you didn't have to offer your hand

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out Evenings had begun to take on one of two routines for Sam in the past while since he had lost his abilities: he would either go for a walk down the beach and look at the ocean, or he would sit and write in his journal with a cup of tea in Zeph's kitchen. He occasionally got up to clean some dishes or stretch his legs (not necessary, true, really an excuse to move because he was bored) but for the most part wrote religiously down his feelings and thoughts as if worried he might lose them one day. It was not a totally unfounded fear; the Voice had taken away memories before. If he continued to be disloyal, he didn't think it impossible she might take his defiance away. Zeph was somewhere or other this evening, he didn't know: while the house sometimes felt disquietingly empty without it's owner, Sam actually found this evening rather peaceful, spending a little more time than usual on making the lines in his journal neat, the letters prettily looping over each other; absorbed in his work, he for once did not pay paranoid attention to the world around and outside the kitchen. take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

Peaceful, eh? Hope he's ready for that to end.

You shove your way through the front door without much consideration for the amount of damage it might do (it's your fucking house) or noise it might make (not like Red'll be sleeping). You reek of alcohol, both from what you've consumed and what's been plastered on your agonized face to keep it from becoming putrid; a near-empty bottle of vodka hangs between your fingers, though how much you've actually had to drink is anyone's guess.

Kicking your shoes off on the lanai, you slam the door behind you and make your way to the living room, crashing down onto the couch. "Honey, I'm home!" you call out loudly to Ki (and Sam), before breaking into boyish giggles. "An' I got fucking stabbed!"

Drama llama much? Maybe, but let me say, the sewn up red gash that cuts over the left side of your face from hairline to cheek isn't fucking helping you feel like this is fine, everything is fine.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out The sudden noise of the front door crashing open made Sam jump and he looked up to see Zeph falling in: usually something that lifted his spirits, but it was clear right away something was wrong. With the rushed way the man staggered in and fell onto the couch, Sam only saw a flash of red on his face before he was out of view. The loud yell made him pause where he had been getting up, fingers tightening on the edge of the table; drunk people had always made him nervous. They were loud, out of control and never having experienced being drunk himself, he found it a particularly alienating state for his friends to be in. Still, the word 'stabbed' came into the conversation and he didn't have a choice, his legs carrying him quickly over to the couch so he could kneel on the ground next to Zeph. When he actually saw the wound, the way it snaked over Zeph's eye and the skin around it puckered and shone with slick blood, Sam couldn't help it: he brought his hands to his mouth as he gasped, clear horror in his voice. Unsure of what to do but feeling he had to do something, he reached out to grasp at Zeph's hand. "W-Wh--What happened?!" take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

You're mid-swig on the dregs of the bottle when Sam makes his way in. This is surprising: you'd nearly forgotten he'd be there, and briefly you regain enough presence of mind to wince at your current disheveled state and dramatic entrance.

But the wince, of course, makes your face hurt more, and there goes the remorse.

He settles beside you and takes your hand, which is very sweet and deserves a good turn in response. Smile-grimacing, you pat his fingers with your thumb. "Hey, Red. How y'doin? Wanna- aw, shit. It's empty." You raise the bottle up to peer into it, an action which again makes your face burn and threatens to tear at your stitches. Oops.

Putting the bottle haphazardly on the table, you scoot over on the couch, tugging Sam up to sit on your right (not your left. That's the pretty side. Pretty fucked! Good one, Zeph!) "Oh, this? Ain't nothin'- had a run-in with yer friend th' Arm-biter. Didja know he has a fancy knife? Got to see it alllllll up close."

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out At least Zeph seemed happy enough to see him; Sam took a breath as he tried to steady himself and be the mature adult between them, work out how to fix the problem and be clam. "I'm ff-fine, but I di..didn't expect to see you lik..like this." He gestured to Zephs...everything with his free hand, unsure of how to put 'a huge mess' in a non-insulting way. Pushing the bottle to rest more solidly on the table, he let out a surprised noise as he was pulled up, immediately feeling rather flushed as Zeph's hands were on him: even more so when he originally found himself positioned somewhat awkwardly over the man's lap, his knee casually hooked over Zeph's thigh. With an awkward apologetic noise that wasn't quite a word, he pushed himself off and shuffled to be sat next to him instead. "A..Arm biter...?" He frowned, trying to think of who in his circle could be referred to like that. Did Zeph mean an Ascended? As far as Sam knew, there weren't that many in Torchline at the moment... "Is he c..c..coming after you? Are you ss-safe now?" He asked, glancing over to the window as if expecting to see an murderer rush past any moment. take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

The awkward leg-on-leg action goes largely unnoticed by you, though you certainly don't mind the moment when he's halfway in your lap. He's so small and sweet, delicate as a damn bird - you could probably scoop him up and carry him off if you wanted. You doubt he'd much complain.

