ooc.
LALALALALA. HERE YOU GO.
ic.
As nasty or as long as their fights were, it was always easy for the two friends to settle back into their old routines once a truce was called. Dahmer listened to Sherlock's teasing words, finding himself incapable of holding back the small smile that tugged at his lips. He let it loose and rolled his eyes, tossing a crumpled up piece of paper at her. The male didn't pay attention to see whether or not it hit her, instead he moved away from the table and made his way to the pile of lumber. He brushed past her once again – unable to resist the possibility the of slight contact. The touch was slight – a small brush much like before and it only lasted for an instant. Dahmer was loathe to break contact, forcing himself to continue moving rather than letting it linger. He drew away physically of course – mentally was an entirely different story. Already he could feel himself falling into his own patterns: a worrisome, depressing thought. But he would deal with the consequences of their unhealthy relationship later. For now he was content to endure this oddly buoyant mood.
The tree house was already started way before hurricane season, thank you very much. He smirked, enjoying the meaningless banter that always came after their altercations. They would joke back and forth for a short while – just surface stuff before continuing on as though nothing had happened. Of course, until the next big storm. It wasn't proper or healthy by any standards – especially considering the fact that Dahmer was violently in love with his friend, against his very deep wishes. A recipe for disaster by any means. But it seemed to work for he two, and any attempts to change their pattern never seemed to catch on.
Now I'm rushing to get the damn thing finished before the storms really start. He gave her his very best smile – the lopsided one he saved only for her: his most genuine one. Then he turned back to the wood, throwing back the deep blue tarp he'd secured on top on order to keep the lumber dry. He appeared to forget that his friend was even around for a few moments as he made some mental calculations. Dahmer selected a long piece, holding it up and inspecting it from several different angles before tossing it aside. He continued this for a little longer until several pieces passed inspection and he gathered them up in his arms after putting the tarp back in place.
With that task finished, he appeared to notice Sherlock again – grimacing in apology as he moved by her again, careful not to knock his friend over with the wood. I'm not finishing it entirely – just doing what needs to be done in order to keep it in one piece during the season. I have a lot of plans and you know how it is. I don't want to do a rush job. He stood before the great tree again, and loaded the wood into the pulley system he had rigged up in order to transport his materials to his work station. With quick and effortless movements the male was up amongst the branches again. He yanked the wood up with a few pulls and set about his task. After a few moments of hammering, he looked down at his friend. And what about you? Where have you been staying? Do you have a safe place to spend the season? He spoke and looked as though he was talking about nothing more interesting than the weather, but really he was concerned. Where had Sherlock been staying? Surely it wasn't acceptable enough to withstand the storms that were bound to hit them. He wouldn't be satisfied unless he saw her place himself. And if it wasn't suitable, then what? Dahmer balked at the idea of her staying with him. They were moving forward and he had forgiven his friend for her earlier transgression. That being said, he was far from willing to be in such close quarters with her. He loved her – he both acknowledged and condemned that fact in the same thought. He could deal with just being friends with her, with never being loved back. But in order to do so, the male needed distance. It was crucial to his survival. Living in the same den for a couple of months? It couldn't happen. Maybe the whole thing could be avoided – maybe she'd answer him now, tell him that she found a nice secure place and that there was nothing to worry about. But if not, he knew he would spend all of his time searching for a safe place for his friend. Something close by, but not too near that he'd feel suffocated by her proximity.
These thoughts are rushed through his mind quickly – and he betrayed no sign of them assaulting him. He continued his work as though the topic barely mattered, appearing to calming await her answer. Meanwhile, Dahmer's thoughts were racing.
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