[ Ephemera stiffens, but doesn't jerk away when Drake approaches. There's a distance still and Drake stays on his good side. It makes sense. They knew each other once, even if Ephemera doesn't remember that. This would have been one of the things they established, wouldn't it? How to move around each other.
Breathe. Don't make it worse. ]
Control. Yeah.
[ He speaks this time, though his voice is low. He wonders if it hurt to die. It happened so quickly. He doesn't remember pain from the empathy bond, though. Just anger, and disappointment. ]
....can you stay?
[ He looks away. Feels vaguely ashamed to be asking for it, after he's fucked up so badly. But there's nothing else he can think to do now except be here, with his own thoughts, and that feels dangerous. Like wading right back into the memories. ]
[ At least Ephemera's speaking again, Drake thinks, though the signing was a handy way around not trusting his voice. He nods, even as he's mentally kicking himself -- he's still new, he's got to get a job and make connections and figure out what the fuck is going on around here, not just linger around an alternate version of someone he already knows. But it feels like he's needed, and Drake's always been there for anyone who needed him. This was stupidly complicated, unbalanced and dangerous and potentially very painful, but he was in it now. It'd be worse for them both if he bailed now, right? Or is he justifying it to himself however he can?
Shit. Where's Lance when Drake needs him most? ]
Yeah. I can stay. You feeling like discussion or distraction?
[ Ephemera catches the look, wondering for a moment beforeβ
Oh. Right. Because they've done this before. Or at least one version of him did. The version that fought side by side with the Freelancers, who really did treat them like allies. Ephemera can't imagine that version of himself. He doesn't think that Drake's tricking him, at least not on purpose, but that memory or vision or whatever the fuck it was feels impossible, a fever dream; something that couldn't possibly come to pass. He cannot imagine being that person and the thought of trying hurts more than it has any right to. Because he already fucked this up, he already lost a friend he cared about, and he doesn't know how it's going to end. Only that it's been twisted beyond recognition and there's no way to go back.
He exhales. Goes to the fridge and examines what's there. Not all that much, as it turns out. Some random leftovers, already scoured. ]
....fuck.
[ Should have remembered that. Should have focused. ]
I can order something.
[ There. That's proactive. That's not him standing in front of the fridge with a blank look like a goddamn moron. ]
I can chip in. I've barely touched my stipend... gotta look into getting a job soon, though.
[ Maybe normal conversation will help, pull Ephemera out of his thoughts which are surely dark right now. He probably wouldn't appreciate being asked about them, and they should talk about something. ]
[ Ephemera doesn't answer right away, is just still staring into the fridge, and Drake finds himself stepping forward and reaching out entirely on instinct, before he even realizes he's moving.
Then the other man twitches, shakes himself out of whatever stupor he was in.
Drake freezes in place. The fuck does he think he's doing?
He reels his hand back in, but there's no hiding that he's standing a little closer or the tension in his stance. Shit. There's an awkward beat before Drake recovers a little, clearing his throat and forcing a tiny grin. It doesn't reach his eyes yet, something worried and sad in them instead. ]
[ And suddenly, Drake is in his space. Ephemera is too tired to be surprised by that. He just stares at the man, wondering how he's supposed to react. What the normal thing would be in this situation. They were close once, he and Drake. Or at least a version of him. They were friends. They fought together. Ephemera gave him the hardlight shield for the battle Drake showed him. The memory was clear on that point. But there were details Ephemera's certain he missed, things that would put the whole situation in context if he was just smart enough to catch them.
He breathes out. Drake's hand was extended for a moment, like he wanted to reach out. And, perhaps strangely, Ephemera almost closes the gap. He's so tired and Drake has always seemed solid to him, steady in the face of all this fucking insanity. A focus point. And not so long ago it felt good to reach out to Angela, to hold her hand and breathe in the aftermath. There had been an understanding between them. A hard won trust.
Not anymore. He broke that. After all the things they told each other, he broke that.
Ephemera just shakes his head, stepping back. He shouldn't touch people anymore. It goes wrong. ]
Something like that.
[ He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe just to sleep. But he promised Drake food, and he cannot possibly fuck that up too. Ephemera twitches again, running a hand through his hair. Drake offered to pay but somehow that fact has slipped through Ephemera's mind already. ]
[ For a very fraught moment, Drake thinks maybe he hasn't made a mistake. Then Ephemera shakes his head and pulls back, and it's like the twist of a knife in his gut. Right. He manages to keep his expression neutral, but the pain of it is still in his eyes, and maybe all of this is a mistake. Maybe he's just... not as good at being someone else as he used to be.
