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A hand nudged at his shoulder. Bellwether twitched, then peered out from under his hood. His head felt even more stuffy than it had, his eyes dry and itchy. Had he fallen asleep? The diner was full now; from the scents, it seemed like it was lunchtime, or maybe dinner. He rubbed his forehead and stretched, unintentionally knocking the hood off.
The waitress was hovering over their table. Across from him, Landon was passed out on the table itself; at least he'd had the good grace to sleep sitting up. He smirked, and then the waitress patted his shoulder again, demanding his attention once more. "Sir, if you aren't going to order anything else, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said.
He blinked around a little more, then looked down at the contents of the table. Water, coffee, half-full applesauce. No point letting it all go to waste. He slurped down the cold coffee as he poked Landon awake. "Hey, nice lady says we gotta go," he said with a yawn.
The waitress gave them a forced smile and hovered until Bell scooted out of the bench and went to help Landon out of his. Landon was probably going to be hungover by now, and they needed to get the hell out of here before he started puking. It almost made Bell laugh; for once, Landon would be the one acting up in diners. But really, it was better if they avoided causing trouble for now. The goat still had plans for him, and those plans would probably get the both of them in enough trouble as it was.
He pulled Landon's arm over his shoulder and limped back towards the door. He'd thought the headache might have receded with the nap, but no luck; it was still pounding away behind his skull, and he pulled his hood down hard before he stepped outside.
"Sir!" The waitress stopped them. "The bill?"
Oh, right. He looked down at Landon. They hadn't ordered much. Probably they had cash to cover it. Once Landon had dealt with the bill, he continued out into the icy cold day. The sooner they could get to Mexico, the better.
Outside, his headache lessened in the cold. It had a nice, numbing effect over all, reducing every ache and pain his body had come up with. He sighed, then looked around. Towards the city center, probably, if the goat'd wanted him to go to the bar last night. "Alright, let's get moving," he said, nudging Landon.
When the water was put down, Landon carefully cracked open an eye to glare at the glass and reached out, sliding the cool liquid closer. Bellwether was still hidden under a hood -they definitely needed sunglasses for these types of occasions. And in general if they were to travel to Mexico. Fucked up was right. Leaning down, Landon carefully nipped the water, not daring to attempt and lift the glass for fear of spilling it everywhere.
Once the level was drained a reasonable amount, Landon tried some more. The cool water was nice, actually. So was the scent of fresh coffee. Okay, so sober was still some time off. Which was just as well, because Landon had no plans to puke in the lovely diner.
Maybe take another piss, but that could happen after they'd gotten a refill of water.
Since it didn't look like Bell was going to eat the apple-sauce and so Landon stuck his finger in the bowl and licked it clean, repeating the gesture a couple of times. The rich sweetness was nice. Everything was sort of nice.
The heat of the sun was making the diner's booth remarkably comfortable and Landon could say he felt good. Sure, shifting to the left or right, moving his leg or even adjusting his foot would be cause for pain but as long as he sat still, everything worked out fine.
Landon calmly added sugar to his coffee and stirred the black gold.
Outside life continued as normal. People walking by, some walked in. Lunch was being served but he scents didn't managed to stir an appetite in Landon. Rather, they did the opposite. Suddenly the coffee was a little less than appealing. A refill came and Landon sat back, dreamily watching as more water was offered and the waitress topped off Bell's coffee-cup.
She didn't bother asking them whether they wanted anything else though and just moved on. Landon followed her gait before his gaze landed on Bell. A wayward smile tugged at the corners of Landon's lips.
Elbows on the table, Landon wiped at his face and gave up. He rested his head on folded arms and allowed himself to relax. At first it felt like floating; everything was still there. The gentle sound of cups meeting dishes, the clinking of a spoon, shuffle of feet and the register. But then after a while all the noise was pressed back into nothingness and Landon had succumbed to his stupor by falling asleep.
Just go back? Hadn't it been Landon's idea to leave in the first place? Bell shook his head, but elected to keep his mouth shut. Too much effort to argue right now.
"It was empty," he explained. Though now he was thinking about it, he could've filled it back up. He grimaced regretfully. Should've done it. Too bad he hadn't thought of it earlier.
