corin wakes up the next morning with his tongue and eyes feeling too big for his head, and his head probably in some sort of vise, his stomach in a blender. the only thing that made him get up was the sneaking suspicion that if he didn't, he would throw up on his bed, and that was not something he wanted to deal with if alma was around. squinting, he made his way to the bathroom, spent 15 minutes throwing up into the toilet, a few seconds rinsing out his mouth while pointedly not looking at the mirror, and then remembered that the last thing he remembered from last night was being half-dressed in the ocean, singing at the moon.
that would explain was he fell asleep with his shoes on, but shirtless.
shuffling back to his bed, corin saw that someone had put a bucket next to his bed, and that he didn't need to have gone all the way to the bathroom at all, but in retrospect, at least he wouldn't have to deal with disposing it later.
he stripped to his boxers, crawled under the covers, and fell back asleep.
+
"if i was your father," edmund had been saying to him last night, as they all three stepped into the ocean, "i would just live here all the time."
"i miss the beach when i'm in the city," corin slurred. "i miss the city when i'm here."
"do you ever miss america?" peter asked.
"of course. and when i am there, i miss the philippines." this was when corin, in a fit of energetic inspiration, whipped of his shirt and threw it to the night sky. the stars were endlessly bright, shivering with their own light or maybe he was just drunk, and the sand beneath his feet gave way distractingly, softly, like whispers. "i am always home and away from it."
"yeah," said edmund, "i know the feeling."
+
corin wakes in the late afternoon, still fuzzy, but at least he isn't in so much pain. he rolls out of his bed in just his boxers and shuffles down the hall to the disaster of the living room, and catalogs the overflowing ashtrays, the half-hearted empties pyramid, and half-empty bottles. a vision of an angry aravis floats through his head, giving him hell for being a pig as his father stood behind her not saying anything, but his facial expression clearly expressing that he agreed and was glad he found someone else to say it for him.
whatever. they're not here.
he turns down the hall to where the guest rooms are.
within a 20 minute walk from the compound, there is a lean-to that sells the bomb-ass adobo and fresh coconut juice from the shell, and seeing as he threw up the contents of his stomach (and probably some of the lining) earlier, he is famished.
the door to peter's room is wide open, and it is empty. the bed is neat and untouched.
corin frowns.
this is when he realizes that the sounds he's hearing is not his brain being fuzzy, and not part of the auditory collage of daily life going on outside the house. it's coming from--
he turns around.
the door to edmund's room is open just a crack. corin knows those kinds of sounds, and instead of turning around and maybe watching some tv until the business is done, he softly steps closer, and he peeks.
1/2
that would explain was he fell asleep with his shoes on, but shirtless.
shuffling back to his bed, corin saw that someone had put a bucket next to his bed, and that he didn't need to have gone all the way to the bathroom at all, but in retrospect, at least he wouldn't have to deal with disposing it later.
he stripped to his boxers, crawled under the covers, and fell back asleep.
+
"if i was your father," edmund had been saying to him last night, as they all three stepped into the ocean, "i would just live here all the time."
"i miss the beach when i'm in the city," corin slurred. "i miss the city when i'm here."
"do you ever miss america?" peter asked.
"of course. and when i am there, i miss the philippines." this was when corin, in a fit of energetic inspiration, whipped of his shirt and threw it to the night sky. the stars were endlessly bright, shivering with their own light or maybe he was just drunk, and the sand beneath his feet gave way distractingly, softly, like whispers. "i am always home and away from it."
"yeah," said edmund, "i know the feeling."
+
corin wakes in the late afternoon, still fuzzy, but at least he isn't in so much pain. he rolls out of his bed in just his boxers and shuffles down the hall to the disaster of the living room, and catalogs the overflowing ashtrays, the half-hearted empties pyramid, and half-empty bottles. a vision of an angry aravis floats through his head, giving him hell for being a pig as his father stood behind her not saying anything, but his facial expression clearly expressing that he agreed and was glad he found someone else to say it for him.
whatever. they're not here.
he turns down the hall to where the guest rooms are.
within a 20 minute walk from the compound, there is a lean-to that sells the bomb-ass adobo and fresh coconut juice from the shell, and seeing as he threw up the contents of his stomach (and probably some of the lining) earlier, he is famished.
the door to peter's room is wide open, and it is empty. the bed is neat and untouched.
corin frowns.
this is when he realizes that the sounds he's hearing is not his brain being fuzzy, and not part of the auditory collage of daily life going on outside the house. it's coming from--
he turns around.
the door to edmund's room is open just a crack. corin knows those kinds of sounds, and instead of turning around and maybe watching some tv until the business is done, he softly steps closer, and he peeks.