The world will follow after. (Vikenti)

[Zephyr]

It hadn't been what he thought it would be, the kiss. It was hurried and dry and worried and all too brief. And his mind had been going crazy, not feeling anything but his own heart beating in his chest and the feeling of skin against skin. He didn't notice Mateo stiffening under those lips, or even when he jerked back after Vikenti had pulled away. His gaze stubbornly refused to lift. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were dangerously white, barely daring to breathe.

Then Matteo was talking, but he still didn't want to look up, even though he had said it hadn't been stupid. He couldn't look. There was something in his voice, something weak...something he didn't want to hear.

He felt a breeze as the other man sprung to his feet and the healer's heart clenched. This was it, he was sure of it. His best friend was going to leave. He wouldn't put it past him at all to just run away screaming. After all, why wouldn't he? Vikenti was just a perpetually grumpy doctor...nothing special at all. A fucking tunnelsnake would make better company than him. Matteo had been the only one who'd ever been able to stand him for very long besides Lore, and he knew that couldn't be easy; he was grateful for it...but that was over, wasn't it? Vikenti's impulsiveness was driving his best friend away, and he could slam his head against something for even doing it.

Then there were fingers tangled in his sleeve and he allowed himself to breathe for the first time. He wasn't leaving, wasn't running away from him...at least not yet. And the man allowed his head to lift, to meet Matteo's bright blue gaze for a second and just stared stupidly, unsure of what to do. No emotion was written into his eyes.

And there was that smile, weak...but it was there. One of those crinkly smiles that he loved so much. Dinner? He allowed his heart to beat wildly away in his chest and green and brown eyes to widen marginally. That sounded promising...but he didn't know. Matteo was nothing if not wholly unpredictable...but not towards him. Toward Vikenti, he was steady...a constant. That was not something he wanted to lose, ever. "No." He said, trying to inject some of his usually gruffness in his voice, but it just came out sounding soft and weird and feeling. "Don't think I could eat anything if I tried..."

He blinked, gaze shifting from the plate to the harper and he was on his feet again. "Fine." He was actually able to growl now that his heart wasn't beating like a drum in his chest. Running his tongue over his lips, he didn't even bother with his plate. Someone would get it. This was far more important.

He slipped past Matteo, not touching...maybe that wouldn't be allowed anymore. He didn't know. Better to be safe though. If this was a delicate situation, he didn't want to offend any further. He didn't bitch as he walked towards the apartments, the silence thick and loaded. There was so much he wanted to say...still, but so much he wasn't sure should be said. Ever. He trusted Matteo to follow, even after he'd made it to the apartments and slipped into his (their?) room in front of Matteo.

He didn't let any silence settle between them as he stood awkwardly next to a bookshelf. He couldn't help but notice that the harper's books were so mingled together with his it would be a pain to sort through them if he left.

That was something he didn't want to think about.

"I don't..." He said suddenly into whatever silence had descended between them, refusing to meet his gaze "...know what came over me. I can't...have never done anything like that before. I don't want you to..." Brows furrowed in bewilderment. "...think you have to care or...or anything. I understand. This is weird...it's just..." and he didn't want to say stupid again, but that's what it was

[Avu]

The Harper was, for once, oblivious to the silence that fell as he followed Vikenti out of the Dining Hall. He was also oblivious to the few discreet stares being thrown their way—Matteo hadn’t exactly made himself a reputation of kissing guys; nor had Vikenti one of kissing anybody—which was probably fortunate for his blood pressure as he padded softly after his best friend, eyebrows pulled together in thought. Because, sure, Vikenti was his friend and they were good together, but that didn’t necessarily translate into being good as a couple. That was just…it was a stretch, plain and simple, especially since he had just never looked at a guy and wanted to tap that.

Er.

Or anything less crude, even.

He almost ran straight into Vikenti once they got into the apartment and the Healer stopped moving, his feet stuttering before Matteo caught himself and then stood, head tilted, blinking. His mouth opened, and the usual dry wit kept in reserve for awkward situations just…did not come. Matteo snapped his mouth shut, opened it again, and then just sighed, “You’re kind of a dumbass. C’mere.”

There was the barest minute of hesitation before he clasped his hand as casually as ever over Vikenti’s forearm, tugging lightly towards the couch. Bed was just…weird, right now, and honestly Matteo just wanted a few minutes to himself so he could hyperventilate in peace or something, but obviously Vikenti was not up for that. So he’d keep the hyperventilating on hold until Vikenti had to go be a Healer again at the Infirmary and then he’d grab a corner to rock back and forth in or something. It was a good plan, even if it sort of revolved around Vikenti leaving, which didn’t seem likely just right now.