He let Landon guide the way inside the diner, and similarly made his way over to a booth without waiting for a guide. Landon peeled away and sat opposite, his weight lifting off Bell's shoulders like a ten-room weight. He rolled his shoulders out as he sat. Sitting down just made the throbbing of his headache harder to ignore. He slumped down and leaned his head back against the booth, staring glassily ahead. He didn't even realize the waitress was there until Landon ordered.
He shifted uncomfortably and peered up at the waitress from under his hood. Ha, she looked pleased to see them. "Same," he grunted. "And...some applesauce?" Probably he could stomach applesauce, and if not, then he'd be regaling the diner's toilet before he left.
She nodded uncertainly, eyes shifting to the offered cash, then took her little notebook and retreated. Bell clumsily rubbed his forehead, then sighed and closed his eyes against the glare of the light. "We're fucked up," he muttered, as though Landon didn't know. They shouldn't have left the room today. Should've just stayed there to sleep. But then again, they'd trashed the room hard. Maybe...go find another hotel room? But if his guess was right, then the sooner he found...whatever the goat wanted him to find, the sooner he healed thus hangover.
He leaned forward and rested his head on the table. This would be so much easier if the goat just told him shit, dammit. All this skulking about was fucking annoying.
Water and coffee came in no time. He slurped greedily at the water, took a more tentative approach on the acidic coffee. Applesauce wasn't long in coming, but the scent of it alone was off-putting enough that he knew he couldn't eat it right now.
Alternating between water and coffee, he worked the both of them down rapidly, and leaned back for seconds when the waitress came back to offer them. It was nice, just sitting here in silence. Maybe they should do this more often. Not the hungover part, but the rest of it.
"Yes...no, don't be stupid," Landon commented on materializing airports, but didn't feel like going through the effort of explaining Bellwether about the goat's motives. Concentrating on walking was taking plenty of Landon's cognitive reserves at that moment and even then Landon occasionally bumped into Bell or accidentally hooked an arm around a street-light in search of stability. Walking became easier after a couple of minutes, the fresh air aiding Landon's awareness.
It also made Landon a little more self-conscious about being half-drunk in the middle of the day. People were staring, but really, being smelly and homeless often got them to receive the very same stares and so Landon just ignored that particular consequence of being hungover. What was harder to ignore was the brewing headache.
Some place warm?
"If you want warm, just go back," Landon waved in the general direction from which they came. Though stuffy and nasty, their hotel-room had been warm plenty.
Actually, Bell had a point. Being outside and walking really didn't do anything for Landon's well-being. His stomach was becoming a bit unruly.
The clothes were hot, but everything not guarded by them was cold and it made Landon feel weird. Hungry? Landon shot Bell a look; the man visibly paled to the point where he looked green around the gills. Didn't think so.
Coffee and some water would be good though.
"Why didn't you bring the bottle?" he asked, then sighed.
"In here," Landon said at the first occurance of a diner and guided Bell towards the entrance before letting go and hobbling inside. The warmth was almost oppressive, but it allowed Landon to unzip his coat and let in some air. Without waiting for a guide, he made his way over to a table and sank down. Better, much better.
Now the hip was just throbbing.
At least it didn't have to carry any weight and Landon almost felt like using the table as a pillow. When a waitress came over several emotions crossed her face in rapid succession: happiness, suspicion, disgust and then a professional smile.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked politely.
"Water, coffee," Landon summed up. If Bell wanted something else, he could add whatever he felt like as needed. To ease the concerns of the waitress, Landon got out some cash and put it on the table. He rested against the side of the booth and closed his eyes. Maybe they shouldn't have left so suddenly. Bell was right in saying that airports didn't materialize out of nowhere.
Landon weaved his way down the hallway, bumping into walls and such. It would have been more amusing to watch if every foot step hadn't felt like a fresh spike thrust through his head. When Landon dropped back to lean his weight on Bell, he grunted unhappily. He was too sore for this shit. But at the same time, Landon clearly needed help if they were going to get anywhere in any kind of reasonable time.
