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[enarms]

"John Watson's phone. I'm either busy or ignoring you, in which case you'll know who you are. Leave a message."

(text | voice | video | snail mail | action | honestly whatever)

Comments

[prettier]

Wouldn't you?

[enarms]

If you were lucky.

[prettier]

Yeah. That's me, though, I'm always lucky.

So you can have this one, I don't need it.

[enarms]

Lucky and generous. Are your virtues endless?

[enarms]

Did the stars lure you up to the roof or the roof lure you up and the stars just happened to be there?

[prettier]

The wine just happened to be there. I was going to go to - you know, the usual find a new fuck party they have every month.

Wasn't really in the mood.

And it's fucking humid tonight. And then the stars.

And I thought... It's such a waste. Everyone here's already getting a wish. Except you because you're a fucking contrary bastard, aren't you. You're just useless.

So you can have this one.

[enarms]

[ there's a while spent frowning at the message, mouth tucked up at the corners because the whole thing's sort of very Freddie in and of itself, isn't it? except.... oh, right. slowly, John catches up.

a shooting star. ]

Not sure those are transferable.

[ he's got a reputation as a fucking contrary bastard to live up to, after all ]

[prettier]

It's not travelling alone. Look up.

I mean, go outside first, obviously.

[enarms]

And now he's making me leave the building.

[ a radio silence of a while as John does, in fact, wander outside. not a bad night to sip at a whisky and watch the sky dart with points of light ]

You can probably afford to make one too.

[prettier]

You show me yours, I'll show you mine.

[enarms]

Think we might be past that.

Don't they teach kids about wish etiquette in nursery these days?

[prettier]

Are we? I don't think I've seen half of you, yet.

And no, telling children not to tell thesedays just gets you put on a register. Seriously, you're so behind the times.

[enarms]

Don't you?

Well that's not news. You've been telling me that since day one.

How long do you think these will last? I'm struggling.

[prettier]

A bit more than day one, perhaps. Day one I didn't know about that mole.

And I don't know how long they'll last, do I sound like Brian Cox? [Yes, almost exactly, but shh.]

Useless.

[enarms]

That I'm behind the times. You can leave any and all moles out of it.

Not surprising though, is it. It's taken me months to come up with nothing, a couple of minutes is pushing it a bit.

[enarms]

I'll keep the picture, save it for later.

[prettier]

You're not behind the times so much as something from history. Bit like Downton Abbey.

And I thought you thrived under pressure? Pictures don't work, or anyone could google a wish. It has to be now, John.

text > call attempt

[enarms]

[ do you know what, texting one-handed is far from his forte and there's nowhere to put his glass out here and that absolutely covers all the reasons why he's tapping through the text window into his contacts and calling instead ]

call!

[prettier]

[He's not smiling at the incoming call, you're smiling.]

Hello, Lady Mary. [We've now exhausted the full extent of his Downton knowledge.]

[enarms]

[ John, on the other hand, knows literally nothing about Downton and is therefore immediately somewhat perplexed ]

... Hi. Exactly how much wine just happened to be there?

[prettier]

[There's a quality to his laugh when he's drunk that acts like a tell: it's not sarcastic, it's easy laughter. Little hiccups of it. Here's one.]

Enough. For me, not for you. You'd drink me out of house and home.

[enarms]

[ it pulls a chuckle loose from him as he takes a sip from his glass on cue. Freddie's soft tonight (thanks wine), and John's very glad he called. ]

I might give that a go. Maybe if I drink enough it'll get you full circle into somewhere with a hot shower you can take at any time of the day.

[ John's long since given up caring that Freddie lives the life of a squatter with poor selectivity. doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy taking the occasional prod at him. another falling bit of space shoots by and John remembers he's got a job to do— ]

If you've got one, you should go first. I'm still thinking.

[prettier]

Please, there are like twenty hot showers I can use. [Most of them don't even come with a precursor of something else hot happening first, anymore, because fuck everything he's making friends. And despite that, he still needs these things: the broken shower, microwave, general lack of a decent meal - as excuses to call on them.

Not that he calls on more than a couple, lately.] I've literally got hot showers on tap.

[There's a chirp of pleasure at his own cleverness, gracefully swallowed back.]

No, it has to be you.

[enarms]

[ the amount of time he spends smiling into space with his phone in his hand or pressed to his ear these days is getting out of hand. a tiny mrrr somewhere down below soon puts paid to that, swallowing up any response John might have had to make room for - ]

—Oh, shit. Hey, [ ch-ching, glass tapping on something solid, phone away from face leaving John's voice distant, ] hey. Come on. Come on, you... Come here.

[ whisper of fur and the purr underneath it while John adjusts himself where he's ended up, sat on his porch step, cat balanced and kissed and settled enough that a handful of seconds later he's back on the line, voice rich with humour and touched, tellingly, with an undertone of fond distraction. it's not completely for the creature curling her paws into his shirt. ]

I wish I knew how I'm ever going to persuade myself to go.

[ tongue in cheek, but - not, too. ]

[prettier]

[Freddie missed the faint catsounds to the night noises of a rooptop above a busy street and blinks at the summons, narrowing his eyes at the phone until the connection clicks.

Despite all his attempts with John and Claire, he's not terrible at knowing what someone needs. Sometimes he's more attuned than he'd like.

There's a pause where the only sound is his breath, a slow intake, loud as a sigh.]

You have to wish for something you want. [Quiet, careful.] Or it doesn't count.