It’s been a long time he’s shared a bunk and even longer since he’s curled up with other crew mates. Once upon a time any old barrel or heap of rope had done. A hammock if he was lucky. Working his way up the the luxury of a bed, even a thin, unforgiving one was a hard earned treat. This bed is absolute majesty in comparison. And despite being unused to sharing now, there’s something nice about drifting off to the breathing and weight of someone beside him - trusting completely that the person won’t stab and loot him in his sleep. Things have really come a long way.
And he sleeps well. Really well. Despite the dregs of a hangover when he wakes to the noise of a note being stuffed under his door, Izzy feels energised as he grunts and rolls out of bed.
It’s late morning but it’s also unlikely anyone has missed him. Edward doesn’t require nearly as much attention here, not that Izzy likes this development, and he trains with Darcy in the afternoons. His mornings are his own.
Izzy stretches, carding his hands through his hair before scratching his chest, padding naked to the door after a small detour to the bathroom.
He knows the writing on the page immediately and prepares himself for a fresh new hell as he turns and finds there is already one waiting. In his bed. Lucius Spriggs is in his fucking bed and-
“Oh my god.” Small but gruff.
Then he remembers. In great, vivid detail, why Lucius is in his bed.
no subject
It’s been a long time he’s shared a bunk and even longer since he’s curled up with other crew mates. Once upon a time any old barrel or heap of rope had done. A hammock if he was lucky. Working his way up the the luxury of a bed, even a thin, unforgiving one was a hard earned treat. This bed is absolute majesty in comparison. And despite being unused to sharing now, there’s something nice about drifting off to the breathing and weight of someone beside him - trusting completely that the person won’t stab and loot him in his sleep. Things have really come a long way.
And he sleeps well. Really well. Despite the dregs of a hangover when he wakes to the noise of a note being stuffed under his door, Izzy feels energised as he grunts and rolls out of bed.
It’s late morning but it’s also unlikely anyone has missed him. Edward doesn’t require nearly as much attention here, not that Izzy likes this development, and he trains with Darcy in the afternoons. His mornings are his own.
Izzy stretches, carding his hands through his hair before scratching his chest, padding naked to the door after a small detour to the bathroom.
He knows the writing on the page immediately and prepares himself for a fresh new hell as he turns and finds there is already one waiting. In his bed. Lucius Spriggs is in his fucking bed and-
“Oh my god.” Small but gruff.
Then he remembers. In great, vivid detail, why Lucius is in his bed.
Oh no.