[ Harold doesn't feel that John is understanding him any better, doesn't feel like he's ready to live with him again, but there's no possibility that he'll just leave him to suffer now that he knows he's suffering.
He squeezes his hand tightly. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, [ he says softly, matching John's volume. ] Do you remember when you left after Detective Carter died? I'll be there if you need me, but I can't just act like nothing happened.
[He remembers drinking until Harold needed him and then getting on a plane after, and he can't imagine doing that anymore. He can't imagine anything that would drive him from Harold's side now.
He tries to process what Harold is saying, tries to understand, but his head is swimming and he hurts all over, and the whole point of this exercise was to stop thinking.
It takes a bit too long, but he manages to do a pretty good job of schooling his face into blankness, get his voice under control. ]
I'm fine. You should go.
[ That's the last thing he wants, he wants Harold to hold his hand forever, wants to go back to the library with him, wants to make him breakfast and lunch and dinner, wants to listen to him at his keyboard. But that's not what Harold wants, and that's all John has to give him. ]
[ This is not very persuasive, but Harold doesn't know how much he himself can offer right now. He isn't in a place to be someone John can lean on, not when he feels like he's about to collapse under his own weight.
But it is clear that John can't be left entirely to his own devices, so he puts in some counter-measures. ]
I'll come by to have tea and donuts tomorrow morning, [ he declares, a piece of their old, old routine. ] I hope you will be sober and tended to by then. [ He hasn't missed all the signs of injury from his spar with Carver. ]
[ It's precisely everything John wants in this moment, which is why he instantly rebels against it. ]
No, Harold. You said you need space, you said you couldn't see me.
[ John isn't ready for this, he's not ready for Harold to come and go from his life again. He's not ready to be sober again. Everything hurts too much right now, even things he doesn't recognize; things he's purposefully turned his mind from. He doesn't know how this ends, when this ends, but it's not tomorrow morning. ]
And you drank yourself into the ground and then threw yourself at Mr. Carver for punishment, [ Harold summarizes tartly, growing irritated all over again. He can put those pieces together easily. John is continuing to be distinctly unhelpful. ]
You can't possibly think mourning you a second time would make me feel better.
[ A beat. That was probably too harsh, so he pushes past it. ]
So we're going to have breakfast together every day until we've resolved this, even if we sit in silence and stare morosely at our pastries. [ John will get reassurance Harold isn't abandoning him, and Harold will get reassurance John isn't drinking himself to death. ]
[ When Harold gets like this there's no changing his mind. And that's besides the point that he called John out so blatantly.
But still, John is drunk enough not to give up the fight, futile as it is. ]
If you don't want to be here you shouldn't. I don't need you to take care of me.
[ It's fine, he's fine, as long as he can sink into oblivion on the couch again he's fine. He can't stand the thought of watching Harold get up every morning and leave again, not when they were so close, not when there's this wedge between them now. ]
He's losing his patience. This is why Harold thought he needed space, because he doesn't want to take this out on John, who doesn't in fact deserve it. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. ]
Please listen to me. I don't know what's next for us, but it is still my intent that we face it together. Do you understand me?
[ Is this a pointless conversation to have with John in the state he's in currently? Is Harold going through all this emotional vulnerability and then just have to repeat it tomorrow morning? ]
[ John opens his mouth to say something terrible, something that will make Harold just go away, but he can't come up with the words. Harold is say something important, something he needs to listen to and focus on, but when he tries there's just... nothing. He hurts, his head hurts, he's dead—
He closes his mouth and grips Harold's hand back finally, a bit harder than he means to in his desperation. He's aware that Harold asked him a question, but whatever it was is lost on him. ]
I think I need to go lay down.
[ It's honest in a way that grinds, this admittance that something is wrong with him. ]
[ He doesn't think about it when Harold leads him into his apartment, just follows him blindly. His mind is shutting down and he can feel every blow and scrape, and the pain reminds him of being on the rooftop, of being shot. Dimly he's aware that he needs a drink, but he doesn't think he's going to get one before he passes out.
The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]
[ Harold notices everything, and it makes him weary and sad. His annoyance dissipates like a fine mist as he leads John to the unused bed, turns down the blankets, makes him sit and take off his shoes before crawling in.
One thing at a time. Everything in order.
