Rating: T
Summary: What would you do if you had all this in front of you? You'd stay. But I'm gonna go ahead and hit.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I make nothing.
Characters: SpRace!
"Bad night's sleep?"
Mush hitches up a corner of his mouth and grins at Racetrack, rubbing his palm into the boy's glossy hair before stepping on to claim water at the wash counter.
Racetrack recoils at the touch, crinkling his eyes in discomfort. "Whoo, Jesus," be breathes, scratching his eyebrows. He can hear the other boys banging around the washroom, the blood and energy beginning to pulse through their veins and warm their joints. Racetrack continues to slump, uncharacteristically, uncharged, on the foot of his bed, groggily scraping his palms against the scratchy sheets, pushing them into the folds of his hands. "Yeah," he sighs, bunching the muscles in his legs to heave himself from the bed. "bad night's sleep."
Where bad, he thinks in what would be a cynical tone if wool-thick fog hadn't obstructed his mind from clear thought, means none.
He pushes his fingers into the corners of his eyes and slides them up to his brow bone, shiny spots of grease rubbing off on his fingertips. He gingerly steps towards the washroom on his stiff, tired legs, little by little remembering snatches of the previous night's game.
Where game, he thinks in the same tired tone, is more or less, an understatement.