Like a Torn Cloud Before the Hurricane

Chapter 3

The shower was a quick affair because Ed didn't want to use up all the solar-warmed hot water, but also because it was kind of scary to shower in the dark. There was a particularly hefty tree branch that raked against the house like Freddie Kruger's claws. The bathroom window by the shower was the only window in the house they hadn't managed to block off.

Ed finished toweling off and shifted the battery-powered lantern to the bathroom counter so he could see what he was doing. He piled his wet hair into a messy bun on top of his head. It would be an absolute state when it dried, but frankly, haircare was the least of his problems.

He reached for his change of clothes and grunted as he realized it was one that was a size too small. He'd been intending to do some work on the cabin and had brought that particular tee because it wouldn't matter if it got paint on it. Ed meant to grab a different black shirt, but under the glow of a flashlight, they all looked the same.

Ed shrugged and pulled the t-shirt over his head. It featured a white outline logo of the band Sloan. The fabric pulled tight across his chest, and the bottom wouldn't quite stay down, leaving a slice of abdomen between his shirt and the top of his dark grey slim-fit jogging pants.

He considered his reflection for a moment, then adjusted his hair and pulled a few strands loose to frame his face. Then he picked up a pair of scissors and snipped at a few longer bits of his modest-length beard. That done, he pushed up on his eyelashes, and reached for a tube of mint chapstick that he slid across his lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ed mumbled as he leaned forward to consider his own reflection. "This is a crisis, not a fucking date."

Ed ended up taking longer to tweak his appearance than he did in the shower. He threw a loose gray knit cardigan over his shoulder and slipped his feet into a pair of slides.

It actually took a lot of effort to look effortlessly cool - not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

Ed took a deep breath with his hand on the bathroom door, then rolled his shoulders back and tried to slip on a calm mask. He'd been feeling certain...energy from Stede, but given the heightened stress of the situation, he couldn't be sure he was reading him right. Ed knew he was an attractive man. If he was Stede's type, this little wardrobe change should elicit a response.

,

He found Stede on his knees in front of the radio as he futzed with the antenna and rolled the dial backwards and forward. The static crackled and added to the general noise of the howling wind.

"Any luck?" asked Ed as he fell into a lazy swagger and stopped by the cooler to pull out a beer.

"Just the one station is coming in clearly," said Stede. "Well, this one and a French one, but the latter's not much help unless you..." he looked up at Ed, who was standing just beside him. His eyes widened. He turned pink. "...know...French."

Ed was smiling ear-to-ear on the inside, but on the outside, his eyes were lazy and half-lidded and one hand was dug deep in the pocket of his cardigan. He canted his hip and pretended like that didn't make the bottom of his shirt roll up. "I know like, six words. Not enough to seduce you with. Or decode a radio broadcast."

The pink spread from Stede's cheeks up to his ears. Rather than respond, he turned back to the radio and busied himself with twisting the dial until an English voice came through clearly.

That reaction made Ed worry he'd overstepped. He had to remind himself that they were stuck together for at least the next several hours, possibly longer. A misstep at this point could make those hours incredibly awkward. So he tugged the end of his shirt down, and when that didn't work, he folded his cardigan over and buttoned it. "What's the radio been saying?"