It'd work out, huh? "Will an airport just materialize, then?" he asked, rolling his eyes. Landon was just too drunk to look up the airport and ashamed to admit it.
He didn't meet the eyes of the desk clerk as they limped past. For once, he knew he deserved whatever disgusted glance they cast in his and Landon's direction. They'd trashed the hell out of that room, and no mistake. If he were still drunk, he probably would've tossed a "sorry" in the guy's direction, but as it was, he just slunk away.
The cold made him regret having left the room at all, and the bright while light did his headache no favors. "Fuck," he muttered, disgusted with the day. To get out of the sun more so than because of the cold, he flipped his hood up to shade his eyes. "Let's just go somewhere warm already." This island was the worst place. Why'd he wanted to come here in the first place?
People passing by shot them glances now, but they were more of concern or borderline fear than the goat's double-take recognition. And yet the goat had punished--was punishing--him for not going out last night. What did it want? Or was he misreading this, and its lack of ability to comprehend bodily fluids simply made it incapable of curing hangovers?
Ugh, too much thinking. His head hurt too much for that. He rubbed his head unhappily and kept waking. "I'm hungry," he complained. The pizza hadn't stayed down, and he hadn't had breakfast yet either. He took another step, and his stomach lurched threateningly. "Never mind," he muttered. But he was hungry. Maybe some white bread would be good. Or applesauce. The stuff he'd eaten when he'd had the flu. "Thirsty, though." Definitely thirsty.
"Be fine, 'm fine," Landon muttered about his leg. He didn't want to be called an addict again. 'Shouldn't have consumed so much alcohol then', a little voice inside of his head replied moodily.
Maybe? Wait, so Bell was maybe considering being bottom? It only dawned on Landon by the time he was wrestling with his shoelaces and left a confused expression on his face for a few minutes. Landon capped the whiskey and chucked it in between their clothes. Unless they had another one of those skids that wrecked the laptop, it'd be fairly secure.
Landon hoisted the duffel across his shoulder and stood. The air-port, right. He licked his lips. No idea.
"How 'm I supposed to know?" The phone in his pocket could probably tell now that it was charged, but that required squinting at all sorts of small numbers, a feat Landon didn't think he'd be capable of right then and there. Either way the point was moot. What, as if they were going to walk to the air-port. No doubt Bellwether-goat had other plans for their continued journey. Best they followed those and then caught a cab to the air-port for their escape to Mexico. Truly, it sounded like an outlandish idea, but whatever.
"I don' even know where we are," Landon complained.
"Hotel...somewhere," he emphasized, meaning to say he knew they were at a bloody hotel, thank you. But for all Landon knew, they could be in Mexico already. All hotels looked the same. Walking through the hallways towards a supposed exit was challenging enough. Who designed these layouts anyway?
Landon slung an arm across Bell's shoulders at long last, sick of weaving and bumping into things because his leg kept threatening to give way. Whatever they'd done yesterday, it wasn't good for his healing hip. Or maybe the bruised hip just hurt more now that everything had time to sink in.
"Just walk...s'meplace, it'll work out," Landon eased Bellwether's concerns. If Bellwether-goat wanted them travelling to Mexico, they'd get to an air-port. If not, there wasn't any use in trying, was there? They'd just get back-lashed for going against the grand cog design of the whole that were goats. Did that design reflect on the rest of the world as well? Perhaps these goats were at the root of the gods humanity tended to refere with such great care.
The cold hit like a brick, smacking Landon in the face the moment they set foot out of the hotel. Okay, that was sobering.
They ought to get sunglasses, that's what.
Bell grunted. Landon knew exactly how it was working out for him, and the answer was 'not well.' At least he had water and a back massage. He sipped some more of the water, then gave up and just gulped the whole bottle down. Ah...sweet relief. But only for a fleeting moment. Half a second later, he was thirsty again and regretting the loss of a source of water. Should've held on.
He regretted asking questions when it caused Landon to stop massaging. That'd been really nice, damn it. Oh well, good things never lasted. He grunted again at the ass-squeeze, shifted a bit when Landon's hair tickled his back as the other man laid his head on it. "Maybe," he muttered. Who knew. It hadn't been so bad last time, aside from being nerve-wracking. Maybe it'd be a good idea to replace the memories he usually associated with that with something better. But still, he'd rather ride than be ridden.