He leaves him there to hopefully pass out, and gives into his own impulses to take care of John since he does, evidently, need it. Harold finds a trash bag and gathers up all the empty bottles, leaving the rest neatly arranged on the counter. There's no use in pouring them out since John will just get more if he wants them, and Harold doesn't really think they're at the stage where he needs an intervention, anyway.
As always, John needs a purpose, and Harold doesn't have one to offer right now.
He washes the few dishes and takes the trash out, checking that John is asleep before he leaves, and checking again when he returns. He has bread, peanut butter, and a toaster, which he leaves pointedly on the dining table.
He hesitates but does one last thing before he leaves: he writes a note in his elegant looping script. ]
I don't know what's coming next for us, but it's still my intent that we face it together. H
Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape and the little churchyard with its lamenting names and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others end: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again among the flowers, and look up into the sky. Rilke
[ It's disorienting when John slowly starts waking up. He's sore and his ribs and head hurt, but the bed he's in isn't his bed. There's a few moments of blankness where he doesn't know where he is, what's happening, but realization crawls back. He remembers Carver, arguing with Harold in the apartment hallway, though he doesn't remember getting in bed. That must be Harold's influence, since he's pretty sure he's been sleeping on the sofa. This is Etraya, not New York City. He's dead, but Harold is alive.
He's starting to feel a bit nauseous and sweaty, so John checks the time and sees he has enough to have a drink before Harold shows up, even if he's early. He's pretty sure he remembers Harold saying something about donuts and tea and he's not betting against Harold following through with that threat. He's also pretty sure Harold told him to be sober, so he can only allow himself one drink, just something to get back on track so he's not a mess. More of a mess.
When he makes it out to the main area it's obvious that Harold did more than just put him in bed. His toaster is moved to a more prominent position, and there's a fresh bag of bread and jar of peanut butter. There's also a note, in Harold's unmistakable pen, that he picks up and reads.
John barely makes it through the first half before he puts it down. It hurts to breathe not just because of his ribs but because Harold said together. He doesn't understand. Harold said he couldn't see John, he left, and now he's going to be coming over for breakfast every day and left a note saying it's still my intent that we face it together.
After a minute of trying to wrap his head around that dissonance and failing, John reads the rest. It's a poem, but he can't make any sense of it. He thinks even if he weren't such a mess he wouldn't get it, he's just not a poetry person. John reads it a second time but doesn't make any further sense of it. He needs somewhere safe to keep this note, but that also means keeping it out of Harold's sight; the only problem being that he can't figure out where that would be. It's a little silly, but he ends up sticking in in the back of a cupboard, behind the bag of flour.
And then he goes to get a drink because now his mind is filled with Harold's crying face and the elegantly written word together, and he really, really doesn't understand. John doesn't understand but Harold will be here sooner or later and he needs both a drink and a shower before that happens. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He squeezes his hand tightly. ]
You have nothing to be sorry for, [ he says softly, matching John's volume. ] Do you remember when you left after Detective Carter died? I'll be there if you need me, but I can't just act like nothing happened.
no subject
He tries to process what Harold is saying, tries to understand, but his head is swimming and he hurts all over, and the whole point of this exercise was to stop thinking.
It takes a bit too long, but he manages to do a pretty good job of schooling his face into blankness, get his voice under control. ]
I'm fine. You should go.
[ That's the last thing he wants, he wants Harold to hold his hand forever, wants to go back to the library with him, wants to make him breakfast and lunch and dinner, wants to listen to him at his keyboard. But that's not what Harold wants, and that's all John has to give him. ]
no subject
But it is clear that John can't be left entirely to his own devices, so he puts in some counter-measures. ]
I'll come by to have tea and donuts tomorrow morning, [ he declares, a piece of their old, old routine. ] I hope you will be sober and tended to by then. [ He hasn't missed all the signs of injury from his spar with Carver. ]
no subject
No, Harold. You said you need space, you said you couldn't see me.
[ John isn't ready for this, he's not ready for Harold to come and go from his life again. He's not ready to be sober again. Everything hurts too much right now, even things he doesn't recognize; things he's purposefully turned his mind from. He doesn't know how this ends, when this ends, but it's not tomorrow morning. ]
no subject
You can't possibly think mourning you a second time would make me feel better.
[ A beat. That was probably too harsh, so he pushes past it. ]
So we're going to have breakfast together every day until we've resolved this, even if we sit in silence and stare morosely at our pastries. [ John will get reassurance Harold isn't abandoning him, and Harold will get reassurance John isn't drinking himself to death. ]
no subject
But still, John is drunk enough not to give up the fight, futile as it is. ]
If you don't want to be here you shouldn't. I don't need you to take care of me.
