[Here, he does pull back a little. Isn't going to lean directly into the matter of a newly-arrived stranger accusing Stephen of selling out the whole universe.]
He doesn't have the whole picture yet. [ What's that? An instinct to defend himself? A precursor for whatever's coming next? He finds he doesn't have the energy to interrogate it too much. ] As far as he was concerned, I'm dead.
[ He laughs here at the irony. A humourless, wet little sound. ]
Sorry. Sorry, I can -
I can give you context.
[ It's a question for all it's a statement. If you want war stories with your groceries. ]
[It sounds like a request, Stephen asking if he wants to know. He does. More than that, though, he thinks Stephen wants to tell him. To talk about it.]
Context could be helpful.
[The fact he's selecting apples right now doesn't matter, except that this might be more comfortable face to face.]
[ Abruptly, he doesn't want to be in the fucking woods anymore. Distance is a kind of safety, but it isn't going to miraculously make this story any easier to tell. ]
... Can you head back, meet me there? I'll help you collect what you need later.
[ A change of mind, but he suspects the frantic thing in his chest might be set loose by close proximity to safety, to comfort, and would rather not share that with whoever might be out trading for a new pair of summer shoes when he arrives. ]
It's going to sound insane, just so you... I know you have a threshold for that, but. To warn you.
[There's the sense of agreement as Takeshi picks the last three apples quickly.]
A man arrives and accuses a wizard of selling out the whole universe. If the context for that didn't sound at least a little insane, I think I'd be disappointed.
[As he exchanges the equivalent of "put it on my tab" with the fruit seller, then turns to head back towards the brothel.]
[ A huff of breath that's almost a laugh, room for humor even as he feels a little more manic with each passing step. It is insane, actually. What they all had to do. What he did. ]
Sorcerer. [ He corrects, absent-minded, habit, something to say. ] Do you have aliens where you're from?
[Though that makes it sound like they killed them all, which Takeshi would not consider outside the realms of possibility, but wasn't quite the truth.]
Cortical stacks were only possible due to the discovery of the remains of an alien civilisation on a planet called Harlan's World. We never found more than that.
[ Huh. That's an interesting piece of information - he focuses on it, on pocketing it, as he goes on. ]
Our universe is teeming with life. Throw a rock in space and you'll hit a sentient species - if they're not already busy invading New York City. [ That's a bit of an overstatement, but. ] The villain of our piece is a giant purple guy from a planet called Titan. Thanos. So there's your first dose of weird shit.
There are over five million people named John in the United States at any one time, I think we can cut planet-namers some slack.
— Hey, did you have the Norse pantheon anywhere in your history?
[ He's stalling, maybe, distracting himself, but he's told Takeshi next to nothing of his life, his world. It's not hurting anyone to fill with a little levity the time between here and him arriving home so Stephen can skip the rest of the walk and console himself with his company. ]
[ That earns a snort, and the rapid onset divorce of himself from wider reality for a few more minutes. ]
Alright, alright. Anyway, real people in my world. I once had Thor summon Mjölnir from the top floor of the Sanctum to the bottom, crashing through every single available display case on the way down. I think he was pissed I pulled out a hair. Or that I kept teleporting him around the place. Whatever it was, one hell of a clean up.
Ssss... [ the sound sustained as he runs the numbers ] ...even so far, by my count. Should've asked for the fine print.
[ Before he signed for the goods. It's fun, this kind of idle easy conversation about a life that's about as ridiculous as the fact he pulled a real rabbit from a real hat not two months ago. But the real subject comes creeping back in uninvited, impossible to ignore for long, and Stephen sighs as his bubble bursts. ]
He's a good man, Takeshi. And he's right to be angry with me. He just doesn't know the half of why yet.
I'm guessing there's a reason you didn't tell him during your conversation.
[Which may be a well-timed point, as he's just entered the brothel. Nods greetings to some of the workers in the lobby, heading into the back corridors towards his room.]
[ So is Stephen by the time Takeshi makes it to his room. Hand trailing over bottles and decanters without really seeing them, something to do so he doesn't have to meet Takeshi's eye the second he walks through the door, buying himself another couple of moments in one piece.
But he glances up anyway when he hears the door go. Damp eyes brim immediately. He holds it together for a second, another, face twitching through a series of small defeats - then scrunches his eyes closed with a shake of his head, tears spilling, breath rushing out to hiss back in as he tries to get himself back under control. ]
[It's worse than he'd expected, than Stephen had been projecting, and perhaps he should have seen that sooner. Still, instinct instructs without thought. Door closed behind him, the pack containing the few items he had picked up left on the table, Takeshi steps into Stephen just as the final piece of that crumpling resolve collapses. There to catch him in the fall, pull him in against him.
The breadth and strength of his body is bolster and shield, care absolute and unequivocal in the cup of his palm to the curve of Stephen's skull, the kiss he presses to his temple. The quiet he leaves empty of hollow platitudes, open for how or when Stephen chooses to fill it.]