Keep it together, he scolds himself. Part of him wants to just run from this, as if that'd hurt less. But he promised he'd stay. Don't make it weirder.
Slow breaths, and Drake's gaze cuts away to try and hide... everything, he supposes. It feels wrong to hide from his best friend, but he has to. Fuck. ]
I'll grab us something. You look exhausted, why don't you go lie down and I'll get you when it's here?
[ There's a flash of hurt in the way Drake looks away, and Ephemera just closes his good eye. Counts to five and tries imagining he's somewhere else. It doesn't work. He fucked up and this is the aftermath, all the awful shit he brought down on the these people. And he likes Drake, who is solid and kind, and no one deserves to be tangled up in this anymore. So it doesn't matter that Ephemera wants to reach out and take his hand, to touch someone and take comfort from the proximity.
It doesn't matter. He can't do that anymore.
Ephemera opens his good eye. Nods just once, and retreats to his room. He barely ever sleeps in the bed, but sleeping on the floor seems like it would be inviting more questions so he just grabs a pillow and curls around it, and tries to focus on his breathing. ]
[ The hardest part of this is knowing, both from years of experience with the way the other man thinks and general intuition with reading people, that part of Ephemera wants to reach back. He's just telling himself he can't, punishing himself for his fuck up hurting Angela and... maybe that's valid. But it can't last forever.
Drake sighs and crumples back against the cupboards once Ephemera disappears into his room, sinking down to sit with his knees bent up and his head in his hands.
Pull it together.
It only takes him a minute on the network to figure out how ordering food works in New Amsterdam -- it's basically the same as apps from his home world and her gets them comfort food. Chinese, some of Ephemera's favorites. Not like he'll have to answer how he knew, they're past that point. He does it without getting up off the floor, then just leans his head back against the cabinet door behind him and breathes. He really needs to find some kind of balance, but this all went from 0 to 100 in a matter of days.
When the delivery guy pings his implant, Drake finally picks himself up. His legs are half asleep but he still makes it to the door to buzz it in, thanks him and sets it on the little kitchen table. Explores the cupboards for glasses, and finds a bottle of liquor in his rummaging. Hm. Maybe.
Everything gets hauled over to the coffee table because screw proper manners, they're sitting on the couch, and then he's heading for the door of the bedroom Ephemera disappeared into. It isn't closed all the way but he knocks gently, not sure if the other man managed to fall asleep. ]
[ Somehow, and somewhat against his will, Ephemera does fall asleep. He's been running on nothing but stubbornness for the past couple days and almost no sleep. That adds up, no matter what's running through his head, and eventually something has to give.
He sleeps. Not well. He's not under enough to have real dreams, but there's an overarching sense of wrong, fear that's spiraling around without settling on a concrete threat. He twitches, good eye closed, and doesn't hear the door. ]
[ When Ephemera doesn't answer and there's no sound of stirring form within, Drake carefully nudges the door open. The other man is actually asleep but twitching fitfully, and Drake just watches for a moment, wondering what's the right thing to do. Wake him for food, wake him to pull him from whatever uneasy rest or dream he's in, let him sleep like this, or....... help him rest?
Yeah.
He doesn't need to know, even. Is that weird? Is he overthinking it? Probably. There's no way this could be considered hurting, even if he doesn't have explicit permission right now.
Drake closes his eyes and focuses on his own breathing, his own pulse, on being calm. Wills it towards Ephemera, and when he opens his eyes there's a glow under his shirt. Good. Any second now....... yeah, there it goes. Ephemera's twitching eases, his hand on the pillow relaxing. Drake smiles faintly, then pulls the door back how it was and retreats to the couch.
[ It goes on like that for a while. Ephemera wakes with a start, clutching at the pillow and realizing he's been out for a while. Longer than he'd intended. Long enough that he's probably missed the window for food and left Drake with nothing to do. But it's also the best sleep he's had in a long time, possibly in weeks, and Ephemera isn't sure how to take that.
He runs a hand down his face, wincing at the drag. His bad eye is starting to itch. He ought to take it out. But doing that means he'll have to get up.
Breathe. See it done, coward.
