Tell Me How It Feels

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A/N: Sorry here's some boredom, as usual, I haven't been too creative at weaving things together recently. Sigh. Also unedited. 

Caysie. x

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Just five more days," Joel breathed, barely even whispered, just mere minutes after his drowsy eyes had flicked open.

He was sprawled across the smallest couch, one leg hanging off it and the other twisted over Timothy, who was awake but seemed not to mind the lack of space. 

"You're that desperate to go again?" Finlay questioned, maybe stated, but not that it mattered. He knew how much Joel wanted to go away again, so he didn't even take his eyes off the book he was drawing in to see the response.

Joel just groaned in confirmation, his face still pressed against the lower couch cushion as it had been all night.

"But first," Timothy piped up enthusiastically, starting to pick at fray threads that ran from the hems of Joel's jeans, "your birthday."

He moaned even louder, tilting his head so his face was squashed further.

Finlay stared at Joel, dragging his attention from his page lazily, and wondered how on Earth he had stayed in that position for an extended length of time. Surely it was uncomfortable, it was even painful look at, Finlay could just see him falling off any minute in a heap. Timothy's lap must have been numb too, having Joel's leg forcing pressure on it so much, maybe preventing the circulation somehow.

Filled with regret from last night's decision not to lie in bed until morning, Finlay felt like leaving the living area without a word and crawling sheepishly under his bed covers. He hadn't actually slept on the couch neither, but he was definitiely tired enough to do so now. In fact, he felt like he could fall asleep right here and now, he probably would if he knew that someone wouldn't wake him. With every minute that passed, Finlay could swear he could feel hours of sleeplessness pouring into him, even though he had slept fine the night before last.

"Oh, so I'm guessing you don't want a gift then?" Timothy teased, his finger still picking at the black denim, "'cause I've got other things to spend money on."

Joel remained lying still for a brief moment, then slapped his hands on the couch arm, propped himself up so he could stare straight at Timothy, "what?"

"We could forget it was your birthday, it's a win-win. No getting old for you, no buying gifts for us."

Joel smiled, almost devilishly, "if I'm forced to have a birthday every year, Timothy, then it's just decency to give me stuff. It's just common courtesy, just so I'm not completely depressed, y'know. As my friend, it's your duty to make me happy, and presents do that. So that's why I will still accept your gifts on my birthday, it's all for a good cause."

Finlay's hand stopped abruptly on the line he was drawing as soon Joel had mentioned that word. He didn't want to look up again just yet, but he had to judge their reactions. To be honest, he felt groggy and apathetic and he nearly pushed what Joel had just said out of his mind, but decided against it. Slowly, as if it something frightening was on the next couch, he trailed his gaze over to his two friends again.

The first thing he noticed was that Timothy's hands had stopped picking, as his his entire attention had seemingly turned to Joel's face, and he stared at surprised and with a hint of a frown.

Joel had obviously realised what he had said, it was clear since he was still propping himself up and not bothering to position himself comfortably. He wasn't directly looking at anything in particular neither, just off into the area between Timothy and the empty space on Finlay's couch.