Put up wet [open]

[Landon Morgan Jones]

click

Landon can't tell you that he's wandered this place alone before. He'd come in with Nate, been pushed through holding, treatment and testing with Nate and was rarely more than a few feet from the man. Partners in crime and best friends... friends that couldn't look each other in the eye and say I love you. Landon was honestly too scared to risk it...to risk everything. Anyone looking at the pair that knew them well enough, though... they would know. The boys wouldn't admit it to each other. Too much on the line, Landon thought. Too much out there that would make the most important friendship of his life weird. 

But he was alone now. Nathan was sleeping off his latest disaster as there was nothing else Landon could do. What he wanted to do involved climbing into bed and curling up with the man, holding him tightly and cursing his sorry ass for almost dying on him. No. No, he needed to run. It was jerky and awkward in beat up tennis shoes and socks dad had sent. He was out of practice and aching. Good aching. 

[nixon tatum grey]

He couldn't seem to stop the shakes that reached his hands after his latest injection. While he normally handled everything with silence, this time it was a bit difficult to him. His teeth were even chattering from the tremors. He could usually handle the after effects without a complaint, but this had been happening for two days now. Sometimes it would hit him harder than others, like right now. His teeth were chattering so loudly he felt like they were going to fall right out of his head, and in order to keep his hands still, he shoved them into his pockets, making his arms shake awkwardly.

This just wasn't one of his better days. His pale face told the truth to how he was really feeling although he would never complain. The dark circles beneath his eyes showed that the shakes were so bad that he had missed out on a night of sleep, but he would never tell a soul. He had come here of his own accord, he had chosen to travel here for treatment for his PTSD. And even though it wasn't the treatment he thought he was going to be receiving, it was certainly distracting.

He needed to do something physical with his body so that he didn't feel like such a weakling with these shakes though. So he changed into a pair of black athletic shorts with a white teeshirt, throwing his black hoodie on over himself so he could at least be warm. Yanking his hood up, he shoved his black sneakers on and was soon making his way to the track. As he stepped out onto it, he wasn't paying enough attention and he slammed into another runner without meaning to, flying backwards and landing hard on his butt. The shakes started up all over again, much to his dismay. He stayed on the ground, blinking in shock. "I'm s-so sorry m-man. Are you a-alright?"
He wasn't usually a stutterer, but his chattering teeth weren't helping with his situation.