lupusintus | 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚛; INBOX

Is it? So, you're going to tell me this is over some mild inconvenience or irritation?

[ He isn't buying that. Leaning forward in his seat a little, he sets his glass aside. ]

You aren't trying not to think about it, you just don't want to because it's difficult. This? Isn't the way to go about it. [ He might not be immortal, but he knows a thing or two about gravitating toward people when he has a crisis of faith. Ethan holds his hands up, as if surrendering. ]

Don't take my word for it but there's nothing to gain from running, I've tried. Eventually it all catches up to you and you're standing at the finish line alone, wondering how in the hell you got there. [ He studies him for a moment, then continues. ]

Almost afraid to ask how long it's been since you felt like this.

[Dorian forgoes explaining how he doesn't really feel misery, or joy, or anything strong. It would make him sound heartless--which he just might be. But when he does get glimpses of strong emotion, it's disorienting. Confusing. And it's better to gaslight himself into forgetting the problem than to keep feeling something disagreeable.

But Ethan's not letting that happen. Nobody has made him confront these things, or took particular interest in his emotional well-being, in ages. The sort of people who would do that don't usually associate with him once they realize the sort of person he is. That, or they've already heard about how he ruins people.

He tosses back the rest of his drink and pours another.]

I don't know what I feel like. [Not totally true, but all he can tell is that it seems to partially consist of a lot of things he's already felt before, but it's all so tangled together he can't tell what's what.] Nor to what finish line you are referring.

You've run and bottled things up for so long that you don't know how to face it, maybe you even forgot how. People feel, Dorian, even immortals, turning your back on your feelings because you don't want to feel anything unpleasant is doing a disservice to yourself.

I'm not backing down on this. [ As in, he might as well just start talking because Ethan can do this all day. He folds his arms, looking resolute. How can he fault him when he turns into a hairy version of himself once a month and attempts to snack on people like they are dino nuggies? Mind you, if he was aware of the whole truth, it would be a different story. ]

People aren't destined to be alone; they seek out companionship any way they can. Family, a friend, a lover. Let me ask you this: Say you meet that person, what is the first thing that comes to mind? Is it I want to protect them with my life or how long is it going to take for them to leave?

[ Dr. Chandler, reporting for duty. He thinks he knows the answer, too. ]

[The longer Ethan goes on, the more Dorian simmers in rage. How dare he? They've conversed a handful of times and Ethan thinks he already knows him? But the worst part isn't even what Ethan says--it's what Dorian does after. He stands up, restless suddenly, paces for a moment, hand tight around his glass. Then, his self-control snapping with a shrill ring in his ears, he flings the glass against the wall as hard as he can. It shatters, whiskey dripping down the wall. He sinks back down to the couch and covers his face with his hands.]

[ If the reaction startles him, he doesn't show it, instead looking between the shattered glass and Dorian himself. He gives him a few moments to calm down before he reaches out, resting a hand on his back to give his shoulder a squeeze. Even if he shrugs the hand off or lashes out, Ethan's demeanor will not change. ]

Dorian. Look at me.

[Dorian flinches away from the touch. He doesn't want to be comforted. If Ethan isn't going to give him what he came for, why is he even here? What does Ethan want from him?

But his hands come away from his face, revealing damp, reddening eyes and a flush of shame in his cheeks. After a moment, he forces himself to look at his friend, though he doesn't make eye contact for long. He hates being seen like this. He must look a mess.]

[ Ethan might be a lot of things, a hypocrite for one, but he's starting to learn when to pump the brakes. Right now? It's time to back off. Even if he doesn't desire the comfort, he is going to get it, in the form of him scooting closer so he can pull him into an awkward hug. The lack of eye contact, the tears, Dorian's more than welcome to hide his face as long as he needs to.

In this case, he can be a patient man. ]

[It is extremely awkward, at first. It isn't that Dorian hasn't been hugged before. It isn't even that he hasn't been hugged recently. But whenever it's happened before, it's been done to appease, manipulate, or control. He knows it's meant to be a gesture of comfort, and that is why it has been so useful.

But this isn't the same. This is actual comfort with no quid pro quo, no brushing conflict under the rug, no expectation of favors in return. It's almost sickening, how sincere it is. Embarrassing, even, as if Ethan is resorting to the body language equivalent of baby talk. There are no layers, no hidden meanings or messages. It's primitive. It's...

It's honest.

Suddenly, Dorian's arms are wrapping even more tightly around Ethan, fingertips all but clawing into his back, as if he can fuse together with him somehow, as if he indeed hasn't been held or touched in centuries. A long breath is released, along with a good amount of tension, and he rests his cheek against a broad shoulder as his tears slowly cool and dry.]

[ One hand rubs at his back while the other remains stationary, Ethan just lets the silence stretch on, he isn't going to force Dorian to talk while he's like this. When he finds his feet again, he can be the one to break the silence. The longer it drags on, the more he has to think about and the more he wonders just how alone he must have felt. In the grand scheme of things, he didn't know anything about the man he currently holds but you didn't have to know someone to know pain.

Everyone felt it, craved for comfort from it, but it never went away entirely. It lay dormant until some explosive event in life triggered it into action. ]

[Finally, Dorian releases Ethan, feeling oddly...odd. He's not sure if he feels better, but he feels emptier. Not numb, like usual, but like something left and could be replaced by something else now. He looks up at his friend now and feels seen. No, not just seen--safe. Someone has his back for the first time.

For now.

And for now, it's mutual. Dorian has never been a good friend, nor is he especially confident he could ever be one. But for now, he's going to give it a go. Not because he's a good person, but because Ethan is the sort of man who deserves a good friend. A good man who may need to have a bad man on his side.]

Thank you, [he whispers.]

You don't have to thank me.

[ He didn't do it for the gratitude, he did it because it was something he wanted to do -- clear and simple. Nonetheless, Ethan smiles and nods after a moment before rising from his seat. Part of him wants to tell Dorian to be more careful and selective about who he goes to for "comfort," but he thinks better on it, it isn't as if he is a child. ]

If I offer you another glass, I hope you'll mind my walls.

[ There's humor behind it though. ]

[There's a chuckle low in Dorian's throat, though he winces internally at that loss of control. Somehow, Ethan isn't holding it against him.

This friendship isn't going to be like anything he's ever had before, is it?]

𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚛; INBOX

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👀 those bedroom eyes..

:)