[ He raises an arm between them as Takeshi envelops him, curls a fist to press ineffectually against his chest. It's a rebuff he can't commit to. Instead, a trembling whine of helpless protest as comfort goes pressed against his temple, needed and wanted and too much to take. He'd known this kindness was coming. He'd come here for it, hadn't he?
It burns. His free arm wraps around him, clutches at him, taking a fistful of the cloth at his back as Stephen chokes out a breathless sob and just fucking cries. ]
[That initial press of resistance is almost cursory, an acknowledgement of a barrier that Stephen had already made the choice to do away with. That they both had. Takeshi lets the ghost of it haunt between them for a moment, before he takes that curled fist and loosens it, pulls it up to his neck, gentle but firm prompt to hold onto him fully. Let him be steady while Stephen wasn't. Couldn't be.
There's alarm for that, of course. Confusion. Concern. Doubt, even, for his ability to handle this, to be what Stephen needed. That he'd never seen Stephen like this didn't mean that Stephen never was, but the thought occurs that he may never have let himself be. That it was being with Takeshi that allowed it. It's humbling. Terrifying. It only makes him hold Stephen a little tighter.
He guides them to the bed, when there's enough give in Stephen's frame to allow it. Keeps him held close, sat on the edge. Waiting for the worst to pass.]
[ Out of practice with falling apart, he lacks the experience to reassemble himself. It takes heaving breaths clawed into some kind of pattern, takes fingers still bunched into a shirt while, once together enough to be guided to sit, the hand no longer gripping on to his living life raft lifts to press at his eyes, massage at the sockets.
It takes a while, for all it's clear he's struggling to expedite the process. But finally, once he's sure he can get the word out in one uninterrupted breath: ]
[Takeshi's answer is a low sound in his throat, acknowledgement and dismissal all in one, another kiss against the crown of Stephen's head. Then he's shifting, extracting himself gently.]
Let me get you some water.
[Stephen could magic it up, but Takeshi doesn't want him to - the motions of the task give him a sense of structure on how to handle this, regardless of how false he knows that structure to be.
He doesn't rush, but it's only a minute before he returns and reclaims his spot next to Stephen. Glass in one hand, large embroidery-bordered handkerchief in the other.]
[ The kiss to his crown earns a shaky breath. When Takeshi gets up Stephen sits there in his absence like a boy, a little lost, trusting in somebody who knows better to come back with a remedy.
He huffs a damp and grateful laugh when Takeshi sits back down beside him with water and handkerchief and he finally recognises that feeling for what it was. Takes the water, and a sip, then accepts the handkerchief to dab away some of the evidence of his lost grip. He's embarrassed. It's a rare enough feeling that he doesn't mind it, exactly. Or perhaps it's just that he's too spent to care. ]
Thank you. [ He coaxes himself into casting a glance at Takeshi over another sip of water, hands full of all the evidence of his care. Wry, trying to take a little of the danger out of the moment now it's mostly over, projecting okay, I'm okay: ] Been sitting on that for a while.
[The same tone bounced back, dry, wry humour. But he reaches out, despite the consideration that more contact might disrupt Stephen putting himself back together. Perhaps for his own need. Cups Stephen's face, thumb running slow along his cheekbone. It's okay to not be okay.]
[ He really isn't sure when he earned this. Him. What he's done except for lean on him, hurt him, frustrate him. Need him. The gentleness knocks something loose, breath hitching in-in-in—
And streaming slowly out. He lets the handkerchief drop into his lap so he can lift a hand, wrap it soft around Takeshi's wrist, closing his eyes through a cycle of two deep breaths. When he opens them again, there's a little more resolve. ]
[There's the immediate, of course. The desire to know what it is that's caused Stephen to react like this, the detail of what he's been sitting on for a while and how it would crumple him in the wake of just one man's arrival. But more, wider, another aspect Takeshi has to acknowledge now: he wants to know everything about him.
Clear in his eyes and the hand that remains at his face, thumb repeating that stroke across his skin, though, is that it's only if Stephen wants to. Only if he can bear it.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He didn't sound pleased to hear you.
[Putting it lightly.]
no subject
[ He laughs here at the irony. A humourless, wet little sound. ]
Sorry. Sorry, I can -
I can give you context.
[ It's a question for all it's a statement. If you want war stories with your groceries. ]
no subject
Context could be helpful.
[The fact he's selecting apples right now doesn't matter, except that this might be more comfortable face to face.]
no subject
... Can you head back, meet me there? I'll help you collect what you need later.
[ A change of mind, but he suspects the frantic thing in his chest might be set loose by close proximity to safety, to comfort, and would rather not share that with whoever might be out trading for a new pair of summer shoes when he arrives. ]
It's going to sound insane, just so you... I know you have a threshold for that, but. To warn you.
no subject
A man arrives and accuses a wizard of selling out the whole universe. If the context for that didn't sound at least a little insane, I think I'd be disappointed.
[As he exchanges the equivalent of "put it on my tab" with the fruit seller, then turns to head back towards the brothel.]
no subject
Sorcerer. [ He corrects, absent-minded, habit, something to say. ] Do you have aliens where you're from?
no subject
[Though that makes it sound like they killed them all, which Takeshi would not consider outside the realms of possibility, but wasn't quite the truth.]