A head massage wasn't quite as nice as the back massage had been, but it was still appreciated. "Is that okay?" he asked, when Landon said his leg hurt. "Wanna get...painkillers or something?"
Landon got up, and Bell made a complaining whine. He didn't want to go. But Landon was right. They had to go. He got up slowly, pushing up, then gathering his legs under him; he climbed carefully off the bed, trying not to jostle his aching head and not really succeeding. Painkillers wouldn't be so bad, all things considered. His gym shorts were nowhere to be found, so he went commando, pulling on a single layer because he was too achy and headachy to bother with any more. And because the room was still uncomfortably warm.
"Okay, okay," he muttered. He looked around. He didn't really have anything to gather. That was more Landon's schtick anyways. Everything he owned, he kept nice and neat in his jacket. Or at least nice and put away. The lube was, however, sitting out on the nightstand, so he crossed the bed quickly and put that away. That was definitely an essential.
When Landon finished in the bathroom, he took his turn, then stretched and headed out the room. "Alright, let's go. Where's the closest airport?" he asked. Probably the capital, right? It'd have to be an international flight, so there wouldn't be too many places they could go for that.
"Maybe," Landon replied when Bell asked him whether Landon was still drunk. "Yeah, sober, how's that workin' out f'r you?" he asked with a chuckle and continued the back-rub after he set away the bottle. Maybe trying to get through customs was better done without alcohol on their breath. Then again, flights to Mexico probably didn't happen every day, so likelihood had it they'd have to get a hotel near the airport before departing anyway, given the goat would allow them to. It was too early for that stuff.
"Probably," because yeah, flying while hungover was no good. Planes were never easy on the stomach to begin with, and with their karma, there'd be turbulence, or a goat on there. Goats on a plane. Sounded like a line from a film.
Indulging Bell's enjoying the massage, Landon ventured further down. Apparently growing came with the necessary sore muscles. Landon relaxed into a daze until Bell came up with more questions. The man was right; questions before breakfast, whoever invented that crap? He blinked down at Bell and then at the room, forgetting about massaging.
What had they done? Well, uhm.
They turned the heat up.
At some point anyway. Landon was pretty sure they had showered, so he was impressed he was still somewhat dressed, whereas Bellwether was naked.
"You offering?" Landon said when Bell started on his ass. It was a good ass. Landon's hand slipped down to squeeze Bellwether's butt and then rested his head on Bell's back. He was still tired and sleepy. The alcohol topped him off nicely, making Landon warm.
"So don' get up," he murmured contently from his spot. One hand reached for Bell's hair, playing with the unkempt mane. Landon's wasn't that much better in that regard. The blond tufts stuck out at every possible angle since neither of them had bothered with a comb after showering.
"Hmm, leg hurts," Landon complained with a grimace and shifted to try and relieve the discomfort. They couldn't really stay though. Not in this mucked up room anyway. Landon sat up and shoved off towards the bathroom. For a moment he just stared, then passed the junk, resorting to breathing through his mouth and took care of business. Teetering back out, Landon tossed some clothes at the duffel and clumsily wormed into pants.
"Le's go," Landon urged.
Bell decided to hold his tongue rather than reply to Landon's comment and was rewarded with a cool bottle of water. He rolled over on top of it to absorb the coolness into his body, then grunted and pulled it out. He needed the water more. He drank a bit while Landon massaged his neck, then recapped the bottle and laid back down to let him continue. That felt nice. Really nice. "Thank you," he murmured. It was nice to have someone to nurse him through hangovers.
"'Re you still drunk?" he asked into the bedsheets. Sounded like it. Plus all the swaying and such. And the bit where he was still swigging whiskey from the bottle. "Y'know, we gotta leave today 'n shit. Should probably...sober up or something." After all, Landon was the one who dealt with logistics, with money and schedules and tickets and stuff. He didn't want the guy to drunkenly purchase tickets to the wrong place. "You'll feel really shitty if the hangover hits while you're on the plane."