Matteo dropped himself in a loose sprawl over the couch, trying to drag Vikenti down with him, and then wrinkled his nose at the other man. “You know I can’t not care once you’ve told me, right?” he asked, immediately, since getting straight to the point with devastating bluntness was kind of his specialty. “I mean, c’mon, I’m me, do you really expect me to just ignore that?” The flash of a grin vanished into solemnity, Matteo drawing his knees up to his chin and watching Vikenti seriously. “I don’t know.” The words were simple, even if Matteo was pretty much summarily ignoring linear conventions of conversation. “If I can—do that. I just…”

Have issues with being hit on by men?

Won’t be able to not think about Harper Hall?

Have been keeping secrets for ten years and infinite more?

Right. That’d go over well.

“I’m not gay,” he said finally. “Believe me, it’s nothing I haven’t tried—it’d double my options, right?—but I’m just not.” Which was, if not exactly the truth, as close as Matteo was comfortable getting to it; he had tried, sort of, and he hadn’t liked it, which was less of a personal thing and more of an obvious, guaranteed thing given the circumstances, but whatever. Secrets for ten years and counting didn’t bear mentioning now. Vikenti would only manage to guilt himself over it.

Goddamn martyr.

[/blockquote]

[Zephyr]

His stomach was doing all kinds of weird things as he stood there before Matteo. Brow wrinkled in confusion and bewilderment as he was pulled down onto the couch. He just narrowly missed sprawling out on top of the harper and straightened himself out, regarding the other man with barely disguised curiosity.

When he started talking, Vikenti's gaze dropped and he stared at his knees like they were fascinating. "I'd hoped." He said at last, his voice tapering into nothingness. What had he hoped? Hoped that Matteo would just pretend like none of this had happened. " It'd make things easier if you could ignore it." Hoped that he would reciprocate his feelings? Well, that was getting less and less likely and Vikenti looked up at Matteo with some pleading in his eyes. Just forget. Please

That wasn't going to happen though, and the healer listened, without interrupting, to the harper's explanation. Raw hurt filled his eyes, flooded the brown and green depths so completely. He had to force himself not to flinch away from his friend as if he'd been burned "I know." His voice was soft, with an edge of weakness there. He caught himself and looked down again, tightening his hands into tight fists. What was he supposed to do? Matteo was determined to care, to not forget...but he had rejected him.

What was he supposed to do?

If Matteo couldn't forget, then he'd have to. Push the feelings down so deep that they wouldn't bother the harper again. Even if he'd be miserable, wanting something he could never have. But...things would be weird...even if he never brought it up again.

He looked back up again, and there was still hurt in his gaze, that he quickly shuttered to one of his glares. His default expression. It was odd though, hollow and slightly dead. He just couldn't get over it completely. "I thought that I'd be able to unstraighten you with that kiss." Not that he'd ever gotten any compliments on his kissing, but it was a sad attempt at injecting humor into the situation. But it fell flat, and left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He tried to strengthen his composure, and licked his lips. "Well." He said, gaze flickering to the door. "Now that we have that figured out." His voice was shaky, unconvincing, eyes skittering nervously to the cabinet where he kept his bourbon. Vikenti really had no intention of returning to work yet. He'd take the alcohol and go out and get so drunk that he couldn't walk and maybe he'd forget that any of this ever happened.

Yep.

Seemed like a solid plan.

He stood up, still having a sick feeling in his stomach and went over to rifle through his cabinet. Pulling out the alcohol, he turned to Matteo, trying to offer him a grin that he hoped looked real and not...you know, weak...unfortunately it didn't work. "I'd offer you some, but I think I'm going to be needing it all."

[Avu]

He’d been trying to make it—hurt less.

Because yeah, Matteo liked to think he pretty much knew Vikenti better than anybody else, and it was obvious that the guy fell hard when he fell at all. And if it had been anybody else, he wouldn’t have felt bad about turning them down—could and would and had with the kind of easy charm and smile that made it less painful, but Vikenti? He couldn’t pull that kind of shit on him, not when he was so obviously a one-person guy. Not when his eyes were blatantly broadcasting his hurt like that.

He’d never wanted to be on the receiving end of that kind of look.

Matteo’s mouth twitched upwards in a startled, sad smile at Vikenti’s comment, but he didn’t respond, even if the words if anyone could, it would be you were on the tip of his tongue. There was no need for more—more useless promises, because he just could not make his body react, and even if he’d totally do and be whatever Vikenti wanted him to—well, it’d probably be kind of a buzz-kill if he was just tolerating it. Matteo murmured a quiet, useless, “I’m sorry,” at Vikenti’s back as he stood, and yeah—alcohol.

