[Closed]

[scramasax]

Who: John Mitchell and Anthony Janvier
Where: John's apartment.
When: Night of Sept. 21 - just when John gets home from assisting a certain shadow-melding chap.
What: John had a very strange Saturday night.



[John had already stepped out when Anthony had taken to the network, and seen recording and corroborative word hit of pink aurora-like lights in the sky exactly like April's, and had dragged himself in haste to the window - quick looks down and as far along the sides as he could see to avoid being seen, and scanned and spotted for them - there was the pink light in the sky.

The buzzing had risen into his head.

The known hollow pulse had struck - and for a split second of foreboding he'd anticipated what came - it was about time - before the yellow flashes started to visibly glow. They repeated, held, rose, rippled waved and burned with a stark acuteness that his fading receptors had forgotten to prepare themselves for, and his limbs seized and he sank as the light spread through.

He'd hauled himself to the bathroom mirror once it was over. Flung a hand on the sink's side, used the other to tug the door shut - leaned in close.

Blinked sunken and hollow dry grayed-over eyes to a widening in a green-casted face - now worn open, bloodily, in little nicks and holes - and emitted a wavering moan. It didn't last even as long as the breath did.

His thoughts splashed scattered and cold down to a blank spread, and he dropped down with them.

That is where he is now. The sheet of paper with his number jotted down onto it is still on the sofa. The bathroom door's still shut. And he has no sense of how long it's been - he is trying as he might not to think, for now. Not too hard. Not too deeply, not too coherently yet - a pressure mounted and chilling, keeping him in place, and his lungs measuredly hitching, and his head low and back from straightening - everything is freezing and frozen...]

Comments

[allinvein]

[It had been a long night already, what with helping Xander sort out his new power, and it's in a bit of a haze that he shows up back home, head still buzzing with thoughts--about Xander and about his own new memory. John absently touches a hand to his chest as he shuts the apartment door, only letting his fingers fall away when he locks up. When he at last turns to face the rest of the apartment, the wrongness of the situation finally hits him.

His flatmate is decidedly missing.

He spots the piece of paper on the sofa, and while that in itself isn't totally unusual, the fact that it's still connected to the network is--at least since Anthony is nowhere in sight. John frowns slightly and takes a quick look around the rest of the living area to make sure he hasn't missed the other somehow before turning his attention on the bathroom door.]

Anthony?

[His voice is tentative, and he knocks at the door gently.]

I'm back. Are you okay?

[scramasax]

[Anthony hears John. His eyes widen with his head still down. His shoulders stiffen and tense even further. He gives a sharp shudder at even the light knocking at the door - without a sound, until a rattling breath in and out - rattling at a new strain on taking one in as quickly as he tries - ]

- I'm a -- I'm all right -- I'm okay...! - John... [Voice as thin and wavering as his breaths - and his thoughts had already had to move then to give that answer. He lets them go rolling and racing further for something else to say - something to put some time between now and opening the door, prove that he's in one piece...]

..Are - uhmm - are you - okay -- ? There was - [His tone was thin and cracked with less of the wavering there. Tries to bolster it - the quivering comes back, his voice goes hoarse...] ...that light - in the sky... -- it --

[Abrupt, silent splashing of his thoughts out of solidity again.]

[allinvein]

[John is no expert on breathing sounds, but he does feel like there's something different about Anthony's right now--he just can't quite put a finger on how though. His brow creases a little more as he continues to listen to the other talk, lips quirking in a rueful smile when Anthony asks about his well-being.

It's so very typical of him.]

I'm okay. No... permanent damage done.

[And then it hits him like a ton of bricks: did the light cause something to happen to Anthony? Is that why he's hiding in the bathroom now?]

Do you... need anything?

[scramasax]

["No permanent damage done" fails to reassure of anything; it effectively turns the "I'm okay" immediately before into neither a yes nor a no - an affirmative would have eased his mind a little, a negative would've given him something else to think about, talk about, kick him to get that door open, even, to see what John might need if anything - all his nerve remains scraping terribly around and in on itself and it makes it no better that he cannot answer that question.

Not with a decided yes, or with a no, at any rate, himself.

He can answer, but it forces out. Shakes in spite of anything with everything above his ribcage - ]

Please. -- Don't - ...mind when I -- ...come out of here - ...

[He's aware of how it sounds and that jars him, too. He will open the door because he will have to - he can't even move, can't even look up again like this, right now - ]

[allinvein]

[There's a decided frown pulling at his lips now; Anthony definitely doesn't sound like he normally does.

Licking his lips, John stares at the door, hand lingering just a hairsbreadth away from the door knob. He knows he should respect Anthony's privacy, but at the same time, everything inside of him is telling him to get in there. He sighs.]