Or Landon could drink his way through the flight, but somehow that didn't seem healthy to Bell. He yawned and shifted, directing Landon's hands down his back. He felt stiff and sore, but Landon was making that all go away. If only he could just lie here forever.
Nineteen didn't feel much different from eighteen, aside from the hangover, but somehow he felt as though that had very little to do with aging up and more to do with getting hammered last night. "What the fuck did we do?" he asked, gesturing weakly at the room. "I remember fucking you, and...pizza, and..." He shrugged. Not much else. Certainly not this level of destruction.
Which...reminded him. "You still have designs on my ass?" he asked. "Did last night, anyways." He wiggled the object in question. "Thought I got you over that." He pulled the water bottle back out and took another sip. So thirsty. But he didn't want to chug the whole thing, then he'd have no water. "Ugh. I don't wanna get up," he moaned, pressing his face into the pillow like he could merge into the bed and stay there forever.
Oh, heater down. So that's what Bell's moaning earlier was about. Landon just watched Bellwether cross the room and couldn't fathom why the guy didn't just shift into a goat for a split-second. He'd managed to do so to jump around town and get into all sorts of trouble on his own, leaving Landon behind, but apparently Bellwether was too dumb to bother. Or maybe the guy enjoyed feeling like shit run over by a truck. Figured they'd both be masochists. Spotting the thermostat, Landon cringed.
Okay, so apparently whoever fucked with the device had bumped into it and turned the thing all the way up to twenty-five degrees Celsius. Explained why Bell was warm, not why he was rather comfortable.
Turning it down and off, Landon leaned against the wall and took a break. He held the pillow against his stomach, just relishing the quiet. And then Bell was back, dumping his abused body onto the bed and complained about the heat again.
"'s off a'ready," Landon countered. Maybe just for a little while. Landon would admit the air inside their room had gotten a bit stale.
He was too good for this world, honestly. Landon made his way over to the bed and fiddled with the window, having to bash the frame to get the ice to give way to the window. A gust of cold, frigid air whooshed into their room, letting out the cloying hot air inside. Landon shivered in disdain for the cold and then looked down at Bellwether.
"'m not your bitch, y'know?" he slurred.
If there hadn't been the please and 'I love you', Landon would've utterly dismissed Bellwether's request, but he took pity. Bellwether really looked pale and uncomfortable. Before finding one of their dirty cups, Landon spotted the mini-fridge and extracted a cold bottle of water, tossing it on the bed next to Bell.
Landon preferred the whiskey and took another sip from the lukewarm alcohol before sitting down on the bed next to Bell. A distracted hand massaged Bellwether's neck. The muscles there were tight.
"Love you too," Landon said dazedly as an after-thought. He did though.
Despite Bell being a mess right now. Right, they were leaving today. Best they did before any staff could find out their lovely little room had met up with a wrecking-ball and lost the encounter.
Landon got up, and then laid back down. Bell glared at him. Useless hunk of flesh. He got up again, and actually out of bed this time, but only to go close the curtains. Landon stood there, swaying gently, and Bell felt the urge to lob something at him. "The heat, turn down the heat," he begged. He didn't even know where the thermostat was.
He bent his head to drink more. The tinkling of the water reminded him of another urge, and once he'd swallowed, he made his way back over to the toilet.
They'd made a mess of the room. The curtain was torn, the rod ripped off the wall, the table tilted, the carpet stained, and depending on where he was, it smelled either like piss, puke, or whiskey. He flushed the toilet and staggered out into the room. At least he was naked, so there were no worries with getting puke on his shirt.
With a moan, he collapsed back onto the bed, lying face down and hating the world. Too hot, it was way too hot. He was going to die. "Open a window or something," he said. The sheets were too hot. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Ugh, he was going to puke again. It was so hot, almost too hot to breathe. He felt sick for real. Like he was going to die.
But it didn't make any sense. He should be fine, right? With the goat healing him? But all the marks were still there. Even the bruise down his side.
Wait. Maybe this was punishment. The goat had wanted him to go out last night, but he'd resisted, so it refused to heal him. So what, he would only heal and have access to the goat's strength as long as he obeyed the goat's each and every whim? "Well, fuck," he muttered, slinging an arm over his face, then moving it away when he felt too hot again. He missed the old days, when he didn't know the goat even existed. What he wouldn't give to have that back.
