Guy Cecil ☼ [Gᴀɪʟᴀʀᴅɪᴀ•Gᴀʟᴀɴ•Gᴀʀᴅɪᴏs] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
relinquishing) wrote2023-01-27 01:24 am
relinquishing) wrote2023-01-27 01:24 am
INACTIVE - Appointments - IC
"Sit back, relax, prop your feet up if you need to. Let me get you something to drink, and we'll talk!"
One-on-one meetings, conversations, backthreading, LJ-thread-pickup, and any other encounters that we might need to work out outside of regular logs can be placed here.
Specify:
1)Vatheon or Luceti
2)Date the thread takes place
3)[Voice], [Text], or [Action]
If we're backthreading/moving from LJ, please link back to the previous thread!
One-on-one meetings, conversations, backthreading, LJ-thread-pickup, and any other encounters that we might need to work out outside of regular logs can be placed here.
Specify:
1)Vatheon or Luceti
2)Date the thread takes place
3)[Voice], [Text], or [Action]
If we're backthreading/moving from LJ, please link back to the previous thread!
my feels are so not ready for this thread just fyi
There was only so much he could do in this place. Only so many ways he could work himself just a little too hard. Often Guy would find himself repeating a chore for a second or third time and feel the deeper wounds of his shoulder ache from the effort, sometimes even re-opening and bleeding out once more into the bandages. He'd stop with a grimace of pain; applying pressure, downing a gel and waiting it out, cursing himself as he did so.
He couldn't stop. He couldn't just sit and wait. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to face people in the village right now. He was pretty sick of receiving questions that people weren't quite willing to hear the answers to.
Luke still hadn't returned. Not that Guy had expected him to. Even with the words Luke had spoken only days before, there was still a part of Guy's mind that didn't expect him to come home. Flee to the sanctuary of life with his lover. Find Asch and cling to him, make him feel secure. Protect him.
Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to come back here, of all places.
And yet, despite those thoughts and insecurities, Luke's bed was being re-made one too many times a day. Belongings were cleaned. Laundry was folded and put away in its entirety. One could say it was out of boredom. Or just something else entirely.
He was just plain exhausted. And he didn't quite know what to do.
But giving himself a couple days to think was... invigorating. Refreshing, in a sense. It helped calm the nerves he felt knowing that, according to the way Luceti ran, today was apparently the day that Asch would return.
Somehow.
It takes him all day to muster up the courage to check. To just... open up the journal. To see that entry or message; from Asch, maybe from Luke, saying who knows what and teasing at that twinge of discomfort twisting in his gut.
The afternoon drifts by, as does the entire evening. Only then, when Guy can't bring himself to work any longer, does he find himself dropping to a seat on his bed, his journal on his lap.
He hesitates, exhaling slowly, before turning the cover over, flipping through the pages gently for the first time in over 8 days, looking for those familiar names...
And it's then that the messages come.]
I assume your body is not ready either
And he glances at Guy's door out of habit, and he sees a faint light at the bottom of the door. Guy usually slept with no light whatsoever unless he just fell asleep at his desk, so the sight makes him hesitate.
He heads towards Guy's door instead.
____
The messages begin the day Luke woke up.
[May 14th]
C
[It was supposed to be a G. But the pen curves away after that, as Luke felt dizzy and weary. He didn't try again that day.]
--
[May 15th]
Guy?
--
Guy, are you there?
--
Are you okay?
--
Guy...
--
[May 16th]
Guy?
--
I need to talk to you about... this. Could you get over here?
--
I'm worried about you. Are you okay?
--
Talk to me?
--
[May 17th]
Guy?
--
Where are you? Are you okay?
--
I want to see you. Please answer back?
--
Do you haDo you want to see m--
Guy... Please?
--
[May 18th]
Guy?
--
It's boring here. Come over please?
--
Rapunzel brought pies earlier. Better come get one before I eat it all.
--
Guy...
--
I'm lonel
--
You're still my best friend. Please...
