He had been waiting for someone here, waiting patiently in the room where they had always been able to meet. Someone had told him that the other may be dead, that his body may bave been fished out of a river weeks ago, and now sitting in some morgue with no love or attention. He refused to believe the lies, and soon after arranged a meeting with his dear brother. It was well known that his chances of seeing the other were almost impossible, that his Hyatt never dropped by on command, and that he may as well accept what he had been told by that wicked Zachary and move on. Still the optimist in him insisted on charging forward, on sending the letter, and getting out of bed this very morning. That damned optimist always seemed to win though.
Locks of a bright green, the color of the morning grasses, began to fall forward, his head bowing as the male rose. This really was idiotic Hyatt wouldn't show, there wasn't a chance in the nine Hells that his brother would bother to grace him with his presence. If he got started now, he could make it back to the attic before sunrise, and nobody would even know that he'd come here, not even Zach, who at this point seemed like he knew everything. Even so Jasper couldn't bring himself to walk towards the door, merely crumpling into the waiting arms of the ragged sofa. They had bought it so long ago, and it had seen so many days that it was no surprise how torn and old it appeared. He couldn't even throw that out though, it still smelled of Hyatt, and he couldn't get rid of anything that smelled like him. Hell at this point he couldn't get rid of anything that had even come in close proximity of his brother. It was all he had most of the time, and with the taunts and talk of death he needed to keep it, he needed it to give him hope.
A wandering hand groped at the side table, feeling around for the bottle. Jasper had even brought the liquor this time around, the best that he could afford, it was always Hyatt who would bring the drinks, and Jasper the food for the evening. Ripping the cork away with his teeth, he found himself taking a swig of the drink as if it were some common beer, rather then a two hundred dollar bottle of fine wine. He gave a short laugh as this occurred to him, a short nervous, tear-filled laugh.
His stomach was feeling queasy, though he reasoned it couldn't be from the drink. Placing it down, beside him, Jasper eased the rest of his body down on the sofa, curling up and gripping a cushion for dear life. Eyes were blinking shut, still attempting to hold back tears, even if it was in vain. Still though, he couldn't let Hyatt come in and see him cry, Hyatt hated when Jasper would cry. Yet there he was, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep, tears slipping away as fears ruled his dreams.
Hyatt stepped into the room, a disappointed look on his face. "Come on now Jasper," he whispered, brushing a few tears from the boys face. "I expected better from you." Picking up the bottle of wine, he tsked under his breath. "Not only are you much too worked up my dearest brother, but you have no taste in liquor." And with that he left, slipping out the door in silence, leaving nothing of importance besides the embers of a fire and a smile in his wake.