"And a cup of water, Landon, please, I love you," he said, rolling over again to get to cooler sheets. Would they have to go out tonight? Well, it taught him not to disobey the goat, huh? Taught him he was the goat's bitch, anyways.
"..own..." What? Landon sighed sleepily and shifted on the bed. He'd been sleeping rather comfortably. What was Bell on about? Landon raised his head a moment, pushed his elbows underneath him and then simply surrendered again. Screw getting up to do anything. There wasn't really a hangover yet, which was good. Probably meant he was still more drunk than sober, but whatever. Not like they had anything better to do in life. Other than maybe have more sex. That'd be good.
Landon pulled a pillow close and gave up half-way. Everything felt drained and heavy. The warmth was nice though. Landon faintly recalled it being cold last night, something about the floor, though it'd been comfortable enough. At least they discovered there was a bed too. Landon almost fell back asleep when he smacked his lips and realized they were dry. He didn't have to look particularly far to spot the left-over whiskey.
With some effort, Landon crawled across the bed to reach the bottle and doused the thirst. Bitter. Landon shook his head as the alcohol burned a pathway down to his fragile stomach. It settled things nicely. Sad, maybe, that he'd gotten used to that.
Bell was probably not so fortunate. From his spot on the bed, Landon could see Bellwether leaning over the sink sucking at a tap.
Weird. Why would the goat reject good sustenance? Could've used the alcohol to mend the bruises at least. Taking another lazy drag from the bottle, Landon put it back down and decided fuck it. Couldn't ask questions anyway, they hadn't had breakfast yet. He doubted Bellwether would feel particularly hungry after all that anyway.
Landon closed his eyes, fully intent on continuing sleeping, though after a few seconds glared at the curtains. Winter mornings were always so glaring because the sun was set so low. He groaned into the pillow and sighed out. No way was he going to get the curtains or anything else for that matter.
Landon felt like asking Bell why it was important they were both awake when Bellwether was the one feeling like shit. Or whether the man was okay, but goats tended to be, so that was rather useless. In the end Landon sat up, holding the pillow, and weaved towards the curtains to draw them shut. Then he stood there for a second. There was something else, hadn't there been?
Landon woke up and left him, and Bell sat up and craned his neck to watch as the other stumbled his way in the general direction of the bathroom. Oh. Made sense. It was cold on the bed without him, but he was too sleepy and too lazy to fix that. He curled into the heat of where Landon's body had been and tried to get back to sleep. He couldn't, not until Landon finally climbed back into his spot. The heating system came on with a hum as Bell curled back up around Landon.
This time his sleep was dreamless until he woke up. And he woke up uncomfortable, sweaty and overheated, his limbs clammy and achy and a headache pounding in his skull. The sun had well and risen, bringing a hangover along with it. His mouth felt like cotton, and his stomach--
He released Landon and clambered off the bed, making a mad, staggering dash for the toilet. He only just made it, bent over and let fly, half-digested pizza spilling into the bowl. What had they been thinking last night? No, really...what [i had] they been thinking? He remembered bits and pieces, the rather pleasurable start of the night, but not crucial things like why he was naked. Though that wasn't exactly a surprise. He tended to strip when he got drunk.
"Nnnn," he grumbled, sitting down beside the toilet. It reeked of piss in here, and the floor felt damp; after a moment's consideration, he went back to kneeling. There was more pizza to come up, and then he was just left there, kneeling on the bathroom floor and generally regretting last night's decisions. Water. He needed water bad. He clawed his way over to the sink, but found no cup; it didn't matter. He knelt down and put his mouth under the sink, sucking the water out of the tap. It felt better than sex right now, just drinking water by the mouthful, though the bitter taste imparted to it by leftover bile in his mouth wasn't so enjoyable. At least, that's where he hoped the bitter taste came from.
"Turn the heat down," he moaned at Landon. Being overheated wasn't making him feel any less nauseous, nor was it helping the dryness of his mouth. Why had Landon turned it up so high in the first place? He felt like he was going to puke. Again.