He breathes. He gets up. Ducks into the bathroom to flush his eye and take out the prosthetic, slapping a bandage over the wound because that would be another thing he'd have to explain and he really, really doesn't want to. Maybe Drake already knows, probably Drake already knows, but this wound was always one that hit Ephemera a little sideways. He used to worry at it, when he was healing. The new prosthetic fits perfectly, but it doesn't help. The weight of it feels wrong in his skull, still.
He's made himself comfortable, it seems like -- maybe more than this Ephemera would like. His sneakers are tucked neatly by the door and the food's been put away for whenever Ephemera's awake and ready for it, and Drake's stretched on the apartment couch with his implant's interface projected in front of him like a screen, scrolling through job listings. The kind of thing he could have gone back to the Safehouse for, sure, but he could also do it here. And he said he'd stay. He wanted to stay.
When Ephemera comes out and calls his name he dismisses the "screen" and sits up, offers a quiet smile. ]
Hey. I figured I'd let you sleep awhile... there's food if you're ready for it, we can heat stuff up.
[ Then he tilts his head, looking a little more serious. Like this answer matters, like he's maybe a little worried about it. ]
[ Drake's expression instantly turns sheepish, almost guilty because it's not like he was going to lie or keep it a secret but. He hadn't asked permission. ]
...it was, yeah. I'm sorry. You looked really restless and waking you up to ask seemed counterproductive.
[ So. That's a thing that happened. Ephemera watches Drake for a long moment, then just nods. He's tired still, but he doesn't feel quite so fuzzy. He's aware of his body, the ache in his joints, the act that he's standing in the apartment he used to share with Angela and the fact that he forgot to take his boots off before he crashed. Small things. But he's starting to think they might matter, because they keep him in the present and not spiraling off into the bad memories. ]
I don't sleep well.
[ Stating the obvious, in all likelihood. He exhales. ]
[ Saying 'I know' seems kind of like a dick move, so Drake just nods his understanding. Hesitates. Doesn't know how to feel about being thanked for something he just used his judgment to do. His power is kind of invasive, they need to establish some ground rules for it. ]
I won't do it again unless you want me to. Not that it'll necessarily even come up again, but it can't hurt to know now if you'd mind or not. Right?
[ He has no idea what the chances are that he'll come across Ephemera sleeping fitfully again, but better to prepare for that possibility, he thinks. And he's probably overthinking again. He really hadn't expected this to get so complicated and fraught so quickly, but it's bad enough he's stuck his nose in where to these people, it really has no right to be. He could tell the way Angela and Washington looked at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" It was a small wonder Ephemera hadn't asked. ]
[ Some vague part of Ephemera knows he would have gotten the sort of angry that usually ends with screaming and violence if Drake had done that to him in a fight, or during the conversation with the Freelancers. But he didn't. He held off, he played witness, and in the aftermath he stayed.
It was kind, what he did. Not something most people would do. Even for a friend.
[ That's not... answering the question. Drake blinks, wondering where he slipped up this time, and sits up a little straighter. He doesn't want to dodge, but this might not be the best time either. He settles for something in between, and will let Ephemera decide what he can handle hearing. ]
Yeah, we were. That's all the more reason I shouldn't assume stuff like this, right?
[ So. Ground rules. And he's sorry. This is just completely new territory for him to navigate. ]
[ So they were close. Ephemera rolls that over in his mind for a moment, nodding slowly. He doesn't make friends easily, or at least not anymore. He can play friendly if he's careful to establish the distance straight off, if he knows the score and has a script at hand. But going deeper than that takes time and trust and for a long time he'd assumed he wasn't capable of that anymore. That he'd killed off that part of himself years ago, when he decided to be Sharkface and swore he'd never touch anyone again except in violence.
Part of that gave. But not all of it. And he knows better than most that trust is hard won. ]
I don't mind. If it helps me sleep.
[ It ought to be spell out, he thinks. So there's no confusion. So the lines are clear. ]
[ He should probably offer a little more, Drake thinks, so he takes a breath and gets up, heading into the kitchen. It'll help to be doing something, he can get the food reheated at least. ]
Two years. We knew each other a little over two years.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Breathe. Don't make it worse. ]
Control. Yeah.
[ He speaks this time, though his voice is low. He wonders if it hurt to die. It happened so quickly. He doesn't remember pain from the empathy bond, though. Just anger, and disappointment. ]
....can you stay?
