Feb. 15th, 2005

milliways_sawyer: (Damn)
Sawyer wakes slowly. He's vaguely aware of the world around him. Mornings were rarely good to him.

He's aware there's an arm draped across his chest, and it's not his arm. Must have been a good night, he thinks as he tries to sift through the sleepy haze that clogs his mind, trying to find memories of last night.

And, when he does, he's awake. Fully and completely awake. His eyes slowly pan to his right, fully aware of who they'll find yet still hoping he's wrong.

He's not. It's Charlie.

Sawyer suppresses the urge to cry out, to shove the smaller man out of his bed. He slips out from under Charlie's arm as silently as he can. Waking him means having to confront him, to deal with what happened last night, and Sawyer really doesn't want to to do that right now. He needs time to figure out what the hell did happen, and he could really use a stiff drink or three.

Frantically, he grabs at clothes to throw on. The jeans are his, but he knows the sweatshirt he pulls on isn't. He doesn't care, though. He has to get out of here.

Sawyer all but sprints out the door and down the stairs.

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milliways_sawyer: (Default)
James "Sawyer" Ford

February 2006

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