There's a moment where you very much consider this course of action, but luckily Sam's line of questions pierces your hazy mind. "Nah, don'tcha worry- little kitty raaaan away. Not gonna bother us t'night, probably." You nod encouragingly and unsteadily at Sam, the pain of it filled by your copious alcohol intake. Gods, you gotta find some rum.

Poor Sam does not appear to be as amused by this situation as you are. In your unfortunate haze you wonder why, and then decide you have it figured out. The 'biter was his boyfriend, right? Or his ex-boyfriend's-new-boyfriend? Or one of the Voice's lackeys? You can't quite recall, but you do not need coherent thoughts to decide you're pretty sure you know what has Sam upset.

Reaching out with susprising gentleness given your current state, you attempt to take Sam's cheeks between your palms and tilt his face up to yours. "S'oksy, Red, y'don't gotta be scared. I'mma, I'mma take care'a ya. Protec' ya. An', an" I ain't gonna hurtcha. It let anyone else. Y'know all'a that, right?" There's surprising sincerity in your slurred voice, your one good eye peering at him seriously, the other swollen nearly shut in a truly grotesque display.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out The description of Zeph's attacker as a 'little kitty' certainly didn't do anything to relieve Sam's confusion. Still, if they weren't being followed for the night, he supposed the actual identity of the attacker could wait for the moment. He needed to find out eventually though, so he could be sure they were punished through the proper channels: hopefully Remi or Sunjata might help him find them. It was hard to keep himself composed, especially as Zeph's hands came up to his face and he was forced to look straight on at his wounded eye, the horrific cut and swollen lid: he couldn't see what had become of the sweet brown eyes, if one of them would now be gone. When he realised Zeph was trying to comfort him, he felt a huge well of emotions rise and had to swallow hard to get them down; had anyone ever been so good to him? "I know." He needed to be strong right now, Sam decided. Putting his hand up onto Zeph's on his cheek he turned his head and just for a moment, pressed his lips to the palm: not quite a kiss, but a clear show of affection. He then gently took the hands away, stood. "St-stay there. I'm g..g..g..going to get you a dr-drink." A bit of a mean trick: he thought Zeph might wait if he thought something else alcoholic was coming to aid the pain. Truthfully Sam just went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, finding a towel to soak and wring out too, as well as a bowl. When he returned he placed the bowl down on the ground and sat next to Zeph again, held out the glass. "S...ssssip at this. It will make you feel better." take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

A version of you either much drunker or stone sober might have made a very bold move indeed, in response to Sam's quasi-kiss of your palm. As it is you simply stare at him, running your thumb over the stubble on his cheek, taking in the eyes as blue as lakes surrounded by pale white sand. So very sweet, you think to yourself. Despite all of the bullshit, still so very sweet.

And suddenly you realize how incredibly stupid you are. What an ogre you must be next to him, an old man with a fucked-up face and a fucked-up arm and a fucked-up history. To think there might have been a chance for anything-

Well. Better not to dwell on it.

You drop your hands back to your sides, watching him stand up and walk away, then lean back against the couch. Large hands run, exasperated and tired, through your graying hair. A drink sounds good. And then probably bed, before you can do something stupid. Something you'll both regret.

