littletonoidea | IC Inbox

I've decided it's movie night!

[ Eiffel doesn't have a single say in that matter, thank-you. So much so that when Roman is ushered in he blows the other a kiss, pleased there's actually gravity, and is already making his way to where they usually hang out. ]

Hope you weren't busy.

[ He doesn't care if he was. ]

Iiiiii... [Well he was actually about five minutes from leaving to go find someone to harass into letting him hang out with them, but with the state Roman's in he's not sure he's comfortable leaving him alone.] ...don't have any plans, so...? Movie night! Sure!

[Look it keeps Roman in one place, and in this state Eiffel's for the first time really glad he doesn't have any alcohol in his cabin.]

So! [He claps his hands, trying to meet Roman's manic energy with his own frantic level.] What kind of movie you after? We've got all sorts in Dougbusters.

Um--

[ Eiffel doesn't have any plans. That's good. That's great, except this feels weird, and now he's made it weird, and this whole thing is weird, not normal, not like he wanted. He's already fucked up his plan of 'let's pretend nothing's happened.' ]

--Eiffel, an I--actually, can we--can I, uh, like, talk to you?

[Oh thank God they're actually talking about it.

Eiffel doesn't relax but he does stop trying to hide his concern as he rounds the couch.]

Yeah- always, Rome, sure. [He sits on the arm of the couch, finally putting himself on a lower eye-line than Roman.] Let it rip, man.

Please don't get weird about this.

[ It's said almost immediately as Roman gets weird about it. He's touching at his face, thumb running along his own jaw before it slides to his ear, scratching at the shell of it. simultaneously, he twists himself into a pretzel in an attempt to sit not on the seat but on the top of the seat, feet on the cushions. ]

Um. So you know--Kendall was being a real shady lil miss bitch when he came back, and I couldn't figure out what it was?

Yeah, I remember. [The urge is too strong to resist, so he reaches out to put a hand on Roman's knee, giving him a gentle squeeze to keep him steady.] He finally tell you what's behind door number one?

[ Roman's quiet for a few beats, head bowed, staring at Eiffel's hand, focusing on the little things that makes up the whole of it: fingers, knuckles, veins, bones. Hand. Arm. Shoulder. Eiffel.

His own hand moves from his ear to hastily wipe at his eyes. ]

Um. Connor got married, and Dad was on his way--uh, he was--he was on a plane to meet with the head of Gojo, uh, he--

[ The hand that hasn't wiped at his face latches out, lightning quick, to grab at Eiffel's hand and squeeze as hard as he can, Roman's already nasally voice rising considerably. ]

He was fine the last time he had a stroke, and now he's--

[ He can't even finish the sentence. ]

[Roman's not exactly strong but the squeeze hurts, and Eiffel winces but he doesn't pull away or make light of it. He just squeezes back, more gently, reminding Roman he's there.

And Roman doesn't really need to finish the sentence. It's not like Eiffel can't read between the lines when he wants to.]

Oh my god. [He leans a little, turning in to have both feet on the cushions too so he can face his friend better.] Roman, I'm so sorry.

It's nothing.

[ It's something. Roman's whole face contorts, suddenly taking his hand off of Eiffel's hand like it's on fire, inhaling sharply. He's trying to knit himself together. ]

He--I'm not going back there anyway. I was ready to never see him again. And he just--fuck.

[ His voice is rising in pitch again, hand grasping for Eiffel's despite ripping it from him less than a second ago. His mind is racing about as fast as his heart, still trying desperately not to cry. ]

I think I'm fucking losing it. My whole chest feels funny. Is this a panic attack?

Hey- it's okay, Champ, I gotchya.

[And he's already moving as he says it, clambering awkward and dangerous to sit on the back of the couch next to Roman and wrap his arm around his friend's shoulders, a tight clamp to help keep him in place and safe.]

Just- deep breaths, nice and slow.

[ Roman's always had a high quality to his voice--a light, nasal quality that's always accentuated every joke, every well placed social jab, every brush-off. It's different now. Roman's pitch is raised and it sounds far more like a keening dog than it does anything else.