The Healer’s smile twisted painfully in his stomach, something very close to nausea rising in his throat. That was just—just so patently fake. And fuck him, did he think Matteo would rather see that than him? Like just because this time it was about him, he didn’t want to see what he’d done? Matteo stared at him for a second, and his jaw clenched in a concentrated effort not to yell at him to snap out of it. Instead he crouched, curling tighter on the couch, and shrugged mutely, mentally debating whether or not talking more would be helpful.

Finally, because Matteo was just not used to not talking to Vikenti, he unfolded himself cautiously, still perched on the couch, and said softly, painfully earnest because there was no other way to be right now, “Hey. I meant it, before, when I said you were a total catch. Seriously. I—I’d say ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ if that wasn’t totally a cliché, but it’s true. I just. Can’t. Can I—stay?” His gaze fell on the bottle of alcohol, warily. Matteo absolutely did not trust Vikenti to drink within safe limits on his own, right now, and yeah, Vikenti might hate him, but he’d rather be hated by a living person than have a best friend dead of alcohol poisoning.

“Just for a while,” he added quietly. “I can clear out later if you want.”

[Zephyr]

His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle at Matteo’s comment. Eyes that were obviously hiding the pain that threatened to claw its way from his gut if he didn’t get some booze in his system soon skittered to the door longingly. He had planned to go out and get drunk somewhere outside; somewhere private. He had assumed that Matteo would just go find some girl to sleep with to make himself feel better. Because yeah, Vikenti’s escape was alcohol. It numbed the feelings, made them easier to bear. But this time he didn’t just want them numbed…he wanted them obliterated. Matteo had girls. The healer had no doubt that sex had similar effects to alcohol anyway, so it worked.

Still.

That soft request to stay tugged at hi heart, and messed him up so bad. If Matteo was staying, then there was no way he could just go out and drink himself into oblivion. It just wouldn’t be right. Not that anything in this situation was right. At that moment, Vikenti literally looked like a spooked runner, eyes slightly wide and darting from Matteo to the door like he was about to flee at any second. There was something to say about the flight or fight technique. It could definitely be applied her. What he wanted to do was take flight. Flee from the situation and hoped that after drinking himself into the next day, things would somehow have sorted themselves out…if he was even alive after that. What he knew he should want to do was fight for this…whatever it is he wanted. Because while Vikenti prided himself on being brave – he could stand down the fiercest looking bronzerider without flinching – but anything having to do with feelings, especially his own, reduced him to a sniveling pile of coward.

Finally, his gaze stopped shifting and settled in on Matteo again. His emotions were carefully guarded, the look now was painfully deadpan. “Okay.” He agreed, voice much to soft; to hollow to be genuine, even when he tried to force in some of the easy going pleasure that Matteo’s presence usually had for him. ”You can stay.” And now he decided that he wasn’t going to go out and drink himself to death behind the infirmary or anything, but he could still get so drunk that he didn’t remember having the conversation he’d had with the harper.

Maybe he could even get Matteo so drunk that he forgot. Two birds with one stone and all that. He even had another couple of bottles up in his cabinet when they went through this one…because he knew they would.

Falling onto the couch, he half slouched, careful to keep some distance between he and Matteo and unscrewed the lid, tipping the bottle back over his mouth and taking a rather large swig of his whiskey. The liquid burned his throat, but he didn’t flinch as he passed Matteo the bottle. “Want some?” His voice was marginally less guarded than before because he was already feeling the effects of the alcohol.

It didn’t take very much alcohol at all for the healer to get smashed. He had a low tolerance for alcohol.

Like that had ever stopped him from drinking before though.

[Avu]

It was a really pitiful kind of relief, Matteo thought absently, that came from not being kicked out of the room you literally lived in. But it was the only thing that he was feeling even relatively relieved about right now, so he wasn’t exactly in any position to be picky about it. Besides, he still felt sort of like he’d just been punched in the stomach, with all the nausea and anxiety that came with it, because just—it was really painful, the hollow sound to Vikenti’s voice, knowing that it was his fault because he was just not good enough and could not be what he wanted.

The distance between them was new. Matteo’s gaze fell on the stretch of couch between them, half-lidded in his silence. Sure, Vikenti always bitched about personal space, but he didn’t usually actually make sure there was personal space. And any other time he would’ve snickered at him and promptly draped himself over Vikenti because ha, your attempt at adhering to social standards is adorably pathetic or something, but now? Now he wasn’t sure if touching would be insult to injury.

The offer of the alcohol was at least maybe like an olive branch, right?

Matteo was pretty sure that Vikenti did not give alcohol to people he hated.

Ever.

