an: ive never written any of these characters before and need a challenge, so heres this. whatever this is. stream of consciousness, flowery midnight ramblings in the style of Bat Boy the Musical. enjoy, maybe.
Adjusting to the standard sleep routine commonly shared by most humans with any sort of sense was still somewhat of a challenge to him, finding that his lifelong nocturnal habits couldn't simply be reversed in a matter of months. A "good night's sleep" was still quite a foreign concept to him, his own night's sleep could only be described as patchy at its best, nonexistent at its worst. It also didn't help that Dr. Parker began his days at exactly the time he found himself drifting into unconsciousness.
So every morning at 7am, he'd arise reluctantly and start his own day, only to find himself nodding off somewhere around noon. Mrs. Parker insisted that his rest would improve once he'd adjusted to the cycle, but Shelley would always protest if in earshot: "He'd sleep better if he got to be more active. It's not like he's getting any exercise sitting in here all day!" To which Mrs. Parker would scoff and throw up her arms as she flitted off to another room, leaving Shelley standing poised for an argument and Edgar staring at the doorway, frustrated and drowsy. The woman was anything if unrelenting.
The exchange happened again every so often, until one particular afternoon, Shelley burst dramatically into the family room, sandy hair pinned back and sleeves rolled up practically to her shoulders, giving her an almost stocky appearance that was disproportionate from her thin frame. Edgar could only blink in confusion from his seat on the floor, a giant almanac spread open on his lap.
"We're cleaning the garage!" She announced, arms akimbo, the declaration far too mundane to warrant such theatrics.
"A-are we, then? Is that all?" He set the book aside.
"I mean, I guess, maybe not all in one go. There's loads of junk in there, so it might take, like, more than a day."
Edgar furrowed his brow. "I thought the primary function of a garage was to provide shelter to a car, not junk."
"Well, it'd 'shelter a car' just fine if there weren't so much junk in it." Shelley rolled her eyes and leaned against the doorframe. "I figured some heavy lifting might help you sleep better. Endorphins or something. You know all that science stuff."
"It's actually not the endorphins released through physical activity that improves sleep, it's the gradual dec-,"
"Okay! My bad, professor, but can the biology lesson wait until later?" He blushed involuntarily at that. Endorphins, indeed, but not from exercise. "Look, the garage needed to be cleaned anyway, and either you do it with me, or with my dad this weekend."
Well, the latter certainly was not a viable option, and there wasn't any harm in the former, so why not? He rationalized that the Earth would not change significantly in the span of an afternoon, and besides, how often was it that he and Shelley spent time alone?
With a satisfying thunk, he closed the heavy book and shoved it from his lap, rising to his feet and trotting off after Shelley.
more to come, probably.