He's listening to Eiffel. Without any hesitation he listens, pays attention, trusts his best friend as he's trying to breathe, trying to focus on keeping himself steady. It's working until it suddenly doesn't. Roman's hands finally raise to hug him back, clawing at his back in an attempt to somehow pull him closer and he begins to sob. ]

I'm sorry.

[He's already braced to catch Roman when his friend turns into him, gritting his teeth against the desperation in it dragging sharp lines through his t-shirt, and he clings back tightly, arms secure around Roman's shoulders and resting his head on Roman's.]

You don't gotta be sorry, man. Just- let it out.

[ He is sorry, the whole need to not show weakness ingrained in him, cutting deep, seeping into his bone marrow. The weaker dog. The runt. The moron. His dad calling him insult upon slur upon taunt. ]

I was ready to go. I was ready, Eiffel--I thought if I never saw him again--and he's--

[ He's dead, in a box. Kendall buried him. Roman did, too, except not this Roman, some shadowy figure with his name and personality in some alternate timeline, someone that doesn't feel like him. It doesn't feel very fair. His next words come out as a plea, muffled against Eiffel's graphic tee. ]

I don't know what to do.

A funeral.

[His voice is quiet, calm and even in a way he so rarely employs, as he holds Roman tight, one hand just free enough to drag fingers lightly against Roman's scalp.]

Just you, me, the Enclosure. We'll get you a bottle of something strong and you can tell me what a crappy dad he was.

[ It's not that the thought itself is shocking. It's a sweet gesture, a good gesture, and Eiffel is exactly the type of person to be thoughtful enough to say it. He knows fundamentally that he and Eiffel are friends--best friends, if he's got anything to say about it--but he's so caught off guard by the fact that someone is doing it for him that he stops crying altogether, pulling back only to look at the other in bleary, tear-stained confusion. ]

Really?

Really really.

[His own eyes might be a little red now, empathy to Roman's state leaving wet streaks down his shirt front.]

Whenever you're ready. Doesn't have to be today, if you don't wanna. But- yeah. Just let me know and we can get that ball rolling.

[ Really really, Eiffel says, like it's easy and that's all it takes to spread a little bit of kindness and sympathy around, all hippie kumbaya bullshit.

But he likes it. It feels real. He can't remember the last time a conversation like this felt real, not at home at least--Eiffel has no other motive other than getting off the weird perch on this couch. He's just Roman's friend. This is what actual, real friends do.

Roman exhales loudly. ]

Thank you. [ It's mumbled, quiet. He breathes in and out, just like Eiffel's instructed, and that helps, too. ]

I'm worried about Kendall.

Did he crank it too hard 'cos he still can't feel his dick after the Incident?

[It's a stupid comment, one he doubts Roman even fully remembers the origin of, but at least it's something that might break the tension and help Roman breathe a little easier.]

[ Even like this, eyes red rimmed and his whole world rocked, Roman will never forget a single moment where he gleefully threw Kendall under the bus, fictionalized or no. He nods solemnly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he sniffs. The incident. ]

It's the real reason why his kids aren't actually his.

[ That's neither here nor there. Roman clears his throat. ]

You know how he's... like you, right? With the whole, uh, needing to abstain from alcoholic fun?

[There are definitely worse ways to phrase 'so you know that my brother's an addict', but it's definitely the one that Eiffel's most okay with. People say addict isn't a dirty word, but the looks you get when you say it sure are. And honestly he's kind of just relieved that he can be an example of a decent one for Roman to compare to.]

Yeah. I still kinda remember you taking him home from a bad party one time.

[ Roman's head tilts slightly. ] Yeah. Family therapy. That, uh, that was, like, a meth den.

[ And it leads him right to his point: ] You already do way too much and I don't have way to pay you back, which, puke, by the way, but-- [ he clears his throat, voice still hoarse, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. ]

Could you maybe, uh, make sure he doesn't...fall? I know him. I know Kendall. It's not a matter of if he backslides, it's going to be when.

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