Bryan Collins (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bryanzilla) wrote2016-01-02 09:23 pm
bryanzilla) wrote2016-01-02 09:23 pm
(no subject)
It's been nearly three hours and Bryan is no closer to understanding what's going on now than he had been earlier that afternoon.
The city had gone back to normal the day before, or it's own version of normal, anyway. Even so, he did hesitate before going near the front door for anything more than double checking the locks when the commotion started up on the other side. A dog, crying and scratching away at the entrance. After everything that had happened over the past few days, of course it had set him on edge initially. Until the dog started barking.
None of it had sounded aggressive to him, but it hadn't stopped Bryan from barricading Sawyer and Smelly away in the nursery, just in case. A small, rational part of him told him to keep the door shut. The dog would lose interest eventually or it's owner would come collect it soon enough. That rational part annoyingly sounded a lot like David. A bigger part of him, though - the part that won out - recognized that bark and the furry hind quarters wiggling excitedly that he could make out through the peephole.
He knew it was insane, but what about this place wasn't? The past few days had been like something out of an Eddie Murphy movie gone horribly wrong. Or more wrong than usual. The fact that they were there at all was madness in and of itself. Considering all of that, opening the door and being rushed by an overly excited (and very much alive) Harvey Milkbone was just today's installment of weird.
That was three hours ago and the number of questions and feelings are still all so overwhelming. He'd spent what felt like at least two of those hours just crying on the living room floor, face buried in Harvey's fur, identifying his markings, the ratio of pink paw pads to black, his collar. Until Sawyer woke from his nap and Bryan had to at least attempt to function like everything was normal.
But it isn't.
He'd texted David before he'd gotten out of work, asking him if he wanted to meet up in the park before heading home. He never mentioned Harvey. Now, seated on a bench with Sawyer on his lap and Harvey contently chewing away on a stick he'd found, Bryan wonders if he should have. He knows getting the words out over the phone would have been impossible without crying, and adding 'ps: Harvey's back' at the end of his text didn't seem like the way to go about it. He hadn't wanted him to worry or disrupt his work day. Taking vacation time and sick time were one thing, but he's pretty sure there's no such thing as my-dog-is-back-from-the-dead time.
Harvey died. They'd put what remained of him in Sawyer's nursery back home, so he'd always be close to their boy, even if they would never officially have the chance to meet.
But now they can.
The city had gone back to normal the day before, or it's own version of normal, anyway. Even so, he did hesitate before going near the front door for anything more than double checking the locks when the commotion started up on the other side. A dog, crying and scratching away at the entrance. After everything that had happened over the past few days, of course it had set him on edge initially. Until the dog started barking.
None of it had sounded aggressive to him, but it hadn't stopped Bryan from barricading Sawyer and Smelly away in the nursery, just in case. A small, rational part of him told him to keep the door shut. The dog would lose interest eventually or it's owner would come collect it soon enough. That rational part annoyingly sounded a lot like David. A bigger part of him, though - the part that won out - recognized that bark and the furry hind quarters wiggling excitedly that he could make out through the peephole.
He knew it was insane, but what about this place wasn't? The past few days had been like something out of an Eddie Murphy movie gone horribly wrong. Or more wrong than usual. The fact that they were there at all was madness in and of itself. Considering all of that, opening the door and being rushed by an overly excited (and very much alive) Harvey Milkbone was just today's installment of weird.
That was three hours ago and the number of questions and feelings are still all so overwhelming. He'd spent what felt like at least two of those hours just crying on the living room floor, face buried in Harvey's fur, identifying his markings, the ratio of pink paw pads to black, his collar. Until Sawyer woke from his nap and Bryan had to at least attempt to function like everything was normal.
But it isn't.
He'd texted David before he'd gotten out of work, asking him if he wanted to meet up in the park before heading home. He never mentioned Harvey. Now, seated on a bench with Sawyer on his lap and Harvey contently chewing away on a stick he'd found, Bryan wonders if he should have. He knows getting the words out over the phone would have been impossible without crying, and adding 'ps: Harvey's back' at the end of his text didn't seem like the way to go about it. He hadn't wanted him to worry or disrupt his work day. Taking vacation time and sick time were one thing, but he's pretty sure there's no such thing as my-dog-is-back-from-the-dead time.
Harvey died. They'd put what remained of him in Sawyer's nursery back home, so he'd always be close to their boy, even if they would never officially have the chance to meet.
But now they can.