[ He looks away. Feels vaguely ashamed to be asking for it, after he's fucked up so badly. But there's nothing else he can think to do now except be here, with his own thoughts, and that feels dangerous. Like wading right back into the memories. ]
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Shit. Where's Lance when Drake needs him most? ]
Yeah. I can stay. You feeling like discussion or distraction?
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I don't know.
[ Which is pathetic. He's the one who asked Drake to stay, he should at least know what he wants to do. ]
There's food. You hungry? I can cook.
[ He cannot cook to save his life, but he can heat things up on the stove and it's something to do. It's something to do. ]
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Sorry, uh. Just remembering... something. Go ahead, I can always eat.
[ Whether or not this will be edible stands to be seen. ]
Or help. If you need it.
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Oh. Right. Because they've done this before. Or at least one version of him did. The version that fought side by side with the Freelancers, who really did treat them like allies. Ephemera can't imagine that version of himself. He doesn't think that Drake's tricking him, at least not on purpose, but that memory or vision or whatever the fuck it was feels impossible, a fever dream; something that couldn't possibly come to pass. He cannot imagine being that person and the thought of trying hurts more than it has any right to. Because he already fucked this up, he already lost a friend he cared about, and he doesn't know how it's going to end. Only that it's been twisted beyond recognition and there's no way to go back.
He exhales. Goes to the fridge and examines what's there. Not all that much, as it turns out. Some random leftovers, already scoured. ]
....fuck.
[ Should have remembered that. Should have focused. ]
I can order something.
[ There. That's proactive. That's not him standing in front of the fridge with a blank look like a goddamn moron. ]
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[ Maybe normal conversation will help, pull Ephemera out of his thoughts which are surely dark right now. He probably wouldn't appreciate being asked about them, and they should talk about something. ]
I never asked what you do around here.
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He twitches. Shakes himself, and shuts the fridge. ]
I fight. In the rings. And I work security sometimes.
[ Or he did. He's missing shifts, he's probably fired. ]
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Then the other man twitches, shakes himself out of whatever stupor he was in.
Drake freezes in place. The fuck does he think he's doing?
He reels his hand back in, but there's no hiding that he's standing a little closer or the tension in his stance. Shit. There's an awkward beat before Drake recovers a little, clearing his throat and forcing a tiny grin. It doesn't reach his eyes yet, something worried and sad in them instead. ]
I bet you're a crowd favorite.
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He breathes out. Drake's hand was extended for a moment, like he wanted to reach out. And, perhaps strangely, Ephemera almost closes the gap. He's so tired and Drake has always seemed solid to him, steady in the face of all this fucking insanity. A focus point. And not so long ago it felt good to reach out to Angela, to hold her hand and breathe in the aftermath. There had been an understanding between them. A hard won trust.
Not anymore. He broke that. After all the things they told each other, he broke that.
Ephemera just shakes his head, stepping back. He shouldn't touch people anymore. It goes wrong. ]
Something like that.
[ He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe just to sleep. But he promised Drake food, and he cannot possibly fuck that up too. Ephemera twitches again, running a hand through his hair. Drake offered to pay but somehow that fact has slipped through Ephemera's mind already. ]
Ah. What'd you want to eat?
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Keep it together, he scolds himself. Part of him wants to just run from this, as if that'd hurt less. But he promised he'd stay. Don't make it weirder.
Slow breaths, and Drake's gaze cuts away to try and hide... everything, he supposes. It feels wrong to hide from his best friend, but he has to. Fuck. ]
I'll grab us something. You look exhausted, why don't you go lie down and I'll get you when it's here?
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It doesn't matter. He can't do that anymore.
Ephemera opens his good eye. Nods just once, and retreats to his room. He barely ever sleeps in the bed, but sleeping on the floor seems like it would be inviting more questions so he just grabs a pillow and curls around it, and tries to focus on his breathing. ]
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Drake sighs and crumples back against the cupboards once Ephemera disappears into his room, sinking down to sit with his knees bent up and his head in his hands.
Pull it together.
It only takes him a minute on the network to figure out how ordering food works in New Amsterdam -- it's basically the same as apps from his home world and her gets them comfort food. Chinese, some of Ephemera's favorites. Not like he'll have to answer how he knew, they're past that point. He does it without getting up off the floor, then just leans his head back against the cabinet door behind him and breathes. He really needs to find some kind of balance, but this all went from 0 to 100 in a matter of days.