Hands grabbed at him, tight nails burrowing into skin, a contorted face folding out of the dark water in front of him and Landon genuinely panicked. He shot awake gasping for breath. Air! Finally air! Wide pupils stared at Bellwether's face. Oh. A bad dream. Made sense. Where? Landon took a deep breath, feeling dizzy.
"m up," Landon garbled at Bell.
His hip ached ferociously and Landon groaned in discontent before he pressed his face into the sheets and flipped over onto his stomach. Bleary eyes took in the state of their hotel-room: a mess. The table had shifted, the chair tipped over, stains on the carpet, a wad of sheets and towel at the end of their bed and an open bottle of whiskey set to the side. Landon shivered.
It was cold to boot.
And he needed to take a piss.
Landon pushed up to sit and swayed in the spot. Why hadn't they gotten dinner before drinking again? Carefully pushing up, feeling like an eighty-year old, Landon managed to clamber to a stand and make a couple of confused steps in the general direction of nothing and back. Okay, focus. Bathroom.
His bum leg hadn't really been complaining after all. Now it was. Hot pain shot up Landon's hip each time his weight landed on that leg and it was slow going to the bathroom to try and stay upright. A wall, a cabinet and utter concentration finally managed to get Landon into the mess of a bathroom. The curtain and rod were half-way onto the floor and in the tub, the curtain shredded down the middle.
Why did they break down the bathroom?
Landon couldn't quite recall after a certain point. And it was hazy where that point was supposed to be. A hiccup distracted Landon from his position in the door-opening, both hands set to the frame, and he stepped passed the rod to clumsily bestow the toilet with an early-morning wee.
All in all, he didn't do that bad. Nothing got splashed on his feet anyway, so there was that. How was he not sober yet though? Landon hugged himself as he exited the bathroom and puttered around for a sweater, wrestling into it as he tried to fiddle with the thermostat. Multi-tasking wasn't quite what his brain or body had imagined and Landon managed to up the temperature by falling into the wall. Finally he got an arm through as well, and sluggishly pulled the sweater right before waddling back over to the bed. Wordlessly, Landon took up his previous position and promptly fell back asleep.
Landon moved in towards him, the both of them relishing each other's heat. "Shhh, sleep," Bell said, rubbing his arm comfortingly along Landon's back. Landon just needed to shut up and sleep, and everything would be perfect.
Or...not perfect? He wanted to go outside. It was a dumb idea; he wasn't sure he could operate a door right now, much less walk. And he was naked. Frostbite was a serious issue. Right, it was cold out there. And warm in here, where Landon was.
It was as though Landon could read his thoughts. "No'...goin' anywhere," he muttered. "Not wi'out you."
Some deep part of him raged against this, demanded he get up and go, but he ignored it. Not now.
Alcohol brought on a thick oblivion. She was there, all delirious giggles and hands that were touchy, too touchy. This would be towards the end. When her mind got poisoned, too full of pain to tell reality from illusion. When she stopped speaking altogether.
But this time she spoke. "When are you going to tell him?" she whispered. Her voice was high-pitched, that of a young child. Alice's.
He turned away. She drifted along, twirling in his peripherals. "He's told you everything, hasn't he? And you still can't even trust him enough to..."
"He doesn't care. He doesn't want..." Bell rebuked her, shaking his head. "He doesn't want to hear."
She just smiled and spun away, a smug little smile as of someone who knows something they will not share. "Well," she said, and that was all.
Something woke him. He knew it workout knowing what it was. For a moment, he laid there in the dark, staring at Landon's shape in the bed beside him, and then Landon twitched again, violently enough for him to feel it even without seeing it. He petted Landon's hair to try and calm him without waking him, the room still a bit twirly at the edges. It was morning, barely, light visible through the windows, but however long he'd slept, it hadn't been long enough to wear the alcohol off.
It didn't work. Landon struggled harder, and Bell had no choice; he either woke Landon or got assaulted. "Hey, hey, wake up," he said, shaking Landon. "Wake up, issa...it's a bad dream." It almost made him laugh; this time he was the one to wake Landon up from a bad dream. Usually it was the other way around.
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