[ Thought he probably shouldn't, Locus feels stripped bare by this conversation. He feels raw and exposed. When did he get like this? How did he get like this? He doesn't really know. It was just something that gradually happened over time. Or maybe it wasn't. Whatever it was, he can't pinpoint it down. He wishes he could. Maybe he wishes a lot of things even though he knows it's stupid and pointless. What good is wishing? It's never going to fix anything or change anything. As he told Felix before: all they can do is move forward.
Admittedly, he's a little confused when Felix gets up, Leon rumbling an annoyed sound at being moved. Locus can only barely make out Felix moving around in the dark and possibly let's a shadow of a smile curl up one side of his mouth when he hits the dresser.
Whatever he might be expecting, the familiar feel of dog tags fit into his hand. Once again he's struck dumb because he doesn't know what to say, just keeps his hand curled around the tags and Felix's fingers. He looks down where their hands are joined, even though he can't really make out much of anything. His memory is good, though, and he can easily fill in what it looks like. What the tags look like.
He sighs. It's a strange sound because Locus doesn't really know how he feels. A mix of various things. He takes his hand back—the dog tags closed safely within them—then lifts his to his neck. They should've been destroyed a long time ago, but Locus held on to his. A steady reminder he was meant to be a perfect soldier. Ever since he's arrived, he tends to keep them on because they have his actual name stamped there. He's yet to tell anyone what it is. Doesn't think he will. But, he lifts his off, replaces it with Felix's and then seeks Felix's hand out to place his own there. They're warm from having been pressed against his skin. ]
Here. Take them.
[ He doesn't really know what else to say and flounders around for something. ]
Maybe we can figure out who we were by letting these go.
[ Felix hasn't told anyone his real name and he isn't going to start. Mercenary codenames may not be necessary anymore, Isaac belongs to another time and to other people. He belongs to Mason and Megan and the little Wus that think he's some super fun uncle. ( Because he always called himself Uncle Isaac whenever he spoke to them just to get Mason's goat. ) More importantly, Isaac belongs to Sam, to Locus, to whatever he wants to call himself. Maybe it's silly, but Felix has no intention of sharing that part of himself with anyone else.
He doesn't know what he's expecting when he hands over the tags. Locus knows how important they are, even if neither of them is sentimental enough to make a big deal about he. He knows even if he rejects them, he'll do it with respect.
But Locus takes his hand away. Felix hears the jingle of metal and the shift in the mattress as Locus fiddles with his own chain. And when another, warmer, set are pressed into his hand, he knows what they are. ]
I'll take care of them.
[ It's quiet, it's implacable, and it isn't the dog tags he's actually talking about. Sitting up, he lets go of Locus' hand and fastens the tags around his own neck, knowing he'll probably never take them off. Instead of lying back down, he turns toward Locus. In the dark, Felix can't make him out very well, but he knows his dimensions and the space he takes up in the world better than he knows his own.
His fingertips brush Locus' cheek seconds before his hand splays against his jaw. Then he leans in, careful to keep from knocking into Locus' injured side, and kisses the corner of his mouth. ]
Whoever you are, Sam, I'm always going to be your shield.
[ Because that's what he's always been. A social one to guard against the interactions Locus never wanted to deal with. A literal one made of hardlight. And the metaphorical one that will always guard his back. He thinks Locus will get that. And it's so much easier to say those last three words than it is two others. ]
[ This is turning into a more dramatic evening than he imagined. Then again, with Felix, anything can take a turn for the dramatic. Usually it's not in a good way, though. There's a heavy meaning in what they're doing right now and although everything in Locus wants to turn away from this, he can't. He knows he's internalizing too much and casting around to figure out how to be himself without... being himself.
With Felix this close, it's a simple thing to turn just a little more and catch his mouth for a proper kiss. He doesn't understand why they wound up the way they did and just how things went so wrong. He wants to get angry at Felix for going after the sims and essentially throwing everything away. He's angry at himself for handling things the way he did. He's angry at Felix for doing what he's done over the years. He's just angry.
And probably a bit melancholy. Definitely bereaved even if he doesn't fully realizing it.
