When he heard the latch, the sound of a lock being set, Gansey's stomach flip-flopped.
He had never been locked in anywhere before. One of the benefits of living a charmed life that was it was... charmed. Never denied what he wanted, never stopped from going anywhere. And now, within the span of twenty minutes, he'd been denied and trapped. Frankly, he didn't even know how to react.
Then there was food pushed through a slot for him. His appetite was starkly absent so he ignored it, glancing around the room once. It was not any better now that he was inside.
At first he paced. Rubbing his thumb, teasing it across his bottom lip, running his hand through his thick brown hair. Utterly restless. His shirt was cold with cooled sweat and he found it uncomfortable, so he stopped his pacing to slowly unbutton it and slide it off his torso, revealing sunkissed well toned shoulders and a finecut figure. He left the shirt draped across a chair.
He couldn't rest in the bed. There was no reason other than a feeling that kept him from even going near it. Another man may have shouted and banged on the door. Threatened the air, kicked, broken furniture. Acted violently. There was plenty in the room to throw and it had been clearly designed with such a reaction in mind, with its padded furniture.
Gansey settled on sliding his back down the wall in one of the corners of the room, leaning against the wall once he'd pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Sleeping was impossible; his mind was running on too many thoughts and questions. He simply studied the floor. The ceiling. Waited for... something. The phantom to return? A brilliant thought to cross his mind? He wished he had a book to write in. A leather journal was always essential to Richard Campbell Gansey the Third, but he hadn't brought one on this excursion.
no subject
He had never been locked in anywhere before. One of the benefits of living a charmed life that was it was... charmed. Never denied what he wanted, never stopped from going anywhere. And now, within the span of twenty minutes, he'd been denied and trapped. Frankly, he didn't even know how to react.
Then there was food pushed through a slot for him. His appetite was starkly absent so he ignored it, glancing around the room once. It was not any better now that he was inside.
At first he paced. Rubbing his thumb, teasing it across his bottom lip, running his hand through his thick brown hair. Utterly restless. His shirt was cold with cooled sweat and he found it uncomfortable, so he stopped his pacing to slowly unbutton it and slide it off his torso, revealing sunkissed well toned shoulders and a finecut figure. He left the shirt draped across a chair.
He couldn't rest in the bed. There was no reason other than a feeling that kept him from even going near it. Another man may have shouted and banged on the door. Threatened the air, kicked, broken furniture. Acted violently. There was plenty in the room to throw and it had been clearly designed with such a reaction in mind, with its padded furniture.
Gansey settled on sliding his back down the wall in one of the corners of the room, leaning against the wall once he'd pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Sleeping was impossible; his mind was running on too many thoughts and questions. He simply studied the floor. The ceiling. Waited for... something. The phantom to return? A brilliant thought to cross his mind? He wished he had a book to write in. A leather journal was always essential to Richard Campbell Gansey the Third, but he hadn't brought one on this excursion.