Anthony, I'm coming in. I'm... [He shifts his weight, hand closing around the door knob.] I'm worried about you.

[He says this quietly and gives him a moment to gather himself, if that's something that needs doing. John pushes the door open slowly and carefully, eyes scanning ahead at eye level before dropping toward the ground.]

[scramasax]

[Anthony hears the first part - at what he thinks is the sound of the doorknob being touched, everything is shocked-frozen more deeply - his brain too much so to hear or register the last one.

Then he hears the door pushing open, and immediately and weightily some feeling of shame goes gusting through his head - he was too slow and that was the wrong way to start, nothing is cleared or understood or anything close to fine, and now it needs to be John who finds him out - he clasps his hands together with his elbows rested on on the counter, and sinks his forehead down to settle against them, and he thinks with a chill and a wrench that he can just barely feel one of those holes...]

-- Uhhm - ...

[Is all that he says - it's acknowledging and it seems, again, much too late to take the opportunity to explain all of his own choice, if he can; the door has opened, and John has essentially entered - everything is deferred.]

[allinvein]

...Christ.

[The word slips past his lips before he can even catch himself, and it's quickly followed by a muttered curse and apology. John knew full well what he was getting into when he invited Anthony to live with him, but somehow, seeing him like this just makes it all real. There is no denying what Anthony now is given his appearance and the smell and--

John braces a hand against the door frame as he sucks in a hasty breath between clenched teeth. He's met someone like Anthony before--a woman named Sasha--but unlike Anthony, she didn't seem to care that she was dead or that she was decaying. An odd, hiccuping sort of laugh manages to slip past his lips as the memory comes to an awkward end, but John is quickly to silence himself, biting his lower lip, when he comes back to the present.

He remembers meeting a zombie in another life; that doesn't mean he knows how to deal with one in a tactful manner though. John touches a gentle hand to Anthony's arm.]

Does it hurt?

[It's an inadequate question, really, to sum everything up, but... There has to be a start somewhere, right?]

[scramasax]

[The impact's already made by that - and the subsequent inhaled breath and pause and strange laugh that he himself can't begin to make sense of an interpretation of. His head drops down heavier, his eyes close waiting and bracing for any something more, some indicator of anything or further response, in any further sense.

He barely feels the contact to his arm, and still it helps - and simultaneously he's consciously aware of why it does and is thus rendered wheeling around and in on and through himself whether to stay put gladly taking it, taking it as the most basic comfort under which he can surely get steady, or whether to move aside, John doesn't need to coddle him, especially if this is much too close.

The inclination to stay put and resign to and accept anything coming remains where it's decisively tipped.]

No, it doesn't. [The answer's given thickly but readily, and is mostly honest, and is shaking with a few things, none of which is any currently-present physical pain. And he stops there. Again, he has nothing to say for himself.]

[allinvein]

Good. [He licks his lips, trying to figure out what to say next. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped down to a whisper, like the words are meant to reassure him more than Anthony.] Good.

[John takes a seat on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, and gently grips at Anthony's elbow. He tugs at him, silently urging to take a seat next to him. It's not, admittedly, the most comfortable thing being this close to someone who is essentially a living corpse, but right now? Right now, John needs to step up his game and show Anthony that he's here for him.]

Did the light do this to you?

[He looks straight at Anthony when he says this, the look on his face pure and simple concern for a friend.]

[scramasax]

[His head does rove to follow John, with a heaviness - everything is borne down. He doesn't lift it at all; head turns slightly and that's all, he takes the signal to sit as well for its meaning without anything in place to acknowledge it, his own voice is pulled down, heavy, to rest, dry and dragging, on a whisper.]

Yes... -- It was... when I looked at the light -- ...

[Active comprehension starts to surface a little more - he returns John's look more fully and feels a sick squirm inside, looks letting his head shake and blinking quick yet also most heavily at the space on the ground next to John...] -- I don't have to -- ...if - ...

[allinvein]

[Oh, you poor child. How can John even worry about what he's becoming when these pulses are doing this to Anthony?]

It's... it's fine. [That's not entirely true, but John's making a valiant effort to make it so. This new change in affairs is going to mean that their living arrangements are going to have to change, and yet, it never even crosses his mind to kick the other out--he'll sort that out later though. He offers Anthony a fleeting smile and pats the ground beside him with his free hand.]

If it's more comfortable for you to stay this way, by all means, do so, but otherwise...

[His eyebrows lift, encouraging, and John gives Anthony's elbow another gentle, downward tug.]

[scramasax]

[The hesitant answer doesn't convince that it is. It does, with the quick smile, the lift of the brows, and the second pull to sit down, convince him it'll not be treated as if that matters, and that doesn't surprise him - the squirming tightens to a weighted wrenching...]

