[ 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. ]
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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. ]