lupusintus | 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚛; INBOX

[ What, exactly, is Ethan Chandler doing on this glorious day? The same thing he would be doing back home, he has his meager supply of dinner knives set out on the table for inspection and cleaning, judging by the cloth nearby. When weapons are a rarity, one must work with what they have. The knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts long enough for him to cover the knives with the cloth before he walks over and looks out the peephole.

Once he has identified it is someone he knows, his expression slides into friendly familiarity before he opens the door and leans against the frame. He does not even manage to get a greeting out before he notices the fact that something is off. The hesitation is one thing, but the eyes are another, so he hesitates for a moment before stepping aside to let him in. ]

I take it this isn't a social call?

[ No shit, Ethan. His poor attempt at livening up the mood. ] I don't have anything fancy but I do have whiskey.

[Last time, Ethan liked the play innocence--many men do--but this time, they're here because it's Dorian feeling some kind of way. When Dorian's feeling some kind of way, he'll do what it takes to feel anything else. And he's not sure Ethan would have the stomach to hurt him if he was asked to. While it would be nice to shove the man down and climb him like a tree, he's going to have to test the waters first--introduce a little roughness at a time and see what the limits are.

The moment the door is closed, Dorian seizes Ethan by the shirt to shove him up against it. But then he pauses, and leans in for a gentle kiss.]

[ No whiskey, then, Dorian?

Too bad, because that's exactly what the first kiss will taste like, which he reciprocates. Ethan stumbles back against the door at the shove and looks down at Dorian, trying to work out what the motive might be for this. So, he reaches over to put his hands on his shoulders to get his attention before another kiss happens. ]

Dorian. What happened?

[ He doesn't make a move to step away just yet, nor does he let him go. Someone who trapezes through life like him doesn't show up like this out of blue, had someone done something to him? Hurt him? Yet another interesting facet to his personality was about to be revealed. He's intriguing, that's for damn sure, but he isn't going to learn everything about him in less than a week. So, in the meantime, he'll fish. ]

[There's a frustrated sigh--a rare sound from Dorian. He releases Ethan's shirt to slide his palms halfway down his chest, resting them there idly, while he struggles not to think. He doesn't want to talk about this. He doesn't want to be vulnerable in front of someone with no understanding of immortality. He doesn't want to be vulnerable in front of someone, period. He just spent twenty-four hours with Lestat, connecting on a deep level with someone like him, and he's sick and tired of feeling fragile. Now he's going to have to talk about his feelings in addition to feeling them, which is bad enough on its own.]

I met Monsieur de Lioncourt, [he mutters.]

Oh.

[ For such a simple reply it carries a lot of weight behind it, he knows how frustrating Lestat can be to be around at first, but he grows on you. Like a wart. But for one reason or another, it seems like he might have experienced something else -- and it looks like it's going to be difficult to get answers out of him right away. Ethan squeezes his shoulders in a manner he hopes will be seen as comfort, even if Dorian doesn't seem to want that right now. ]

Do I want to know what happened? [ Oh, he knows. Louis happened. ] Look, I won't pry if you don't want me to, I already told you that before. But you're not stuck in that house anymore, you have to face things here even if they're painful or inconvenient and you have to be careful. You might be able to wake up after dying here but you would still have the memories of getting hurt.

Even if you don't want to talk about them with someone who doesn't understand.

[Oh. So Ethan already knows. That'll make this easier. After a moment of grinding his teeth, he nods.]

Whiskey it is, then. If you still won't mind.

I wouldn't have offered if I minded.

[ With a small smile, he steps around him to disappear into the kitchen to retrieve another glass and the bottle. Thankfully, should it be necessary, there is another bottle on the counter. Soon he's back, offering Dorian the glass he's filled up, carrying his own in the other hand with the bottle tucked under an arm. ]

I told you he was interesting.

[With how casually inviting Ethan is, how open and nonjudgmental, there might be a tiny smile in one corner of Dorian's mouth as he goes to putter about. He finds a place to sit, takes the offered glass with a nod and a small thank-you, and sips.]

You didn't tell me how interesting, [he says, already sounding a little better.] He didn't attempt any harm, mind you. Not that there's anything wrong with a little harm done in good fun. [He taps a fingernail against the glass.] I've never spoken with another immortal, except for one who was too young to understand what it is to be immortal. And we did speak at length. We might not be the same creature, but we understand one another. He understood me. In ways no one has.

[He hesitates, his jaw working as he tries to swallow the implications of what he's about to say.]

And one day, I will return to my world, and he to his. He will have his companion, and...

[And Dorian will be alone. Again.]

My opinion would have been biased; I don't think anything I could have said would have prepared you for meeting him. The only thing I've seen him harm here is a headstone. Long story.

That thought process is going to get you into trouble here. A little harm could get ugly fast, especially with you not knowing your limit like this. Too far and you'll be healing for a while. [ Or worse, but he doesn't need to tell Dorian that. He claims a seat next to him, sipping from his own glass. ]

So, it was a new experience. [ Something that is so inherently rare in his life that having it plucked away has left him feeling wounded. For a moment or two, he's left silently wondering if the two of them meeting was, in fact, a good idea. Would there be repercussions in the near future? ]

If you think about it that way, your entire stay here will be miserable. [ But it's obvious that his heart bleeds for him. ]

Misery is a strong word for it, [Dorian says mildly, perhaps a little bitterly.] As is thinking. I am trying not to think of this at all.

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..

:)