Taming Chaos // J.M // The 100

Chapter 73

Day Thirty.

The pool table was a perfect stage and Ethan is living his dreams of performing, right here, right now. He strums his fingers along his air guitar, the song memorized word for word. "These things you keep!"

It's one of the only ways to drown out the unending silence.

Mouthing along with him, Murphy bounces his head to the beat and slides into the dining room, cleaning out two separate glasses.

Exploring whatever it is they have together leaves less reliance on alcohol, but sometimes being tipsy added to the fun.

"You'd better throw them away."

Ethan sits down, swinging his legs off of the edge, "You wanna turn your back!" He yells, hitting the beat with his hand, "On your soulless days!"

He jabs a finger at Murphy and hops down, moving closer. "This is so your song."

Murphy's eyes crinkle with a slight smile, clinking the bottle to each cup until filled to the brim.

"Once you were tethered!" Ethan continues, slinking around the table to join him, "And now you are free!"

He reaches around Murphy for the cup, and grazes his fingers deliberately against his ribs. Their casual touches were turning into something more constant, and less hesitant.

"That was the river,"

Murphy lolls his head back against Ethan's shoulder when the blond slings an arm around him, slender hand pressed to his stomach. He hollers the next line, lifting his glass into the air.

"And this is the sea!"

Day Thirty-One.

"Oi, watch where you kick that thing!" Ethan wheezes a laugh, watching the ball roll at the feet of its damage, a load of smashed collectibles.

Murphy gives him that same flat look he makes when he's either not amused or wants to sigh. "You're too slow." He shrugs, "Not my fault."

"No, you just kick hard. I've been on the receiving end of that foot." He snorts.

After accidentally kicking Ethan out of bed during one of his more physical nightmares, Murphy woke up confused and apologetic, only to find him cackling from where he lay on the floor.

Murphy rolls his eyes and settles into a prepared stance, making a come hither motion with his hand. "C'mon. It's still two to five."

"I'm still getting used to it, okay? I never played soccer."

"Uncultured."

"Oi."

Day Thirty-Two.

"How the hell do I shorten Ethan into a nickname?"

Half asleep, Ethan turns his head to see the side of Murphy's face, blinking blearily, "Huh?"

"Your name. It's too short."

"Why'd'you wanna nickname me?" Ethan heaves himself onto his elbows, words coming out half slurred from sleep.

Murphy wouldn't look at him, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. He was half in the blanket and half out. He'd also stolen most of the pillows. "You gave me one."

"Okay?"

"Well," Murphy shrugs, a hint of frustration, "it's nice. There isn't much for Ethan."