His mouth quirked in a cautious grin, and Matteo leaned forward to take the bottle from Vikenti, clasping his fingers around the neck and tilting it to his mouth to swallow. And yeah, the burn was familiar and welcome; Vikenti was nothing if not a total snob about his alcohol and right now, Matteo kind of really appreciated it. He took another mouthful, and then silently passed the bottle back to Vikenti, hooking one arm over the back of the couch and cautiously stretching out his legs until he could nudge Vikenti with his toes companionably.

“’s good,” he murmured, letting his head drop against the back of the couch, eyes following the bottle instead of Vikenti because Matteo was not a masochist, okay, and he was pretty sure that looking at Vikenti while he was hurting and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it was not good for him. Ever. “Remind me not to question your taste in alcohol ever again. Are we going to be sober in time for dinner? We’re—” because this was his pathetic attempt to set things right, like falling back into a schedule could help anything at all, “We’re still doing dinner, right? I’m not gonna have any idea what to eat without you bitching me out about vegetables.”

[/blockquote]

[Zephyr]

Vikenti watched Matteo casually as he drank, eyes no longer hiding the pain and sadness and raw want. It was easier to hide these things when he was completely sober, and a hell of a lot easier to hide them before he’d actually let the other man know and it felt like he’d just made things endlessly awkward and weird. He didn’t want things to stay awkward between them…but it was bearable, because even with the awkwardness, at least he still had his best friend.

Because yes, even with what had happened between them, Vikenti still considered the harper his best friend above all else. Because even if he’d been rejected, and his heart broken…at least he still had Matteo, and in time, maybe the awkward would fade away. Still…if Matteo would only give them a chance he knew it could be great. He didn’t make it a habit to change peoples’ sexualities…that was actually the last thing he wanted. Matteo being the first. So, he couldn’t just not think about it. They were awesome together as friends. He could only imagine how much that awesome would be amplified by them becoming a couple. Though, it was odd…to think about them as a couple. Lovers, boyfriends? He wanted it all.

But it wasn’t going to happen.

And fucking hell, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to deal with this.

He took the bottle from Matteo, pointedly not looking at the expanse of neck Matteo had presented him in lieu of taking another long swig out of the bottle…more than he had before. He swallowed and looked down at the other man’s feet, barely hesitating before he kicked them away with a growl. “Get your feet away from me. Those things are disgusting.”

Well, that was good. The alcohol was effectively numbing his pain long enough for him to revert to grumpy asshole healer again…even if the words were tight.

Vikenti took another drink before he’d passed the bottle on, eying Matteo with one eyebrow raised to inhuman heights. “Dunno.” He said at last, shrugging and leaning back against the couch, sighing lightly. “You can be, maybe?” Because Vikenti had no intention of being sober for the rest of the evening. He had the feeling that being sober with Matteo in any setting after this would just be weird. The awkward was almost palpable. “I don’t think I wanna be sober right now.” He said in earnest bluntness, eyes flickering to the bottle, because yes…he wanted more. “You can always just go to the dining hall before you get too drunk..." – yes, he acknowledged the fact that Matteo would still be in good shape much longer than Vikenti would – "...and bring food back. We can eat in. Don’t need to be sober to eat in your own apartment.” He said with a shrug. Because while sober Vikenti wouldn’t have made such a suggestion, slightly tipsy Vikenti had no such qualms.

And he knew that Matteo probably wouldn’t want to eat with him in the privacy of the apartment, but he really didn’t want to have to be sober. It hurt far too much. He leveled his gaze at the other man. “Y’can stop drinking if you want, and eat dinner alone. I just…” his voice fell. “It’s easier to deal while drunk.” He finished, turning his gaze away. He wasn’t sure exactly what he meant. It wasn’t Matteo, because he hadn’t and would probably never get to the point where it was difficult to deal with the harper of any sense of the word…but maybe he meant the hurt, the pain, the goddamn feelings that still wouldn’t leave him alone. "Want you to stay though." Vikenti said, softer, painfully genuine.

“Stop hogging the goddam booze” He barked at length with a glare. “I’m not nearly drunk enough for my liking.” And without thinking about it, he leaned over, half sprawling over Matteo’s legs to grab at the bottle.

[Avu]

It was a fair point, and in retrospect, Matteo wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to the Dining Hall anytime soon, either. Rumors spread fast, and this wasn’t one he particularly wanted to court. Now or ever. From anyone; even the few other people he actually liked would be pretty much completely unwelcome right now. “Only if you don’t throw up on me,” he said doubtfully, raising one eyebrow at Vikenti. “I’ll bring food back. Eating dinner alone is just sad, and you’d starve without me, it’s like your psychologically incapable of feeding yourself properly when I’m not around. I’m staying.”

