The problem with doors in island huts was that they creaked. A lot. Unless one felt like prostrating themselves in front of Tony Stark's door, getting proper metal hinges for doors inside bamboo huts was a chore, one that just didn't seem worth it, and so the hut that Sawyer had originally secured for Alex and himself was one that was pretty sparse in comforts, though large enough that they'd both had more than enough room to themselves. But without the materials to make for the quietest of foundations, Sawyer had heard every step of Hurley's as the other man approached Sawyer's room, creaks and groans, and it only made him bury his head further under his pillow. Sometimes, one just felt like bitching, even if there wasn't anything particularly important to moan about.
That morning was one of those days.
"You accusin' me of hearin' things?" Sawyer asked incredulously, the tone coming through in spite of being muffled by his pillow. "You're the last person to point fingers 'bout being crazy, Hugo."
As though to emphasize his point, the rustling from the common room continued, and the scratching of something against the wall. Sawyer froze, then slowly pulled himself out from under his covers, brow heavily furrowed. "You heard that, right?"
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Date: 2011-03-31 02:15 am (UTC)That morning was one of those days.
"You accusin' me of hearin' things?" Sawyer asked incredulously, the tone coming through in spite of being muffled by his pillow. "You're the last person to point fingers 'bout being crazy, Hugo."
As though to emphasize his point, the rustling from the common room continued, and the scratching of something against the wall. Sawyer froze, then slowly pulled himself out from under his covers, brow heavily furrowed. "You heard that, right?"