Lifting a hand to settle against the side of Felix's neck, he draws himself closer to deepen the kiss. There's an edge to it, those feelings bubbling to the surface and Locus with nowhere to really put them. However, he doesn't get very far as a sharp pain shoots through him, causing him to jolt backward. He curses low under his breath, his hand dropping down to his side as if he means to push to stave off the pain. He does stop short because that's only going to hurt more. Pain flares hot through his body, threatening to cover him in a sheen of sweat, even in the chill of the night.
Locus tips his head back and it thunks lightly against the headboard. ]
Move to the other side, Isaac. [ a beat; ] Please.
[ He hadn't meant to start anything with that kiss. It had been a gesture and a show of affection, a way to express a deeper meaning than the inadequate words he'd cobbled together. But then Locus kisses him back and Felix is weak. So weak. Because resistance is out of the question and he shifts closer as the kiss takes on an edge not of his own making. He's just lifting his hand, aiming to rest it against the side of Locus' neck when he jerks backward.
Memory comes rushing back. Gunshot wound. Stitches. Stubborn idiot who refuses to take medication to help himself.
Cursing, Felix hovers awkwardly at Locus' side, unable to properly see what's going on or actually do anything for the pain. Did the stitches tear? Is Locus bleeding everywhere? Locus is cursing, indicative of the level of pain he's in and restless, helpless frustration wells up inside of Felix, impossible to ignore. ]
Shit. [ He gets off the bed, jostling Leon in the process, and moves around to the other side, snatching up both the glass of water and the painkillers. One of his shins gets banged in the process, but Felix ignores it and even more carefully climbs back into the bed. ] Stop being a stubborn asshole and take the pills.
[ Argumentative as the words might be, Felix's tone is soft, concerned and failing to hide it. ]
I can—I set a flashlight over here before we went to sleep. Is it bleeding again? Maybe I should check it.
[ The jostling makes him have another jolt of pain but he keeps it to himself. They should probably get a better mattress. Gritting his teeth, he shifts over more so Felix has room on the other side. Even though it's so cold out, he's broken a slight sweat.
Maybe he should take those pills.
So, he takes them and the water from Felix, wordlessly accepting it and swallowing them down. This feels weak. Since when can't he just grit through and bear the pain? The packet and water are discarded on the other nightstand as Locus rearranges himself on the bed again. ]
It's not bleeding.
[ He almost says it's fine, but it's not that fine and knowing Felix it will start an argument. He's really not interested in that.
As a means to move on, he reaches for Felix's arm to tug him close. It will be better to get comfortable and... maybe not resume exactly as they were, but something. ]
[ Thank fucking Christ he takes the pills. Felix breathes out such a heavy sigh of relief when Locus takes them from him that he can probably feel the gust of air that's displaced by it. The wound isn't fine. Nothing about Locus having been shot is fine and it's probably for the best that he doesn't keep insisting that it is.
That he takes the pills is both a balm for Felix's nerves and telling of how much pain he must be in. It's a shame the son of a bitch who shot him is dead, if only because Felix really wants to kill him again. Slower this time. So it hurts more.
Visions of further retribution dissipate as Locus tugs his arm. Snapping back to the moment, Felix complies with it, shifting closer until he's pressed against Locus' side. He drags the covers up as high as they'll go and twists sideways, curling the length of his body into his side so that he's sharing as much of his body heat as he can without aggravating the wound. ]
[ The day feels incredibly long. Locus can wager a guess as to how much time they have before sunrise and that time is growing shorter still. Good thing they've got blackout curtains because Locus is certain they're both going to sleep well into the day tomorrow. And though he'd never admit it out loud, he's looking forward to it. His body is just too tired.
When Felix begins to arrange himself next to him, Locus, too, arranges himself so he's comfortable. One arm is stretched out beneath the pillows to facilitate the idea of no space between them. It's just logic, really! No space means no cold air. His other hand seeks a place that won't aggravate his side and he winds up curling his fingers slightly around Felix's upperarm. By and large Locus isn't a caretaker or comfort-giver—mostly because it feels far too awkward—but he maintains the connection to provide some sort of grounding for Felix. For all he knows it might not help, all things considered. But, perhaps it will.