-- I'm sorry, John - ... [Hushed, and ironed flat before it could quake any more than it did.

It is the most sincere, all-meaning thing he can possibly say. He is sorry, and mortified and truly, unignorably on the inside in a turning beating and buffeting panic over this, over every bit of this - and it is also a stall, as well as an apology, on remaining locked at a loss as to whether to accept or remain in place - and in another moment he holds still but palpitating, at the base of his throat, the question of if this means he remains allowed to stay

It'd sound a desperate question, leading or asking or begging and in an instant that panic seizes and hurls upward into screaming glaring light the acknowledgement that it would be, in too large a portion for the size of its core - it will be addressed, and taken, as rightful...]

[allinvein]

It's not your fault. [His voice is quiet, and the fingers at Anthiny's elbow twist slightly, a hesitant stroking gesture meant for comfort.] None of this is your fault.

You've nothing to apologize for.

[He goes quiet for a moment, but he keeps his hand right where it is.]

This... This is your home now, yeah? You can feel safe here.

[John gives him a small smile, somehow being comforted by his own words as well. They're together in this--through thick and thin, and John has no intention of letting Anthony face this on his own. He nods his head slightly as he draws this resolution for himself--makes a promise for them both.]

[scramasax]

[He doesn't know that it's not his fault.

No one can tell why they've each found themselves receiving their pulses, and thus, he doesn't know that he has nothing to apologize for, or if it isn't right of him to try to bear it in responsibility - and he can't let himself not do it at risk of letting himself resent it, a thing that he has no right to do if this is something that's been chosen for each of them, all part of that sense of destiny and intertwined purpose and need that he cannot pretend to be, in part, glad for, enthralled by.

Something wavers internally on the stroke at his elbow. The initial contact helped, some, as some obliging reassurance, but this is more deliberate, like a move just somewhat closer - and somehow it comes as acute comfort.

He swallows. He gives.]

- I'm. [Also distinctly wavers.

And with that, he finally begins to bring himself to the floor - not to the spot indicated but in place. A steady and resigned sinking in place - he doesn't quite look at John, or anywhere - not intentionally. He isn't even quite sure where he's looking.]

-- Not -- gonna go home - now. Am -- am I... - ?

[The terribly quivering voice aside he's trying to keep himself short of crying - not sure that he can, entirely. Still, that burns somehow. It's a weak thing to say, and he cannot stand to feel weaker now, not now even more than he's already been this entire time, needing far more than he's able to offer, keeping and comfort and increasing amounts of tolerance for minimal to nothing - and misleading, as that is exactly what he most needed to hear - he can still be home, and John is willing to let him be - not even "you may still stay here" but a decisive, beyond-obligation "this is your home."

He is terrified that it sounds ungrateful; subconsciously it's meant as an expression of the opposite. He is grateful, and taking what he's been told at once. He can and will try to feel safe - first to say and do something that shamelessly weak.]

[allinvein]

[John's gaze tracks Anthony's movements as he takes a seat, just on this side of conscious that he's trying to keep an eye out for any sign of trouble. He doesn't know the extent of the damage done today--doesn't know what sort of stress Anthony's body can withstand without breaking. The hand at his elbow tightens slightly before slipping away when Anthony comes to a rest on the floor.

There's a bit of space between them, and John automatically scoots closer to close it, carefully looping an arm around the other's shoulders. If Anthony is going to be worried about his personal space after his change, then that's just too bad; John's having none of that right now, as he proceeds to press himself flush to his flatmate's side.]

You're stuck with me. [He turns to look at Anthony, the corners of his lips quirking upwards in a soft smile.] I'll take care of you, yeah?

[scramasax]

[Anthony still doesn't quite look at John. He grapples and strains away the indulgent urge to lean into the contact at his side, falters, and some of it slips back - he edges, ever-so-slightly, closer to John. Lets his head lower position away from the arm around his stiff-tight hunched shoulders - makes it all submission in the spirit of a fervent unvocalized thanks.

Even he hears his breathing now - thinks no further than that to be embarrassed with himself as he speaks again.]

You didn't know it would be like this, I'm -- [A hitching, whimpering swallow.] -- sorry -- I can -- I can move -- again if I have to -- I promise...

[He means it, every bit and apology and thought to which it's all attached, and John does not deserve the imposition. What he does deserve is it ensured that it won't be one - and even then he would've been too afraid to have let it come running out in voice if this wasn't assurance that it's not a demand he'll need to obey, not any time tangibly close in coming.

He wants to be wanted to stay, and this is active consolation - and he will believe the statements made as statements, just so and as it is, made fact, and seeing the smile with them in the sides of his eyes willingly made ones; it is better than tolerable for him to stay.]

-- I'm sorry...

[Sorry and thank you, John, thank you so, so much...]