--
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
--
[May 19th]
Guy?
--
Guy
--
I want to see you, please...
--
[After that, Guy finally visited him. It's after that that he writes one last thing.]
Thanks for coming. It made me happy to see you.]
Let's just pretend for a minute that Nik is just never ready for anything ever (spoilers: she isn't)
The first message is messy. Pointless. Guy isn't even sure what it's supposed to be, and he closes it almost instantly.
But then a second pops up. A third. A fourth. Multiple messages a day, in a barely legible scrawl.
Questions.
Pleas.
Short, half-winded attempts at light-hearted comments, followed quickly by earnest statements... by brokenhearted apologies...
All from the same person.
All from Luke.
By the end of the comments from the 16th, Guy's reading becomes a little shakier, his attempts to flip through the comments quickly not as fueled. The tightness in his expression, the burn in his chest... it aches the more and more he reads. He needs to close it, he needs to close it, he doesn't have to read all this--
He--
Please...
He doesn't--
I'm lonely.
You're still my best friend.
...he--
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry.
...
He doesn't hear the door open. He doesn't turn to recognize whoever might have just poked their way into the room.
No.
His head is busy being buried into the crook of his elbow, a hand clenched into his hair while the other presses a palm against his face, his shoulders tense and shaking.
The burning in his chest has erupted into something deeper; a painful, out-of-control frustration; a fear, an anger, an unquenchable hurt that he can just barely contain, it seems, within the confines of his body, every muscle shaking and taut.
And something else. Something that he hated to even recognize. Something that he couldn't quite place, amidst everything else. Not due to unfamiliarity, but just, perhaps, to an incredibly long absence.
That bitter, burning touch of anguish.
That never-forgiving knaw of guilt.
...
Dammit. DAMMIT ALL, why had he waited...
He was so stupid.
Luke was stupid for saying all that, for thinking all that, for trying too hard for something that just wasn't worth it...
That idiot.
That...
...
Dammit.]
Okay we can go with that
Something about this makes Luke kind of... afraid. Afraid to move, afraid to do anything at all. He's never seen Guy like this before. It makes distress and pain rise in his chest, and it's all he can do to at least look and see the cause of it -
The journal's laying open. And Luke can barely see it, but... that's his handwriting. Sort of, since he had to write with his right hand...
... Right. Those are the messages he wrote.
Was Guy doing... this... over those? Is he seeing them for the first time...?
...
Quietly, Luke steps out of the room, his fist clenched and shaking at his side. As much as he wants to go in and touch him, give Guy some kind of sign that he's there and it's okay... this is a highly vulnerable moment for Guy. And he's sure that he wouldn't appreciate the very cause of that vulnerability to let him know that he saw it.
So he stands in the living room and looks down at the floor. He gives it a few more minutes.
Then he goes to the front door, and he unlocks, opens and shuts it again, this time a little louder. He... presses his hand against the door for a moment, to compose himself, to give Guy time to register that sound, if he even heard it.
Once he counts to three and ensures that the burning in his eyes has relaxed a little, he steps inside again, tells Star to shut up again (which causes a "mieu?"), and stops just a few steps away from Guy's room.]
... Guy? Are you awake?
[Of course he is.
But Luke doesn't have to know that.]
Hooray for being honest with ourselves!
Another.
And another.
He's still shaking. That frustration is still bubbling up within him, eating away. But god... he needed to calm down. He needed his composure back. He hated feeling like this - feeling out of control and restless.
Feeling vulnerable.
He treasured his self-control around others. He'd managed it as best he could. Even with everything that happened.
So why...
The slam of a door echoes through the apartment, cutting through the mess of his thoughts. Guy stiffens, straightening up just slightly. Fingers slowly uncurl from his hair, moving to press into the side of the bed.
The soft sounds of movement. A muffled voice, the timber and tone achingly familiar.
He can feel himself holding his breath.
And then the call of his name, right outside his door.
...
It was Luke.
He was home.
...