He feels Leon make himself comfortable on his other side, along the line of his leg. Locus just sighs. ]
No. [ a beat; his thumb twitches once before he rubs it over Felix's skin a few times. ] Do you?
[ There's a certain amount of self-reflection necessary to realize that Locus' physical presence staves off the worst of the nightmares and that's in large part why Felix tends to plaster himself against him when they're sleeping. It's self-reflection Felix doesn't engage in very often and certainly hasn't about anything pertaining to his death. He attributes his desire to be touching Locus solely to the years he's spent wanting him and it's legitimate enough that he never questions it.
But it does help to have Locus there, and despite Felix's uneasy trepidation that there are going to be more tortuously awful dreams waiting for him, he closes his eyes and relaxes. And in the morning, when he hasn't be plagued by nightmares, some more in-tune part of his mind is going to think the dog tags had something to do with it and then come to the erroneous conclusion that they're some kind talisman. Instead of realizing the more glaringly obvious explanation: the events of Chorus notwithstanding, Locus does care about him and some of his irrational fears are unfounded. ]
Mmm. [ It's a quiet noncommittal sound, Felix's fingers creeping across the top of Locus' chest before coming to rest above his heart. He can feel it, the steady beat of it, and that's nice. Reassuring. ] Just be alive in the morning.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Admittedly, he's a little confused when Felix gets up, Leon rumbling an annoyed sound at being moved. Locus can only barely make out Felix moving around in the dark and possibly let's a shadow of a smile curl up one side of his mouth when he hits the dresser.
Whatever he might be expecting, the familiar feel of dog tags fit into his hand. Once again he's struck dumb because he doesn't know what to say, just keeps his hand curled around the tags and Felix's fingers. He looks down where their hands are joined, even though he can't really make out much of anything. His memory is good, though, and he can easily fill in what it looks like. What the tags look like.
He sighs. It's a strange sound because Locus doesn't really know how he feels. A mix of various things. He takes his hand back—the dog tags closed safely within them—then lifts his to his neck. They should've been destroyed a long time ago, but Locus held on to his. A steady reminder he was meant to be a perfect soldier. Ever since he's arrived, he tends to keep them on because they have his actual name stamped there. He's yet to tell anyone what it is. Doesn't think he will. But, he lifts his off, replaces it with Felix's and then seeks Felix's hand out to place his own there. They're warm from having been pressed against his skin. ]
Here. Take them.
[ He doesn't really know what else to say and flounders around for something. ]
Maybe we can figure out who we were by letting these go.
no subject
He doesn't know what he's expecting when he hands over the tags. Locus knows how important they are, even if neither of them is sentimental enough to make a big deal about he. He knows even if he rejects them, he'll do it with respect.
But Locus takes his hand away. Felix hears the jingle of metal and the shift in the mattress as Locus fiddles with his own chain. And when another, warmer, set are pressed into his hand, he knows what they are. ]
I'll take care of them.
[ It's quiet, it's implacable, and it isn't the dog tags he's actually talking about. Sitting up, he lets go of Locus' hand and fastens the tags around his own neck, knowing he'll probably never take them off. Instead of lying back down, he turns toward Locus. In the dark, Felix can't make him out very well, but he knows his dimensions and the space he takes up in the world better than he knows his own.
His fingertips brush Locus' cheek seconds before his hand splays against his jaw. Then he leans in, careful to keep from knocking into Locus' injured side, and kisses the corner of his mouth. ]
Whoever you are, Sam, I'm always going to be your shield.
[ Because that's what he's always been. A social one to guard against the interactions Locus never wanted to deal with. A literal one made of hardlight. And the metaphorical one that will always guard his back. He thinks Locus will get that. And it's so much easier to say those last three words than it is two others. ]
no subject
With Felix this close, it's a simple thing to turn just a little more and catch his mouth for a proper kiss. He doesn't understand why they wound up the way they did and just how things went so wrong. He wants to get angry at Felix for going after the sims and essentially throwing everything away. He's angry at himself for handling things the way he did. He's angry at Felix for doing what he's done over the years. He's just angry.