When the delivery guy pings his implant, Drake finally picks himself up. His legs are half asleep but he still makes it to the door to buzz it in, thanks him and sets it on the little kitchen table. Explores the cupboards for glasses, and finds a bottle of liquor in his rummaging. Hm. Maybe.
Everything gets hauled over to the coffee table because screw proper manners, they're sitting on the couch, and then he's heading for the door of the bedroom Ephemera disappeared into. It isn't closed all the way but he knocks gently, not sure if the other man managed to fall asleep. ]
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He sleeps. Not well. He's not under enough to have real dreams, but there's an overarching sense of wrong, fear that's spiraling around without settling on a concrete threat. He twitches, good eye closed, and doesn't hear the door. ]
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Yeah.
He doesn't need to know, even. Is that weird? Is he overthinking it? Probably. There's no way this could be considered hurting, even if he doesn't have explicit permission right now.
Drake closes his eyes and focuses on his own breathing, his own pulse, on being calm. Wills it towards Ephemera, and when he opens his eyes there's a glow under his shirt. Good. Any second now....... yeah, there it goes. Ephemera's twitching eases, his hand on the pillow relaxing. Drake smiles faintly, then pulls the door back how it was and retreats to the couch.
Rest, buddy. ]
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He runs a hand down his face, wincing at the drag. His bad eye is starting to itch. He ought to take it out. But doing that means he'll have to get up.
Breathe. See it done, coward.
He breathes. He gets up. Ducks into the bathroom to flush his eye and take out the prosthetic, slapping a bandage over the wound because that would be another thing he'd have to explain and he really, really doesn't want to. Maybe Drake already knows, probably Drake already knows, but this wound was always one that hit Ephemera a little sideways. He used to worry at it, when he was healing. The new prosthetic fits perfectly, but it doesn't help. The weight of it feels wrong in his skull, still.
In the end, he does wander out. ]
Drake?
no subject
He's made himself comfortable, it seems like -- maybe more than this Ephemera would like. His sneakers are tucked neatly by the door and the food's been put away for whenever Ephemera's awake and ready for it, and Drake's stretched on the apartment couch with his implant's interface projected in front of him like a screen, scrolling through job listings. The kind of thing he could have gone back to the Safehouse for, sure, but he could also do it here. And he said he'd stay. He wanted to stay.
When Ephemera comes out and calls his name he dismisses the "screen" and sits up, offers a quiet smile. ]
Hey. I figured I'd let you sleep awhile... there's food if you're ready for it, we can heat stuff up.
[ Then he tilts his head, looking a little more serious. Like this answer matters, like he's maybe a little worried about it. ]
How'd you sleep?
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I slept. Haven't done much of that lately.
[ He slept better than he has for a long time, actually. Ephemera tips his head to the side, wondering at the expression on Drake's face.
Oh. ]
That your trick again?
[ He's more curious than angry. ]
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...it was, yeah. I'm sorry. You looked really restless and waking you up to ask seemed counterproductive.
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I don't sleep well.
[ Stating the obvious, in all likelihood. He exhales. ]
Thank you.
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I won't do it again unless you want me to. Not that it'll necessarily even come up again, but it can't hurt to know now if you'd mind or not. Right?
[ He has no idea what the chances are that he'll come across Ephemera sleeping fitfully again, but better to prepare for that possibility, he thinks. And he's probably overthinking again. He really hadn't expected this to get so complicated and fraught so quickly, but it's bad enough he's stuck his nose in where to these people, it really has no right to be. He could tell the way Angela and Washington looked at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" It was a small wonder Ephemera hadn't asked. ]
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It was kind, what he did. Not something most people would do. Even for a friend.
Ephemera breathes out. ]
We were close, weren't we? You and I.
[ More than just casual friends. ]
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Yeah, we were. That's all the more reason I shouldn't assume stuff like this, right?
[ So. Ground rules. And he's sorry. This is just completely new territory for him to navigate. ]
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Part of that gave. But not all of it. And he knows better than most that trust is hard won. ]
I don't mind. If it helps me sleep.
[ It ought to be spell out, he thinks. So there's no confusion. So the lines are clear. ]
For the rest....ask.
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[ He should probably offer a little more, Drake thinks, so he takes a breath and gets up, heading into the kitchen. It'll help to be doing something, he can get the food reheated at least. ]
Two years. We knew each other a little over two years.
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How did we meet?
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