The you idiot was heavily implied; Matteo wasn’t sure he liked Vikenti like this. Normally when he was drunk he just got a hell of a lot more pliable in a kind of pathetically adorable way. Or a lot bitchier, because Vikenti would just not be Vikenti without barked insults and crazy eyebrows. But this was just Vikenti convalescing in his own grief or something. It wasn’t like Matteo had died. Was it really that big a deal? He was still, you know, here. Not running away or screaming hysterically or—or whatever else.

Was that just…never going to be good enough, anymore?

Yeah, that deserved another swallow of the whiskey.

Matteo curled his fingers tighter around the neck of the bottle, watching Vikenti silently for a moment until the Healer turned on him with a barked demand for the whiskey. And he totally would’ve just handed it over, except Vikenti proceeded to half-topple onto his legs, grabbing for the bottle, and Matteo instinctively pulled it farther out of his grasp, a startled yelp that morphed into a snicker halfway through warm as the whiskey in his throat. Keeping the bottle up over his own head, Matteo caught one hand into Vikenti’s shirt, just shy of the collar, holding him back, and squirmed, trying to lock his legs around him to keep him pinned.

“It’s mine now,” he did not giggle, the tension easing into the familiarity of it. “You’ve gotta have like a bajillion more bottles hoarded up, I’m not sharing this one anymore, you’ve gotta ask nicely—” The laugh was ragged with breathlessness as Matteo twisted abruptly on the couch in an effort to keep the bottle as far as possible away from Vikenti, clumsy with his concentration on the bottle—spilling it all over the place was not his intention at all—as he got one arm hooked over the armrest as an anchor. “C’mon, ‘please’ or something—”

[Zephyr]

Well, yeah. It wasn’t like he just expected Matteo to just sit there and take it as he grabbed for the bottle in his hand. He knew the harper far too well to expect that. Still, as he yelped, Vikenti gave a small smirk of triumph and scrambled forward further, only to be ceased by a hand in his shirt. He tried to keep his body over the harper’s so that Matteo wouldn’t be able to lock him down, and, at the same time, he was still trying to grab for the bottle being held above his head.

“I don’t care!” He griped, brow furrowed in careful concentration – the kind of careful concentration that he used when doing surgery on someone, or even something as simple as sorting through surprise. Whenever Vikenti did anything, it was with intense concentration, the expression on his face pretty much indicative of that – “ ‘Smy booze!” The healer bellowed, digging his own fingers into Matteo’s shirt. “I am not going to ask nicely for my own fucking booze!”

Finally, he stopped struggling and hovered over Matteo for a few minutes, eyes on the bottle, concentrating very hard on the whiskey. Finally, he came up with an idea. Really the only thing that he could do in this situation.

Now, if he had been completely sober, he’d realize that what he was about to do wouldn’t be the best idea in the world. Things were so tense between them at the moment (or so Vikenti thought) that this is just not something he would consider doing. But slightly buzzed Vikenti had no qualms at all about grabbing Matteo’s shirt and attempting to climb straight up the other man’s torso, flailing slightly for the bottle. “Gimme!” He growled, and he did not sound like a five year old at all, “You little shit!”

He’d forgotten how much easier things were before he’d told him about his stupid crush. And it was stupid, especially since it was obviously something that would never happen. At least at the moment, he was able to stop thinking about it and turn his attention to things that deserved his more immediate attention, like getting the fucking bottle away from Matteo.

Not…you know, going back to the infirmary or anything. They could handle things on their own for the rest of the day. Priorities…he had them.

[Avu]

“‘Please’!” Matteo yelped. “I’m asking for ‘please,’ not your goddamn first-born—” And because there was no way he could just hand over the bottle with a modicum of remaining dignity, Matteo threw his entire body into the next eel-like wriggle, panting his laughter as Vikenti finally went still, the Healer’s fingers in his shirt and still not on the bottle. He was tempted to just take a swig while Vikenti was busy plotting his next angle of attack—because there was so invariably going to be one—but it wasn’t worth the risk of having Vikenti snatch it out of his hand in the attempt.

“You could just—” he started, which was when Vikenti lunged again and essentially tried to crawl over him to get to the bottle. Matteo yowled like a startled cat, bucking up in an instinctive attempt to unseat Vikenti, which was sort of undermined by his free hand slipping to catch the Healer by his belt loops to make sure he didn’t actually topple off and somehow manage to get a concussion on the way or something equally dramatic. “Fucker,” he huffed, breathless with his squirming and the sloppy laughter. “You’re gonna make me spill it, I want to drink it—”

He twisted until he managed to get both elbows locked around the armrest of the couch, sprawled on his stomach with his legs still tangled in Vikenti’s, and threw himself forward to take a sloppy mouthful of the whiskey. Which was sort of a feat in and of itself, considering that he was still trying to keep Vikenti away from the bottle and it was damn hard when the guy was practically climbing him. Matteo barely managed to get any, but at least he didn’t straight-up spill it, either, although the flash of the burn of it startled him enough that the precariousness of their position hit him between the eyes.

