Disclaimer: The character do not belong to me, and I make no money from them.
At the Bottom of the Stairs
Spent most of his day ignoring them, felt like they were watching him, asking him for more. Thought maybe if he looked at them, Jack's blue eyes, all big n' sad, would be staring back at him. Turned his head and walked on by.
That first evening, first day without Jack, felt longer than the four years. Couldn't get the smell of Jack out of his nose. Needed the taste of Jack, the feel of his chest hair an' how it was, the feel of his hands an' what they felt like t'touch. Ennis, laid out on the couch by a beer and memories not even twenty four hours old, sorta looked towards the window. Didn't wanna see them, but knew there were there, markin' time an' the memory of Jack's sweaty back. Glad he weren't alone in that.
Second day he glanced, just like you might look at a girl you liked, not sure what'll happen if her eyes meet yours, but there were no eyes staring back at him, just wooden slats, an' he shoved his hands in his pocket, called himself a sentimental idiot, and went to work.
By evening he skittered right by them stairs, knowin how they were accusing.
Three days of this, an he had his day off when Alma was at work. Still couldn't look at 'em, not head on, but the girls was inside watching TV, and he went out to buy a pack a smokes. (They'll be alright for a minute. Not goin far.) His insides all felt weighed down by time. The smell of Jack had gone too soon. The taste were easy to remember, less than a week gone by, but his hands were itching for Jack's, his chin searching for that stretch of swirly dark on Jack's lower belly, right where the muscle cut away. His lips needed to pull life from Jack.
An' before he even saw what he was doin', Ennis was runnin' his hand across those wooden slats, wonderin if they still had some sort a memory like he did, from touching Jack.
Mrs. Cohen's door shuttered open, and she was coming down her stairs. "Mr. del Mar? You alright?"
Only then did Ennis realize he'd leaned a needful head against the side of his own building in broad daylight. Christ, had he been moaning?
He might a made some noise in response, rushed back inside, damn the smokes. Dammit those stairs. They touched Jack for fifteen seconds and carried so much memory even so.
If Ennis couldn't control himself 'round the stairs, Ennis knew he was right a turn Jack away. Didn't stand no chance gainst Jack himself.
Ennis was laid out on the couch again soon, by a beer and memories still three months too early.