"Sometimes," the redhead snorted, making a show of swatting at the hand hovering around his face, except he didn\'t push it away so much as snatch it out of the air and drag it down to rest on their thighs, held lightly in his own.
"Nah," he answered the next question, and was already thinking about the benefits of his coffin when the final query came. "Well, it\'s not soft, but it\'s, I like it \'cos it\'s, see it\'s..." he broke off, trying to put his thoughts into words, not realising that he was showing his thoughts by letting go of Will\'s hand and wrapping his arms about his upper body, hugging himself. "Safe," he eventually finished, looking over his bicep at his friend.
He couldn\'t - or wouldn\'t - put into words the fact that the coffin was a place he retreated to when he was most troubled, most upset, and needed a haven of some sort - beyond saying it was where he felt \'safe\'. His broad shoulders fit very snugly in the tight space, it cocooned him and made him feel steady when his heart and soul were entirely the opposite - that was exactly how he\'d felt the night before, when he and Will had fought. Adrift and unsteady, in need of comfort and holding.
It was alright when he and Will weren\'t fighting. When he was upset though, the coffin was what made him feel better.
He grinned and dropped his arms from around himself, not seeking out Will\'s hand again but resting his forearm against it instinctively. "I\'ll be right, back in my own bed today. Besides, I dirtied the coffin with my filthy feet last night, I\'m gonna\' hafta\' get the fuckin\' thing cleaned. Where the fuck d\'you look for an at-home coffin cleaner?" He brayed a laugh at the thought of going through the Yellow Pages hoping there\'d be that exact section in there for him to choose someone from. Or a chemical advertised. How the fuck would he clean it?