And probably a bit melancholy. Definitely bereaved even if he doesn't fully realizing it.
Lifting a hand to settle against the side of Felix's neck, he draws himself closer to deepen the kiss. There's an edge to it, those feelings bubbling to the surface and Locus with nowhere to really put them. However, he doesn't get very far as a sharp pain shoots through him, causing him to jolt backward. He curses low under his breath, his hand dropping down to his side as if he means to push to stave off the pain. He does stop short because that's only going to hurt more. Pain flares hot through his body, threatening to cover him in a sheen of sweat, even in the chill of the night.
Locus tips his head back and it thunks lightly against the headboard. ]
Move to the other side, Isaac. [ a beat; ] Please.
no subject
Memory comes rushing back. Gunshot wound. Stitches. Stubborn idiot who refuses to take medication to help himself.
Cursing, Felix hovers awkwardly at Locus' side, unable to properly see what's going on or actually do anything for the pain. Did the stitches tear? Is Locus bleeding everywhere? Locus is cursing, indicative of the level of pain he's in and restless, helpless frustration wells up inside of Felix, impossible to ignore. ]
Shit. [ He gets off the bed, jostling Leon in the process, and moves around to the other side, snatching up both the glass of water and the painkillers. One of his shins gets banged in the process, but Felix ignores it and even more carefully climbs back into the bed. ] Stop being a stubborn asshole and take the pills.
[ Argumentative as the words might be, Felix's tone is soft, concerned and failing to hide it. ]
I can—I set a flashlight over here before we went to sleep. Is it bleeding again? Maybe I should check it.
no subject
Maybe he should take those pills.
So, he takes them and the water from Felix, wordlessly accepting it and swallowing them down. This feels weak. Since when can't he just grit through and bear the pain? The packet and water are discarded on the other nightstand as Locus rearranges himself on the bed again. ]
It's not bleeding.
[ He almost says it's fine, but it's not that fine and knowing Felix it will start an argument. He's really not interested in that.
As a means to move on, he reaches for Felix's arm to tug him close. It will be better to get comfortable and... maybe not resume exactly as they were, but something. ]
Come on. We need to keep warm.
no subject
That he takes the pills is both a balm for Felix's nerves and telling of how much pain he must be in. It's a shame the son of a bitch who shot him is dead, if only because Felix really wants to kill him again. Slower this time. So it hurts more.
Visions of further retribution dissipate as Locus tugs his arm. Snapping back to the moment, Felix complies with it, shifting closer until he's pressed against Locus' side. He drags the covers up as high as they'll go and twists sideways, curling the length of his body into his side so that he's sharing as much of his body heat as he can without aggravating the wound. ]
Do you need anything else?
no subject
When Felix begins to arrange himself next to him, Locus, too, arranges himself so he's comfortable. One arm is stretched out beneath the pillows to facilitate the idea of no space between them. It's just logic, really! No space means no cold air. His other hand seeks a place that won't aggravate his side and he winds up curling his fingers slightly around Felix's upperarm. By and large Locus isn't a caretaker or comfort-giver—mostly because it feels far too awkward—but he maintains the connection to provide some sort of grounding for Felix. For all he knows it might not help, all things considered. But, perhaps it will.
He feels Leon make himself comfortable on his other side, along the line of his leg. Locus just sighs. ]
No. [ a beat; his thumb twitches once before he rubs it over Felix's skin a few times. ] Do you?
no subject
But it does help to have Locus there, and despite Felix's uneasy trepidation that there are going to be more tortuously awful dreams waiting for him, he closes his eyes and relaxes. And in the morning, when he hasn't be plagued by nightmares, some more in-tune part of his mind is going to think the dog tags had something to do with it and then come to the erroneous conclusion that they're some kind talisman. Instead of realizing the more glaringly obvious explanation: the events of Chorus notwithstanding, Locus does care about him and some of his irrational fears are unfounded. ]
Mmm. [ It's a quiet noncommittal sound, Felix's fingers creeping across the top of Locus' chest before coming to rest above his heart. He can feel it, the steady beat of it, and that's nice. Reassuring. ] Just be alive in the morning.