Matteo went abruptly still, huffing his last startled laugh, sudden anxiety tightening in his stomach.

It wasn’t something he needed right now. Or ever.

“Your couch is seriously uncomfortable,” he said, a beat too quickly, his grasp on the whiskey bottle loosening as he twisted back to Vikenti, sober again, the cheeky quirk of his grin not quite genuine. Absently, Matteo hooked his fingers back into Vikenti’s belt loops, tugging lightly. “And I’m totally losing feeling in my legs, dude, if I can’t walk tomorrow it’s going to be your fault. And you can’t even say ‘please’.” Whether or not the Healer went ahead and snatched his whiskey back was a non-issue—Matteo had been well and truly distracted.

[/blockquote]

[Zephyr]

“I am not…saying please…” He huffed lightly as he scrabbled along Matteo’s torso, gaze fully focused on the bottle for once instead of on the harper. “…for my own goddamn alcohol!” He repeated himself. It probably would have made sense for him to just concede and say please for once in his life, it’d actually make getting drunk easier. But after having taken things this far, there was no way he would just give in. That was just not an option in any sense of the word. So instead, he tried climbing straight up Matteo’s arm, which would have been easier if he was a lot smaller.

Brows furrowed in concentration as he lunged up for the bottle, felt his fingertips scrape along the cool glass before Matteo bucked and his purchase disappeared. He fell back onto the other man, the harper’s fingers in his belt loops being the only thing that kept him from crashing to the floor.

Vikenti hurriedly pulled himself up on his elbows, glaring at the other man. “I wanna fucking drink it too! Whydya think I’m trying to get it?” He huffed lightly, panting from the exertion. There was some more wiggling from under him and somehow, without the healer having taken his weight off, Matteo twisted until he was on his stomach, head and mouth reaching for the bottle. “You asshole!” Vikenti yelped, scrambling along Matteo’s back, hand reaching out for the bottle until the man underneath him inexplicably went completely still.

The man froze, balancing himself by straddling the other man’s hips, fingers digging into the couch on either side of him as he resumed his frantic struggle for the bottle of whiskey. He didn’t seem to notice their positions, not until Matteo twisted around to look at him.

Vikenti froze, arm still outstretched towards the bottle, fingers twitching absently in the open air. There was something off about his grin, but the healer was too buzzed to really comprehend what it was at the moment. As it was, all he could see was Matteo’s face, his eyes…his lips. And his gaze lingered there for a moment. He felt the man tugging at his pants, probably in an attempt to get him to shift off of him, but Vikenti was frozen, breath coming out shaky and shallow as he stared at Matteo.

It was a good thing he had alcohol in him already. He wasn’t drunk, but a little liquid courage went a long way and right now it was making his head feel all fuzzy and those lips were so tempting. He felt himself falling into it, giving in. He breathed once against Matteo’s lips, a single word, pleading and breathless…”Please…” before he let himself close the distance between them, his lips pressing against the harper’s lips more firmly than he had before. One hand untangled itself from the couch to cup the man’s jaw and Vikenti’s eyes fell shut.

It was probably a good thing he wasn’t completely sober. There were implications here, namely that now it was impossible for them to have something as ordinarily mundane as a wrestling match without Vikenti falling into a kiss. That too took a little more thought than he was physically capable of at the moment.

There would probably be flailing and apologies and more alcohol later on, though…once, you know, Matteo threw him onto the floor or something.

[Avu]

Vikenti was—oh God, was he really feeling the alcohol already?

Any other time, Matteo would’ve laughed at him, wound an arm around his shoulders and steadied him or whatever else, but this was just different. The intention was all skewed and Vikenti’s weight was pinning him to the couch and the way Vikenti was looking at him was just—but it was Vikenti, the rational part of his mind pointed out. Best friend, no matter what else. And if this was what he wanted, if Matteo could give, then why not? Matteo swallowed, fingers stilling in the Healer’s belt loop, the whiskey bottle cool against the palm of his other hand, and when Vikenti leaned in, he’d already made up his mind.

Not that that stopped the sharp instinctive skitter of what he refused to call fear from jolting up his spine at the kiss, the way he went tense under Vikenti, his breath hitching messily in his throat. And in theory it was so goddamn easy; if Vikenti wanted, then why the hell not. And he could, kind of; Matteo could and did kiss back, letting his lips part under the press of Vikenti’s and the taste of whiskey warm on his tongue, but there was still something jagged and afraid under his skin that couldn’t.

He’d said please.

