Show Sunday
It’s raining again.
You actually don’t mind. You’d been busy all week, and the weather gives you the perfect excuse to stay in and do exactly what you’d been wanting to do for this weekend. Namely, chilling with some shows and movies, and a few well-deserved snacks.
Sunday afternoon finds you preparing yourself something hot to drink and digging out the snacks from the cupboards. You bring everything into your bedroom and place it carefully on the bed, before sliding under the throw for extra comfort. You bend to the side to reach for the remote control lying on the side table and switch on the TV. You press on another button that sends you to your Netflix account and start browsing through your favorite actor’s filmography.
After a few minutes, you take a sip from the mug and tap the remote against your chin, still unsure of what to choose first. You’d already seen all of it, so the choice isn’t that easy. Should you start with a show? But which one?
“Come on, Darlin’. You know you wanna look at me.”
Shane Walsh sits at the foot of your bed and winks at you smugly.
He isn’t wrong. Shane is always hot to watch.
“You really think you’re gonna get chosen just ‘cause you got no shame in walkin’ ‘round half naked, Bud?
Frank Castle leans against the bedroom door, one leg crossed over the other, and wearing a sarcastic smirk.
“Oh, fuck off. You’re one to talk. Doin’ pull-ups in just jeans,'' Shane snipes back with a derisive snort.
“That was one time.”
One time you sure aren’t forgetting about, you think as you watch both men going back and forth.
“Don’t listen to them, Sweetheart. Didn’t you say you wanted to see me again anyway?” Sam Rossi says from next to you, leaning back against the headboard and smiling softly at you.
True. Maybe you should watch a movie instead of a show. You’d missed the beard and curls.
Curls…
Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice someone on the windowsill, and find The Mute sitting there. His sword spins between his hands as he watches you intently, the metal of the weapon gleaming in the light of the TV.
You bite your lip as you sigh. You had wanted to watch that one again as well.
“Who invited Mister Silence, here? You’re pushing the silent, brooding character thing a bit far, man.” Braxton Wolff walks out from the side of the bed, his long coat billowing behind him, before he stops and winks at you. “I know you watched that shushing scene over and over again, gorgeous.” He leans over you and grins devilishly. “Should I repeat it here?”
“Sweetheart, please don’t tell me that you like that kinda sleaze?” Frank grumbles as he watches with distaste as Braxton undresses you with his eyes.
“Gotta agree with Grumpy pants,” Shane concurs, slapping Brax’s hand away as he wants to touch your thigh.
“You calling me a sleaze just because I’m well-dressed? At least I have taste,” Brax sneers as he gives Shane’s cargo pants and blue shirt a once over, before lifting an eyebrow at Frank’s combat boots.
The Mute only scoffs and rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. He gives you a small smile, however.
“He doesn’t look very trustworthy,” Sam comments, mouth twisted unhappily at Brax’s behavior.
“What are you all yappin’ about clothes for, huh? Anyone of you got a nice car?” Griff stands at your dresser, one arm resting over it and watching everyone over his dark sunglasses as he chews on his gum. “I’d take you on one hell of a ride, Baby,” he grins at you and pops the bubble he just blew with the gum.
“Why would we go for you? You’re only in the movie for five minutes,” BJ snorts, sitting on the chair next to the dresser, and throws you a grin that you return eagerly.
“Fuck you, man. It’s more than five minutes. And it’s not quantity, but quality that counts.”
“Sure, tell yourself that, pal.”
“Yeah, cause you’d know everything about quality, right, BJ,” Griff scoffs, adjusting his glasses.
“I sure do.”
“You all done with your dick-measuring contest over there?” Terrance Swaino huffs, stroking his finger through his hair from where he’s sitting across from Shane. “We’re no closer to choosing than before.”
You open your mouth, about to comment about how, technically, they can measure all they want but that they’re all the same size, but maybe now isn’t the time.
“So… what’s it gonna be, Sweetheart?” Frank asks kindly, approaching you slowly and ignoring Brax’s snide remarks.
You blink at him, entranced by his deep voice.
“Yeah? Who’re gonna choose?”
You stare at Shane, at the pendant peeking out of his shirt.
“You deserve something that will make you feel good,” Sam practically whispers into your ear.
Your eyes find the Mute, the sword having stopped spinning as the man watches you expectantly. You swallow and lick your lips.
“Shh, shh, shh. No rash decisions,” Brax croons with a smirk.
“What will it be?” They all intone at the same time, their voices overlapping, new characters appearing suddenly: Ethan Sawyer, Daniel James, Grady Travis, Joe Teague, and others, until it’s just one, single voice.
“I’d be honored to have you watch anything with me.” Jon Bernthal walks up to you as he smiles brightly, Bam Bam at his side.
He sits down next to you, while his dog jumps up and lies between the two of you. Jon extends his hand, requesting the remote from you. Your hand touches his and-
You jerk awake to your empty, dark bedroom, that is only illuminated by the light from the TV, where Netflix is still displayed on. You squint against the brightness of the screen and reach for the bedside lamp to turn it on. Letting yourself fall back on the pillows and pushing away a bag of potato chips, you stare at the ceiling unseeingly. Glancing back at the TV, you laugh to yourself. You still don’t know what to watch, but it has been one hell of a dream.