[ It's fine, he's fine, as long as he can sink into oblivion on the couch again he's fine. He can't stand the thought of watching Harold get up every morning and leave again, not when they were so close, not when there's this wedge between them now. ]
no subject
He's losing his patience. This is why Harold thought he needed space, because he doesn't want to take this out on John, who doesn't in fact deserve it. He forces himself to take a steadying breath. ]
Please listen to me. I don't know what's next for us, but it is still my intent that we face it together. Do you understand me?
[ Is this a pointless conversation to have with John in the state he's in currently? Is Harold going through all this emotional vulnerability and then just have to repeat it tomorrow morning? ]
no subject
He closes his mouth and grips Harold's hand back finally, a bit harder than he means to in his desperation. He's aware that Harold asked him a question, but whatever it was is lost on him. ]
I think I need to go lay down.
[ It's honest in a way that grinds, this admittance that something is wrong with him. ]
no subject
He makes a note to say it to him again later, perhaps as a text message so he doesn't need to repeat himself a potential second time.
Harold keeps hold of his hand and moves to open the door to John's apartment and guide him in. He has a key, of course. ]
no subject
The apartment doesn't look too bad at first glance. There's no real mess, just a butter knife on the edge of a sink and a plate with crumbs on the counter. The arrangement of the throw pillows on the sofa makes it clear where John has been passing out, though there's no blanket. But there's also a half finished bottle and an empty glass on the table, numerous empty bottles on the counter, and a dwindling supply of full ones. It's plainly obvious that John has been doing very little aside from drinking and collapsing on his sofa.
John is silent the whole while, not even thinking to hide any of it from Harold. Just holding his hand and following along. ]
no subject
One thing at a time. Everything in order.
He leaves him there to hopefully pass out, and gives into his own impulses to take care of John since he does, evidently, need it. Harold finds a trash bag and gathers up all the empty bottles, leaving the rest neatly arranged on the counter. There's no use in pouring them out since John will just get more if he wants them, and Harold doesn't really think they're at the stage where he needs an intervention, anyway.
As always, John needs a purpose, and Harold doesn't have one to offer right now.
He washes the few dishes and takes the trash out, checking that John is asleep before he leaves, and checking again when he returns. He has bread, peanut butter, and a toaster, which he leaves pointedly on the dining table.
He hesitates but does one last thing before he leaves: he writes a note in his elegant looping script. ]
I don't know what's coming next for us,
but it's still my intent that we face it together.
H
Again and again, even though we know love’s landscape
and the little churchyard with its lamenting names
and the terrible reticent gorge in which the others
end: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lay ourselves down again and again
among the flowers, and look up into the sky.
Rilke
no subject
He's starting to feel a bit nauseous and sweaty, so John checks the time and sees he has enough to have a drink before Harold shows up, even if he's early. He's pretty sure he remembers Harold saying something about donuts and tea and he's not betting against Harold following through with that threat. He's also pretty sure Harold told him to be sober, so he can only allow himself one drink, just something to get back on track so he's not a mess. More of a mess.
When he makes it out to the main area it's obvious that Harold did more than just put him in bed. His toaster is moved to a more prominent position, and there's a fresh bag of bread and jar of peanut butter. There's also a note, in Harold's unmistakable pen, that he picks up and reads.
John barely makes it through the first half before he puts it down. It hurts to breathe not just because of his ribs but because Harold said together. He doesn't understand. Harold said he couldn't see John, he left, and now he's going to be coming over for breakfast every day and left a note saying it's still my intent that we face it together.
After a minute of trying to wrap his head around that dissonance and failing, John reads the rest. It's a poem, but he can't make any sense of it. He thinks even if he weren't such a mess he wouldn't get it, he's just not a poetry person. John reads it a second time but doesn't make any further sense of it. He needs somewhere safe to keep this note, but that also means keeping it out of Harold's sight; the only problem being that he can't figure out where that would be. It's a little silly, but he ends up sticking in in the back of a cupboard, behind the bag of flour.
And then he goes to get a drink because now his mind is filled with Harold's crying face and the elegantly written word together, and he really, really doesn't understand. John doesn't understand but Harold will be here sooner or later and he needs both a drink and a shower before that happens. ]