He’d said please and Matteo just—

He didn’t actually realize he’d shoved Vikenti away from him until after he’d jerked out from under him and scrambled back against the armrest of the couch, and the whiskey bottle in his hand was not shaking. Matteo set it down cautiously on the floor, considered sitting on his hands, and locked them around his knees instead, exhaling a shaky breath. There was a distinct edge of nausea curling thickly in the pit of his stomach, and he was really fucking hating himself right about now. The flare of irrational anger followed rapidly, though, and Matteo clenched his teeth together tightly, not trusting himself to speak for a minute.

When he did, it was to blurt, “I told you I couldn’t, you—need to fucking listen to me, I’m not trying to screw with you but I can’t, okay, you can’t just—I hate being pinned down.” The admission was quieter, if not quite true; it wasn’t like Vikenti hadn’t pinned him before—arguments devolved into impromptu wrestling matches and stupid girly slap-fights all too often, after all. But the intent had been different and he just couldn’t. Matteo’s gaze dropped to his hands, and he curled them into fists to stop them shaking.

“Goddamn,” he huffed, the laugh bitter this time. “Just. Give me a minute.”

Or, you know, thirty or so.

[/blockquote]

[Zephyr]

If Matteo tensed under his lips, Vikenti wouldn’t have known. He was too buzzed to take that in. All he was able to feel was warmth all around him. Warmth and the harper’s pliancy as his lips parted and the healer licked into his mouth, tasting whiskey…whiskey and Matteo. He breathed slowly, letting himself sink fully into the harper, the hand that was on his jaw creeping up to tangle in his hair absently, the other hand wrapping itself around his hip as he leaned into the kiss, lost to the alcohol and the kiss.

That’s probably why it didn’t register right away when Matteo pushed him. He had been concentrating on the kiss far too fully to put up any kind of resistance, and he fell back against the other arm of the couch, in sort of a post kiss haze. The world spun before his eyes and he blinked dumbly for a few seconds as Matteo scrambled away from him.

Like he was afraid.

That though jarred him out of his shock though, and his eyes widened, breathing coming faster. He pushed himself back against the opposite arm, tipping sideways off of the goddamn couch onto the floor. “ m’sorry.” He said quickly, breathlessly. Guilt coiled in his stomach like a snake and he scrambled backwards against the wall, eyes never leaving Matteo’s form. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to…the whiskey…” His voice was frantic.

“Oh god…fuck…” he pressed his head between his knees and started breathing slowly and carefully. “I’m a fucking awful friend…the worst.” He stayed like that for a second, rubbing the nape of his neck absently until he looked up, eyes wide. “I’ll leave. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Then he caught it. That expression. It all fell into place. Vikenti blinked dumbly for a second. This wasn’t the reaction of a man who just wasn’t gay. This was deeper. “ I hate being pinned down” Like Vikenti hadn’t pinned him down before...and why hadn't he known about this before? Over ten years and it didn't cross Matteo's mind to tell him about some deep, psychological scar that made him traumatized about being pinned down? Those weren’t the words of someone who just wasn’t gay. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He was a healer. He had to be observant. Did the fact that this was his best friend just negate all those observational skills?

“What’s wrong?” He blurted out of the blue, concern filling the abruptness of his voice as he scrambled to his feet. Yeah, his heart was pounding hard in his chest, and his face was all flushed from alcohol and embarrassment and that kiss and he just…couldn’t see any other way to be at the moment. Fists balled at his side because the buzz was wearing off and he was seriously considering fleeing at the moment. But he held his ground, gaze firmly rooted to Matteo. “What happened?” The words came out in a growl…it was the only concern Vikenti really knew how to show.

He took a step towards the other man, fighting the urge to sit back down near him…he just…wanted to comfort him. “Don’t you dare tell me nothing. I can see something’s wrong with you…I’m a healer. I deal with shit like this on a daily basis and that? That was not a normal reaction.” His breathing started coming easier, and his expression softened, voice lower. “C’mon, man. Please. Just…tell me what’s up. I…just wanna help you. You’re my best friend.” He sighed softly, waling over to sit on the edge of the couch, making sure to give him space. “I’m sorry I kissed you. I was…am a really stupid and shitty friend. But I wanna make up for it. I just…want to help you...and...you know I'd never hurt you...right?" There was an edge of vulnerability in is voice, raw and painful. Matteo had scrambled away from him like he had a disease or something. Like he was completely dangerous and undesirable, and that had to have an effect on him, on some level.

The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his best friend, and he knew Matteo knew this...so it made him feel all the more like something deeper was up with his friend.