It takes a long, long moment. Enough for Guy to pry his fingers from the edge of the mattress, slow his breathing... and pretend he wasn't as pale as he knew he probably appeared.
Composure. Composure had to be his ally again.
It was only then that he got to his feet, trudging to the other end of the room and slowly pulling the door open. He looked weary, and he couldn't quite fight the heaviness that lay over his expression. His shirt seems to have been shrugged on, unbuttoned; his bandages are easily visible, only one of his wings sitting properly against the fabric against his shoulders. But he still stood tall and straight, with that same chipper grin making its way onto his face at the sight of Luke.
Whether it was genuine or just slid on out of habit was hard to determine. Even for him.]
Hey. [Damn, his voice was heavy... alright, drawing in a breathe and letting his tone be a little stronger this time.]
You're home pretty late. What's the occasion?
I'd hate to see us lying to ourselves
Though it slowly starts to fade as he takes in Guy's appearance now. The bandages, the wings... God, he wasn't even aiming for the wings. And for a moment his eyes lose focus, only for him to blink forcefully to pull himself out of it. Easy, Luke, easy. Don't go thinking about that fight again. You've had it flash through your head enough this past week...
He doesn't respond to Guy. There's only a faint smile on his face, soft and sad, before he takes a step and wraps his good arm around Guy, hand resting on his lower back, where there aren't any wounds, and his forehead against the blonde's shoulder. It hurts, a little. He has his broken shoulder turned away a little out of instinct, but the wounds on his torso still protest. He doesn't give any indication of that, though.
Pain or not, Luke needed this. And he has a feeling Guy does now, too, even if every part of him won't admit to it.]
/rises from the dead, here have some angsty brotimes again
Or that he was up and walking to begin with.
But, at the same time... it was Luke. Sitting here covered in bandages, arm and shoulder wrapped in a splint, eyes glazed over with that depressingly gentle smile. Still almost blindingly dedicated and trusting to his best friend.
Still sticking with him.
Even after...
...
He was about to open his mouth for another question - just something to try and get Luke's expression to change. Maybe suggest that he lie down to rest, or ask him about Asch.
But then the redhead takes a step forward, wrapping his arm around Guy's back and pressing his head down...
...
Guy can't help but hesitate.
After everything he had just read... after that poorly-timed wave of emotion he'd just ridden...
He feels so torn. So absolutely confused at why this friendship still held together like this.
Maybe it was stupidity.
But the need to give his best friend that simple, welcome comfort overrides his own ache of emotion and doubt. Luke needed so much - possibly a better excuse for a friend, if he would ever admit to it. But... that wasn't something to be argued right now. Right now, Luke had a different need, and it was one he was taking initiative to ask for.
He needed that sense of comfort.
Arms slowly slip forward to hook around Luke's waist, gently pressing him closer, even as Guy leans his head against that mop of red hair against his shoulder.]
Heh.
Welcome home, Luke.
[They were a mess. A horrible, ugly, battered mistake of a friendship.
But they were still together, weren't they...
Whether it was the right decision or not didn't really seem to matter for right now. Luke came back.
And Guy can't quite contain the relief... or the guilt... that is now hovering over him.]
/same heeeeere
But the fact remained that Guy was still Luke's best friend. They've been through so many trials together, and they came out of it stronger than ever. Why should this be any different? Sure, it hurt. It hurt so much, and Luke is sure that he hadn't felt that low in a while. Maybe if Asch hadn't taken over his mind after he destroyed Akzeriuth, then he'd be the way he was too. Perhaps for much longer.
But here they are. Still holding on to this friendship, having been through the ultimate test. Maybe they feel like they don't deserve each other at the moment. But here they are.
The smile on Luke's face becomes more genuine, though it's still weak. He leans his head up a bit to nudge against Guy's, a simple, affectionate little gesture, and the arm around Guy strengthens now that he's returning the hold.
He's here. And he's not going anywhere, no matter what this place may throw at them.]
Thanks... Good to be home.