Work Text:
the evening is quiet, both in and outside the apartment.
streber's settled on the couch, music playing through the earbuds sitting deep in his ears. he's curled up on his back in the seat, legs crossed in the air, neck at a ninety-degree angle against the couch. although it likely wouldn't seem comfortable looking at him, it’s doing its part in helping his creativity flow.
he's gotten too used to typing and planning on his computer, he thinks to himself as his pencil scratches the paper of the college-ruled notebook, already crammed with notes and doodles. they’re doodles of random shapes or patterns, or more recently he's been delving into sketching out his partner as they move around the attached kitchen, doing their own thing. it smells...not great, like ammonia, like death. thank goodness they can barely smell it, but he can. still, they're excited, and it's not too much of a bother.
now that he looks closer at his doodles, even just the shapes, he sees so much of dexter in them. they have a similar attitude, a similar mood. pairs of their eyes hide within a mandala, and collections of triangles and zigzags mimic the way their hair falls. he rolls his eyes at himself and flips the page to the blank side, though he can still see the impressions on the back. he doesn't doubt that dexter would think what he's doing is silly. he starts to write again, cramped, loopy handwriting barely legible across the top of the page. he's planning out some prop ideas for the haunted house this year that hopefully won't leave the whole group broke this time. hearing humming from over his music, he sits up a bit to watch dexter again as he finishes his thought on the page. he wonders when they'll be done degreasing the bones. he knows little about what they’re doing besides what he's picked up from listening to them babble, but they can talk so fast and stutter so much sometimes that he misses the point of what they're talking about.
but it's okay. he's the same way and he knows it, whether it be over something at work or one of his thousands of personal projects. art, writing, music, all sorts of things - and he would be surprised if dexter could list his current projects, or even the last thing he had ranted about to them. at least it's mutual. that's the way they are. they appreciate the talks while they're happening and retain as much as they can, and streber loves them for that. and he loves the way they look in the kitchen, handling the delicate bones in their gloved hands, sleeves rolled up to their elbows.
soon enough, they’re done, and he knows that now it’s time to wait. streber wants to ask dexter what the bones are from this time - all he knows is that it’s small. but he doesn’t want to interrupt the comfortable silence so he continues to listen to his music and dexter shuffling about the kitchen, washing their hands and the like. and only a little while later, they sit down on the couch with a calm, satisfied smile, resting their head back against the couch for a number of minutes.
streber starts another absentminded sketch as they pick up their notebook, flipping through the planner section and noting upcoming jobs. they don’t say a word until streber notices them shiver in his peripheral vision, and he pulls the plush blanket from underneath his back, sits up, and wraps it around their shoulders, taking care not to knock their glasses askew as he hugs them.
“thanks.”
streber tugs an earbud from his ears and grins at them. ”that better?”
dexter nods, then they both go back to their activities, quietly sitting next to one another.
it’s nice to be independent together.