The drink is met with a grateful grunt, and then sputtering unhappiness as you realize the damn dirty trick that Red has played. "This ain't vodka!" you exclaim indignantly, gesturing toward the glass. "I take it all back. Yer a cruel man, Red." But there's no real malice or anger in your voice, and you knock back a large gulp of the water, some part of your brain aware that you cannot handle a hangover as well as you used to, and that this is a very considerate thing.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out Perhaps Zeph saw himself as an ogre but as Sam watched him drink, carefully looking to make sure none of the water split (drunk as he was, Zeph needed all he could get), all he saw was someone he was beginning to realise he cared for very much. With Zeph he felt safe and cared for even now, felt like he was in the presence of someone that would look after him; he had no issue repaying that. And even though the wound on his eye was certainly disturbing, none of it would stop Sam from thinking him handsome. He did laugh when Zeph worked out his trick, though he was happy to see he still drank it anyway. "It's b-better for you than mm...mmore alcohol. You'll feel be..better in the morning." Or so Sam had heard that was how hangovers worked: with no real experience, he was really just throwing things at the wall. If he'd wanted to, Sam could have left at that point, having done his good deed and made sure Zeph wasn't about to die. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he did that though. Zeph had done so much for him and there was a tug at his heart that kept him close anyway, kept him wanting to make Zeph smile. "..If...if you'll l-let me, I could wash off s...some of the bl-blood. The water will ff..fffeel nice, too." He leaned down to pick up the bowl and rag, bringing them up to his lap. Shifting onto his knees so he could lean in close, he reached to gently daub the cloth at Zeph's forehead, carefully making sure he was going around the cut and not on it, softly taking blood off the skin. Being up close made him cringe, but he tried to play that down: as close to Zeph's face as he was, only a couple of inches away (glad his sense of smell was weakened, given the alcohol that had to be on the man's breath) he didn't want to make him too conscious. He gave Zeph a small smile as he met his eyes, then continued to slowly make his way around the wound, washing and cooling it. take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

"Thought you didn't know anythin' 'bout drinkin'," you counter, sticking out your tongue in an act of true foolish childishness, but obediently return to the water. It's pleasantly refreshing, you must admit, and feels better than the vodka did, going down your throat. How long has it been since you had something like this: someone other than Ki to come home to, to look after you when you've been a fool? To laugh and tease you, and to hold your hand?

Ughhh, you're getting sentimental again. Stop it, Zeph, you old goat.

But how can you help it? How are you supposed to resist it when he squats down on the ground between your knees, looking up at you through those big blue eyes and dabbing gently at your fucked-up face as though it were something sacred? What reasonable man could resist being so inexplicably, bizarrely, openly admired? How long has it been since you felt so easy and at ease in someone's company, since it wasn't about transactions, be it business or pleasure?

Without much thought to what you're doing you reach up to place your hand on his, gently, tenderly almost, searching his face with your one good eye. "Red-" you begin, cutting off quickly as you realize you are probably (definitely) drunk and shouldn't be doing this now. He's so vulnerable, so kind, and you're probably reading way more into it than you should. But hey, fuck it. Carp the damn, or whatever they say. "D'ya, y'know... why're you here? Like, not here, but here? Like this. With me. Why?"

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out Sam was quite pleased with how easily the blood was coming off. While the cut was certainly not neat, when the worst was wiped away it was rather thin in some places and he hoped it might heal well, eventually becoming virtual invisible unless someone was...well, as close as Sam was now. He was about to tell Zeph so when their hands met, this time Zeph reaching for his; he looked into the eye searching his with concern, worried he might have accidentally hurt him. "Yes?" Sam asked, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd grown very used to the nickname so quickly, despite his initial dislike of it: spoken in Zeph's voice, it sounded sweet, like a term of endearment. The question threw him off though; Sam at first tilted his head, obvious confusion in his furrowed brow. "Wh...what do you me-mean?" He mumbled, though as soon as the words were out he began to understand, something about the look in Zeph's face filling in the blanks. "...Oh." So, they were acknowledging it, were they? The tension between them, the thing they both had to feel: it was electric every time they got closer. Sam had thought at first it had just been him, then he had begun to notice the reverent looks Zeph seemed to save just for him, the too-long touches. He had been content to let it linger there forever, just let their future be something in his imagination: to speak it felt wrong almost, as if it were breaking something precious. But Zeph had asked, so he had to say something. "...B-because you are...you have bee..been so good to me, when you d-didn't have to be. You are kind, and sweet, funny...I know we hav..haven't known each other v..very long. But I care about you, Zeph." He took as much care as possible to have the last words come out clear, a smile that threatened some tears on his face as he raised his other hand to rest gently on Zeph's neck, fingertips stroking the hair at his nape once. take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

The blood on your shirt will prove far greater issue than that which has escaped the doctor's ministrations and stitches, but you appreciate the effort anyway. It's another of those strange sweet things Sam seems so fond of doing, like making you tea and cleaning up your shit, and it feels comfortable to just sit back and let someone take care of you.

