Figuring out you're in love with your best friend is surprisingly stressful.
Particularly when he keeps putting stuff on the internet that makes you want to punch things.
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For the prompt: Novelist/film writer Claude has moved his writer's block to one of a pair of holiday cottages, in the hope that a change of scenery will get him writing again. He's initially not happy when divorced father Danny rents the cottage next door with his three teenage sons.
“Danny, Danny, have you seen this?” Wayne waves his phone back and forth.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Simmer.” Danny pulls his sweaty undershirt over his head and drops it on top of his bag.
Wayne crosses the locker room and shoves his phone in Danny’s face. Displayed on the screen is a picture of Claude in some kind of business, possibly a bank, holding a baby. A baby that, at a shallow level, looks a lot like Danny. Jesus fuck.
There were good reasons Nicklas wasn’t in Russia, playing in the KHL. Nicklas knew Alex knew them, because he had told him a hundred fucking times.
Bookmarked by Loramir
21 Oct 2018