[for Tony]

[daretodo]

"Yoo-hoo, anybody home?"

I knock on some piece of machinery with a stick I picked up on the way over -- just enough to make thing rattle. I haven't stopped by the scrapyard in weeks, too wrapped up in my own grief to care about someone else's, and it's guilt that I could be so callous that brings me out here today.

Whatever hell I'm going through, Tony's right there with me. We've both suffered a loss. And maybe it'd just be easier to let that tear our friendship apart, but at the moment, he's the closest thing to family I've got on this island, and I'll be damned if I lose someone who's still here just because I can't bring myself to make the walk over. We've been through too much already for that.

"Tony?" I poke my head around the corner, lifting up my messenger bag with my free hand. "I brought snacks."

Comments

[notawastedlife]

Tony was sitting in a sun-chair he'd constructed out of bits of metal and some fronds. It was holding up nicely. The things he'd made tended to.

He figured it was probably compensation for him not holding up so well. The goatee was a little frazzled, bordering on a beard. He had been sitting in one place for longer than was probably normal.

(Although normal for Tony was about a minute, sometimes.)

"...I'm listening," he said, waving to a nearby flat surface. "Just... over there."