[Avu]

He could literally see the exact minute something clicked, when Vikenti stopped fumbling over his useless apologies and things started falling—however loosely—into place. That was about when Matteo dropped his eyes away from Vikenti, because come on: The guy wasn’t dumb, and he was pretty sure that the vague comprehension was going to turn into disgust pretty damn fast, and that wasn’t something he was interested in seeing. He jerked in bewilderment at the concern in Vikenti’s tone, his expression going startled as he stared at the Healer. He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out—so it was kind of nice that Vikenti kept going anyway, even if what he was actually saying was just making him feel worse.

“I know that,” Matteo snapped, fingers clenching against his own jeans. “And there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. It’s—” He was tempted to say nothing purely out of spite, but that would require a truly spectacular level of asshole that Matteo wasn’t quite angry enough to tap into quite yet. “—fine. Okay? It’s fine. It was just—stupid.” Abruptly, sitting on the couch was no longer acceptable, felt way too weirdly vulnerable and exposed, and Matteo got to his feet without any actual idea of where he was trying to go. It was just…claustrophobic.

“I told you,” he said, still irrationally angry, but at least anger meant his voice wasn’t shaking anymore. “I tried it, it wasn’t fun. That’s all.” The look Matteo leveled at Vikenti was sharper than he intended, defiant and tight, and he really wanted to just go for a run or dance or something away from everything because this amount of tension could not possibly be good for him. And he knew that Vikenti was goddamn stubborn and he didn’t like leaving him like this, with a bunch of pieces to an unfinished puzzle, but hell if he knew what else to do.

“Nothing’s up, nothing’s wrong with me, nothing happened.” Lies that seemed weaker with every passing minute, but fuck, why did Vikenti have to push. “Just drop it, okay?”

And right then, that was when the fury just faded again, and he dropped his gaze, exhausted and just sick of it. “Don’t you have a shift to finish?” Quietly, the tone dry and steady. “The Healers’ll be lost without you to whip ’em in line. I’ve got reports to write, anyway.”

[Zephyr]

At the first snap, Vikenti had to force himself not to flinch away. He had seen Matteo angry; in over ten years it was a given that you’d see the other person in any given emotional state. But this was different. This was a coping mechanism, plain and simple. He knew this as well as if Matteo had been yelling it out, and he was. His voice was angry and defensive and it took everything he had not to shy away. Because while he was a pretty brave man, he literally had no defenses against Matteo. They’d pretty much disappeared within the first year.

So he just sat there, silently impassive as the harper snapped and spit and yelled at him. He was reminded painfully of his childhood. A man with a knife, harsh words and an even harsher hand. He knew that Matteo wasn’t that man though, and he knew that the harper wouldn’t hurt him if he could help it. So he just sat there and took it all, his eyes narrowed slightly, breath coming out heavily as he ought to retain his passivity.

Then he got up, and the healer had to make himself not to get up and what…? Grab his arm? Because that would go over so goddamn well. Fists clenched and fingers curled into the fabric of the couch. He was just repeating himself, over and over again…and his lies…they just weren’t believable after this long.

Finally, he was out of hate…and Vikenti had to tell himself that Matteo didn’t hate him. He just leveled his gaze at Matteo, one eyebrow lifted. He let silence descend between the two of them before he spoke, his voice as even as he could make it. “ You know I’m not a fucking idiot. You know I can see right through your lies.” He said that flatly in a slightly deadpan voice, never taking his eyes off of the other man. Finally, he stood up slowly, eyes sharp, words pointed. “ You’re insulting my fucking intelligence by telling me nothing is fucking wrong with you, okay?” Fists tightened into balls at his sides, but he didn’t take a step towards him. “ This whole mess might have been brought on by me, and my stupid choices, but it isn’t my fault.”

He took a deep breath, not done by a long shot. “I can’t believe that you don’t trust me. You can say you do all you want, but the fact that you won’t tell me what’s wrong with you really says otherwise. We’re friends. Best friends. Over ten fucking years and you won’t trust me with this. There’s no one else here but us…and what, you think I’m going to fucking judge you or something? Do you know how much that hurts? You should know by now that I would never judge you for anything like that, and I would never hurt you. Ever.”

He snorted, gaze never leaving the other man. “You can run away from this if you want, run away from me. I can’t stop you and I’m sure as hell not going to run after you if you do.” Lies, lies, lies…he so would “But whatever’s been haunting you isn’t going to run away from you. You can be damn sure of that.” He sighed shakily, shaking his head. “I wish you’d just trust me…with this. I can help, or at least try to help.” Then his gaze softened. “You aren’t alone. I wish you could see that. You haven’t been alone for over ten years, yet you act like you have no one else. But you have me…always will. No matter what.”

He sighed softly, all sapped out for the moment. He refused to comment on Matteo’s other points. Refused to voice the facts that they both knew. That the infirmary would be fine without him for the rest of the day and that Matteo wasn’t going to touch those reports until he absolutely had to.