Cortical stacks were only possible due to the discovery of the remains of an alien civilisation on a planet called Harlan's World. We never found more than that.
no subject
Our universe is teeming with life. Throw a rock in space and you'll hit a sentient species - if they're not already busy invading New York City. [ That's a bit of an overstatement, but. ] The villain of our piece is a giant purple guy from a planet called Titan. Thanos. So there's your first dose of weird shit.
no subject
Titan is one of Saturn's moons. They run out of planet names?
no subject
— Hey, did you have the Norse pantheon anywhere in your history?
[ He's stalling, maybe, distracting himself, but he's told Takeshi next to nothing of his life, his world. It's not hurting anyone to fill with a little levity the time between here and him arriving home so Stephen can skip the rest of the walk and console himself with his company. ]
no subject
no subject
Alright, alright. Anyway, real people in my world. I once had Thor summon Mjölnir from the top floor of the Sanctum to the bottom, crashing through every single available display case on the way down. I think he was pissed I pulled out a hair. Or that I kept teleporting him around the place. Whatever it was, one hell of a clean up.
no subject
no subject
[ Before he signed for the goods. It's fun, this kind of idle easy conversation about a life that's about as ridiculous as the fact he pulled a real rabbit from a real hat not two months ago. But the real subject comes creeping back in uninvited, impossible to ignore for long, and Stephen sighs as his bubble bursts. ]
He's a good man, Takeshi. And he's right to be angry with me. He just doesn't know the half of why yet.
no subject
[Which may be a well-timed point, as he's just entered the brothel. Nods greetings to some of the workers in the lobby, heading into the back corridors towards his room.]
I'm home.
no subject
But he glances up anyway when he hears the door go. Damp eyes brim immediately. He holds it together for a second, another, face twitching through a series of small defeats - then scrunches his eyes closed with a shake of his head, tears spilling, breath rushing out to hiss back in as he tries to get himself back under control. ]
no subject
The breadth and strength of his body is bolster and shield, care absolute and unequivocal in the cup of his palm to the curve of Stephen's skull, the kiss he presses to his temple. The quiet he leaves empty of hollow platitudes, open for how or when Stephen chooses to fill it.]
no subject
It burns. His free arm wraps around him, clutches at him, taking a fistful of the cloth at his back as Stephen chokes out a breathless sob and just fucking cries. ]
no subject
There's alarm for that, of course. Confusion. Concern. Doubt, even, for his ability to handle this, to be what Stephen needed. That he'd never seen Stephen like this didn't mean that Stephen never was, but the thought occurs that he may never have let himself be. That it was being with Takeshi that allowed it. It's humbling. Terrifying. It only makes him hold Stephen a little tighter.
He guides them to the bed, when there's enough give in Stephen's frame to allow it. Keeps him held close, sat on the edge. Waiting for the worst to pass.]
no subject
It takes a while, for all it's clear he's struggling to expedite the process. But finally, once he's sure he can get the word out in one uninterrupted breath: ]
Sorry.
[ This wasn't fair of him. ]
no subject
Let me get you some water.
[Stephen could magic it up, but Takeshi doesn't want him to - the motions of the task give him a sense of structure on how to handle this, regardless of how false he knows that structure to be.
He doesn't rush, but it's only a minute before he returns and reclaims his spot next to Stephen. Glass in one hand, large embroidery-bordered handkerchief in the other.]
no subject
He huffs a damp and grateful laugh when Takeshi sits back down beside him with water and handkerchief and he finally recognises that feeling for what it was. Takes the water, and a sip, then accepts the handkerchief to dab away some of the evidence of his lost grip. He's embarrassed. It's a rare enough feeling that he doesn't mind it, exactly. Or perhaps it's just that he's too spent to care. ]
Thank you. [ He coaxes himself into casting a glance at Takeshi over another sip of water, hands full of all the evidence of his care. Wry, trying to take a little of the danger out of the moment now it's mostly over, projecting okay, I'm okay: ] Been sitting on that for a while.
no subject
[The same tone bounced back, dry, wry humour. But he reaches out, despite the consideration that more contact might disrupt Stephen putting himself back together. Perhaps for his own need. Cups Stephen's face, thumb running slow along his cheekbone. It's okay to not be okay.]
no subject
And streaming slowly out. He lets the handkerchief drop into his lap so he can lift a hand, wrap it soft around Takeshi's wrist, closing his eyes through a cycle of two deep breaths. When he opens them again, there's a little more resolve. ]
I'll tell you. If you want to know.
no subject
[There's the immediate, of course. The desire to know what it is that's caused Stephen to react like this, the detail of what he's been sitting on for a while and how it would crumple him in the wake of just one man's arrival. But more, wider, another aspect Takeshi has to acknowledge now: he wants to know everything about him.
Clear in his eyes and the hand that remains at his face, thumb repeating that stroke across his skin, though, is that it's only if Stephen wants to. Only if he can bear it.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw: mentions of genocide, flippant descriptions of torture
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)