PAIRING: Speed/Eric
Eric POV, angst warning.
He craves the sea. He would sell his soul for open waves, cutting through the clear water without a thought, ignoring all Speed's admonitions about the bacteria and pollution and women after his ass.
A laugh – a shaky whisper, but it's there. He presses futilely against the wood, his palm scraping against the rough planks. The soft skin bleeds, tiny splinters marring the smooth flesh, as he pounds the side with all his strength.
He leans too far and the box tumbles, slamming his shoulder into the ground, knocking away his breath as the bone cracks. The pain is distracting; it almost drowns out the raucous laughter from all around.
Eric never realised he was claustrophobic – has huddled deep in the cabins of speedboats, buried often under the covers away from sunlight; it's a very different thing when space is but one move away.
Now, he's suffocating in a box of wood, all his efforts leading to blood and bruising. He yearns for the freedom he never appreciated, the knowledge of his flaky Destiny that seemed on course until yesterday. He wants to walk in the park, dive into a lake, kiss Speed on their balcony and never let go. He's trapped.
He can't stretch out, but it's not just the crushing sides of wood. He feels the weight of time on him, knowing that men in boxes don't have long lifelines. He knows the deep groove is fading from his hands, scratched out by the bloody wood chips piercing his skin.
Eric wishes he could see Speed one more time. They fought over his family again, Speed wanting more than 'friend' status in their eyes and Eric unable to give it, not yet. Here, in this shrinking Hell, he would give the world to see his best friend's eyes, touch his lips to his, tell him 'love' could not describe the exploding ache in his chest every time he thought of him.
Weakness is stealing through him, lack of food, water and sleep dragging him into a half-waking state. The chips of light are greying out, his eyes unable to focus anymore. Yet he's stubborn and he continues to squint at his hands, wondering if the line's gone yet. He's worried that he'll miss it.
Rain on a tin roof – the thunderous noise deafens him, and he curls up, desperate not to touch the sides of the suddenly-fragile box. It dies away with loud shouts, and he hears voices that he recognises – he hears Speed.
"ERIC! WHERE ARE YOU?"
He musters all his strength to shout, "SPEED! HERE!" before coughing into the floor of the box. There's a desperate scrabbling to his left and he faces that wall, waiting, hoping.
A snap, and light streams in, Miami sun hurting his eyes. Frantic hands draw him out, every muscle screaming as those warm hands turn him over and settle on his face.
"Eric? Eric, stay with me."
He opens his eyes to the voice, and a smile graces his lips. Speed looks sick, but is holding onto him as if to never let him go. It's good kind of cage.