[ He doesn't come often but whenever he does, they leave together and they come back together, the very first light of morning chasing their heels. They don't go anywhere particular, nowhere special, but they're not special children with special needs. Chuck and Mako are used to receiving only the things that they've earned and never expecting anything more, and so this is enough, this strange, silent companionship. (Talking just means getting caught that much sooner, though there are the occasional conversations whispered back and forth. Nothing of consequence, however, they're not those sorts of friends. Anything you can do, I can do better mostly.
Loser. Jerk. Shut up.)
When they reach Mako's bunk Chuck follows her back inside and once the door shuts behind the both of them she crowds him against the inside of it a little, the cold metal of the handle digging into the dip of his spine, the warmth of her coveralls against this front. They don't usually talk during this part either.
Sometimes they skip it altogether. Sometimes they don't. ]
no subject
Loser.
Jerk.
Shut up.)
When they reach Mako's bunk Chuck follows her back inside and once the door shuts behind the both of them she crowds him against the inside of it a little, the cold metal of the handle digging into the dip of his spine, the warmth of her coveralls against this front. They don't usually talk during this part either.
Sometimes they skip it altogether.
Sometimes they don't. ]