Or it would, if you hadn't decided to put your foot in your mouth and mess the whole dynamic up. What were you expecting him to say? You knew what the answer might have been, knew that no matter what it would change things, but still your drunk ass decided to ask it anyway, to give voice and name and terrible existence to the whatever-it-is that exists between you. Idiot-

Gods, it hurts to hear those words, the confession of a puppy love you can never hope to deserve or sustain. Care doesn't have to mean anything but that, but you're not so far gone that you've lost all emotional intelligence. The implication is clear, and the ball is in your court, and you know have no idea whether to keep it or give it back.

Then his other hand is on your neck, and your eyes squeeze shut, because you know what you have to do and you know that if you're looking at that face so close to yours there's no way you'll be able to do it. Gently you reach up and move his hands away, pressing them between yours, your thumbs gracing gently over the knuckles as you exhale a long, slow sigh, looking off into the other room.

"I was afraid'a that." Pressing your lips together in a sad smile, you chuckle slightly, shaking your head. "Look, Red- Sam. I'm not.... I don't do this. Date. Be fond'a people." You keep his hands within yours; you do not meet his eyes. "I wouldn' know th'first thingabout it. An' I... I like havin' ya around, but... yer sweet, an' young, an' you deserve someone who can sweep y'off yer feet an' make pretty promises an' keep 'em. And I dunno if that's me."

Finally you let him go, lifting your hand to run it through your hair. "Look, what I'm tryin'a say is..." What are you trying to say? You have very little idea; you're drunk and emotional and you just got stabbed and your heart is racing a hundred miles a minute. Do you want him to go? Stay? Find someone else? Be yours?

Yes.

"I like you, Red. I like what... whatever this is. But I dunno if - or when - or if- I'll be able t'give y'more. Does that... does that make sense?" You're looking at him now, finally, searching for an answer and understanding, for him to make more sense of your nonsense than you possibly can.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save

SAMUEL stretch out my life & pick the seams out The way Zeph closed his eyes and moved his hands away...Sam was painfully used to that kind of response by now. His heart seemed to love too quickly, to eagerly latch onto the potential - though something about Zeph was different enough that it hurt anew. In his previous relationships he'd often wanted them to continue just to be with someone, to feel like he'd succeeded in love...here, now, it was because he wanted to be sure he could stay. Could find the comfort he found in Zeph's company whenever he wished. He hadn't really been expecting to be swept off his feet anyway, certainly not with Zeph in the state he was; he hadn't been expecting such an eloquent and gentle put down either. Swallowing, he put on his best brave smile, pretending his soul wasn't crushed under the weight of the lost possibilities. "I know, Zeph. Though..." The smile grew a little, a touch more genuine. "I k-keep telling y...you, I'm not th..that much younger than you. Only s-sssix years." With the eternal nature of Ascended life (usually) before him, six years was nothing. Taking his hands back and letting them rest in his lap, he hated the leap of hope his heart made at the word 'when', tried to push that back down. He couldn't hurt Zeph with his expectations, ruin what they had with his imagination. "I'm n-not here for th..that. Or...not j-just that. I want t..to help you, when thh-things are bad. Like now. I want to he..help, and just...be here, be-because already, you're one of the b-best friends I've ha..had. I feel...more me, with you. Even like this." Slowly he stood, held out a hand to help Zeph up. "...C-come on. You sh..should get to bed. I'll help." take what you like, but close my ears and eyes, watch me stumble over and over.

zephyr

It's a good thing you aren't looking at him, because if you'd seen his crushed expression that would have been the end. As it is you snort a huff of laughter, your face softening just a little around the areas where the wounds still prohibit movement. "Practically a baby," you drawl in counter.

Maybe... Maybe this will work.

Or not. You feel like you ought to say something in reply to him, something about not being all that great and how he can do better, but honestly? It really doesn't seem like he has this far. Good friends, good family, good people: they all seem to be conspicuously absent from his life.

So maybe that's what you can be. Someone who helps him find someone better, to show him how well he could do. And if you catch a little feelings, what of it? You've been drinking those fuckers into oblivion for years, now. What's a few bottles more?

With this new resolve to be merrily friendzoned you accept his hand and rise to your feet, swaying a moment as the room around you spins. "I'm not that- aw, heck." No, no, you are definitely that drunk.

You make it up the stairs with plenty of help, only stopping long enough to strip off your bloody shirt and shorts before collapsing onto the bed. "Thanks, Red," you murmur, right eye already beginning to close. "Yer pr'tty. Nice. Don'... Don' leave me, k?"

And with that you drift off into the dreamless, mercifully heavy sleep of the very, very drunk.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save