke.I’m I’m sorry. They-I took a hit. And I need-I have to. I’m sorry. I know you don’t-I have to tell you. You don’t want to hear it but-I need-I need to tell you that I think I-I think I’m in-I love you. Yeah. I-I love you. I’m sorry. I know you don’t-it’s fine. It’s fine. Fine. All fine. I know you like Mycroft. I just…I needed to tell you. I-I love you. It’s…it’s Sherlock, by the way." 

The Recoverable Position

The blood dripping down his face was beginning to get irritating, but the effort involved in wiping it away seemed all too much. The walk felt far longer than it did, the midnight darkness not helping at all. 

But what choice did he have? He only hoped that he would be welcomed, for at least long enough to shower and address his wounds. Molly had wanted to help, but she couldn’t-so many people around, someone was bound to notice a dead man walking.

Because that was what he was now. A dead man walking. Legally dead. His old life gone and lost. 

AH! Finally, his target was in sight. He ambled up to the front door and leaned against it, taking a moment to recover what little energy he had left before he lifted his arm-his good (ish) arm and slamming on the door in three rapid knocks, leaving a smudge of blood upon the wooden frame. 

He only hoped he would be welcomed. 

Just for a little while. Just a little rest. That’s all he needed. 

Forget - Isaac and Everett

There was something off. It was something Everett picked up on the moment he woke up, before he even opened his eyes. The bed he was in was way bigger than his bed, the blankets and sheets more comfortable and soft. It was odd. Opening his eyes a crack, the youth started and sat up quickly, breath hitching in panic.

This was not his apartment. In no way was this where he lived, why was he here, what was going on? Breath picking up, rapid, sharp, scared, the artist kicked the blankets off of him and looked around. The room was empty of any other people, but if he listened over the sounds of his heart pounding in his ears, he could hear faint…singing? Taking a shaking breath, he slid from the bed slowly, very carefully creeping to the cracked open bedroom door.

A gentle push sent it open all the way, and the singing was louder and now accompanied by the scent of food. It smelt good, but fear was fast to override any pleasure from that sense. Continuing in his slow, creeping walk down the hall, he froze before walking around the corner, peering around slowly into what he realized was the kitchen, body shaking slightly.

M!A - College student.

Isaac stretched in bed. What time was it? Nine thirty? In half an hour, his lecture would start. Philosophy. Ugh. He dreaded the subject greatly. Then why was he coaxed into spending thousands of dollars for it? There were times where he wasn’t absolutely sure.

The student ran a hand through his moppy hair, still laying upon his bed. Should I even go to class? Closing his eyes, turning on his stomach, he made his decision. Sleep.