smilestopscars | Room 210, Friday Afternoon

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Room 210, Friday Afternoon

It'd been almost two weeks. Ezra was starting to be okay. Which was to say, he'd repressed the hell out of the fact that he'd seen ––

You know what? No. Let's just not go there. He'd been thoroughly over it once he'd stopped shaking and wanting to puke his guts out (after he'd felt like he already had). And that had been the very same day already, so. He was done with it, and had been for almost two weeks.

(The less said about said two weeks, though, the better. Unless you happened to be a fan of questionable coping methods.)

Things were just fine now. He'd just finished packing up a box of his winter stuff that he needed to send up to Currant to Ava for safekeeping, and was currently just standing by the window, looking up towards the sky. Maybe today he'd go out exploring.

Get into trouble.

[ooc: Open door, open post. ETA: Dante thread going NSFW, no surprise to anyone.]

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Ezra let his arm drop back down. He kept watching, but he didn't say anything.

He wondered if he was even going to stay after this.

Same thing Dante would've been wondering, if it hadn't been for Ada. There was too much hope on this fucking island; it got in your head and fucked you up.

He got his pants on quick and easy, frustrated only marginally by the way his fingers briefly lost their way and got all tangled up over the button of his pants.

Well. Maybe more than marginally. It made him drop his hands back down to the mattress for a second. He squeezed it, staring back up at the ceiling. Then back over his shoulder, at Ezra.

He was quickly losing track of what he was feeling about this whole fucked up meeting at all.

Ezra wasn't helping. He just looked on, his face largely unreadable, a little resigned. He'd said something. It had gone over about as badly as he could've guessed.

He didn't feel very inclined to say anything further.

No, he wasn't helping. But he also wasn't doing the opposite. If Ezra'd made another shitty comment, Dante coulda just walked out of here and gotten outrageously drunk and gone right back to pretending he didn't give a shit about the guy. If he'd done something helpful, they would've gone back to talking.

Dante was hurting, and he was tired, too, and he'd successfully managed to avoid feeling this raw for weeks now, and the only person left on the island with any hint understanding this whole fucking mess was this asshole right here.

Dante'd made a bunch of stupid choices today already.

Might as well give in and make another one, scooting back, curling back onto the bed without saying anything. Not his usual sprawl, either.

This was not what Ezra had expected. Which some might have been able to guess from the way he'd purposefully said a shitty thing.

His eyebrow raise was instant. Wasn't easy to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do with this.

Slowly, he decided the first course of action was to slump back down. He could figure out the rest from there.

Maybe under other circumstances, Dante'd feel some sense of satisfaction about utterly throwing Ezra. Not right now, though. Maybe he just didn't have it in him to just walk out on somebody again, or maybe he actually needed the company more than he'd admit.

Whatever.

He gave the tiniest of shrugs in reply to that raised eyebrow.

It had barely been directed at him, anyway. But the situation at large couldn't exactly respond in any way, not even with a shrug.

Ezra stretched out.

And after a moment's –– it wasn't hesitation, as such. More just a thought. So, after a moment's thought, he rolled slowly onto his side. Shifted a little until he could curl up against Dante.

Even slid his arm over the other guy's chest. No point doing it in half-measures.

Dante wasn't a snuggler under just about any circumstance. So whatever was happening here clearly wasn't that.

It just felt natural to slide an arm right back around Ezra, pulling him in close.

That was all.

Ezra very sincerely did not care much about labels. These kinds of things included. It was what it was.

And what it was needed. As much as it was also too damn late, in some ways. Ezra settled down, skin to skin. He let out a quiet sigh.

Dante slid his fingers gently through Ezra's hair. He had no fucking clue what he was doing, but 'no fucking clue what he was doing' was pretty much his life half the time anyway.

He just knew this made him feel less shitty, and talking again would probably ruin it.

So he toyed with Ezra's hair and that was that.

Ezra wanted to talk. Or at least he had a few things he wanted to say, just to get them out there in the world. Established information.

But he didn't. He closed his eyes instead. Just focused on feeling, like he had before when the situation had been wholly different.

Dante let out a quiet sigh eventually, staring at Ezra's window but not really seeing it. His fingers slid down, rubbing at the back of Ezra's neck.

Part of him just wanted to fall asleep and hope this shit would be magically gone in the morning.

He had no idea how long it was before he finally did something as stupid as opening his mouth again. "I don't wanna go," he said.

In case that wasn't already blatantly obvious.

"No one's forcing you." You know. In case that wasn't also already blatantly obvious. Ezra's voice was quiet. "Let's face it, it didn't work the last time I tried getting you to leave."

So why bother.

(Also by now he'd at least gotten over that urge.)

"You're a stubborn asshole, but so am I."

Which kinda explained a lot about them in general.

"You okay, Ez?"

"Sure."

It didn't sound very genuine. Or like it was meant to be taken as genuine, either. But it was as close to a 'no' as he was likely to get.

"You?"

Dante let out a soft snort.

"Sure," he said.

It was a sarcastic sort of sure that communicated 'so we're the same level of sure' pretty nicely without him having to point out Ez wasn't being genuine straight-up.

It didn't need much pointing out. It had been meant to only have that meaning. No attempt at anything else.

"So that's settled, then."

"Go team us," Dante said.

Still sarcastically, of course.

"Fucking hell," he added, less with the sarcasm, more with the complete commitment to the phrase. He shut his eyes. "...'m glad you're back, dickhead."

Even ignoring all the complicated shit, at least it meant Ezra was still alive.

For now, at least!

Anyway.

"Don't call me that or I'll leave again, darling," he replied, lightly. "But it's nice to be back." Well. Okay enough if he ignored the confusing mass of conflicting emotions.

"Touchy, touchy," Dante joked.

It was a lame joke, and he fell silent right after, but hey. He still wasn't moving.

Judging by the way Ezra was nuzzling his shoulder, it wouldn't have been such a good idea to move, anyway.

Well. At least not if he didn't want to disappoint a werefox.

Nobody wanted a sad werefox. That was a solid fact.

Dante rubbed idly at Ezra's back, not quite as inclined to shit like nuzzling but also unwilling to break the bubble again. That way laid hurt, and a lot of pretending there wasn't hurt.

Being nuzzled by a werefox wasn't so bad.

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Room 210, Friday Afternoon

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