saturniapavonia | (no subject)

Hey. You got time for me to stop by? Or can you stop by my place?

Hey.

[Where to start.]

Lemme stop by.

I'll be waiting. There'll be booze.

[Beer? Good. Better than good. Roman is falling off of his high so he takes his time coming over at leisurely stroll. He has his hand bandaged. Hopefully Lydia won't ask.

Part of him thinks it's a bad idea. He could have just ignored her text. Right now he feels like he needs to be frank, raw and get everything that's coming to him. Hopefully there might be some sympathy with the beer.

About a half an hour later, he knocks at the door.]

[She greets him at the door with a faint smile and ushers him in. The two bedroom apartment is clearly in a half unpacked state, and Lydia has her hair down for the night. But what's waiting for him on the coffee table isn't beer, but a pair of shotglasses and a bottle of vodka.]

Hey. I think we need to talk. And it's going to kind of suck for both of us, I suspect.

[Alcohol is alcohol. This is going to get him shitfaced. So that might not be a bad thing. But what catches his attention is Lydia in the door way. Something warm about her, about the prospect of someone waiting that doesn't know anything about him feels good.

Then the words. Well. The words he knew should come somehow in light of the other day, even with the blood. Roman finds himself nodding.]

Okay. I'm sort of used to sucky shit so I dunno.

[He smiles even though he's not sure why.]

Can't be that shitty.

[Standing close he already wants to reach out to her. It would not be smart. Smart is not what Roman is all of the time so he reaches for her hand to lead him in.]

[Honestly she should think the better of touching him in any way, but Roman's Roman and he rescued her and it's hard to completely divorce herself from her feels. So curling her finger around his she guides him into the living room to sit in front of the coffee table.

She's the one who uncorks the vodka, pours the shots into the tiny glasses.

Lifting hers, she make as if to toast.] So. Peter.

[She knocks her first of the night back.]

[He sits down a little heavily. Green eyes follow her hands now as they take to the bottle. Vodka has been a long time standby for Roman. It's clear. It can be smuggled to school or family picnics. Something familiar.

He then sees past to watch her hair move as she takes her shot. Then her throat as she swallows. The second is for him obviously.]

Peter.

[The repeat is not for a toast though he feels like this is a big start. A big stab of guilt gets him in the chest. The burn of his shot that he takes like it really is water will help.]

Is this about the curse?

What, Peter turning into a girl?

[Roman wants to be the hero, right? To Lydia at least, that's who he is. The one who rescued her when she cried out, and didn't mock her fear or call her crazy. So there's that. Roman can always, or at least thus far, see himself as the hero, the warrior, in her own green eyes.]

Naw. I think he kind of enjoyed it. But he made it pretty clear that he's got some strong feelings for you. [Second shots, or at least one for her, is poured, but she doesn't drink it right away.]

[He wants to say yes but there was another. One he would love to tell her about. But then really fucking ashamed at the very same time.]

...he-he uh said that?

[Before he tried to take the gypsy boy's eyes out. There's relief and elation then a great big steaming pile of horror that with that reciprocated he mutilated him.

And Lydia is the one delivering this news. For a lonely, fucked up rich kid like Roman his drive to be just and be a person people like is a big part of what keeps him going. He would like to be a hero to the girl in front of him, to be liked by her and to like her. It's almost too fucking simple.]

Shit.

[Roman sets out his glass to be filled.]

[Something's wrong her. Lydia peers at him a bit as she refills his shotglass, looking uncertain.]

I thought he told you. That you two went on a date?

[She already likes him. The door had been open for liking him a lot, actually, and this moment that's passing, this is that door being regretfully closed for the sake of the missing person in the room that they both care about.]

Yeah. Yeah we did go on a date. We [he rubs his nose and mouth] kissed. It was a good time. I thought he was bullshitting some, you know? He kinda does that. I let him.

[Because he wants it is the inference. Roman takes the shot glass.]

This is going to sound retarded but I never had anybody in my life like Peter.

[The teenage inappropriate diction and expression is the shallow end to the deep running emotions he's trying to express.]

I never thought I'd hear it I guess, you know?

[He'll have that second shot now.]

Fuck.

He's afraid.

[She takes a nip of her vodka this time, not just knocking it back.] He's afraid that if he expresses how strongly he feels about you, you're going to flip out and reject him and it'll ruin everything you both have already.

[She gives him a frank look.] You see where this is going? How we can't break his little puppy heart? [She's not being snide. Peter really is a puppy in a way, over this. Stepping on it would be cruel. Lydia can't do it.]

Stupid piece of shit.

[Roman shakes his head. At first he just rubs his face with both hands then combs back his own hair.]

It's not like that. I wouldn't. Peter's all I got. I mean, it sounds real pathetic but it's the truth. I lost my sister. I lost my cousin.

[This might be new information but fuck this is going in so many places right now.]

Can I have a bigger glass?

[The shot glass isn't doing it.]

[She can't disagree, honestly. And dammit, a year ago, Lydia wouldn't have cared. They would not be having this conversation. This meeting they're having right now not involve much conversation at all, and would occur in a different room of the apartment.] Yeah.

[She gets up to head to the kitchen area, talking as she looks through the cabinets to locate a larger glass.] I'm sorry. About your family. And I know you wouldn't. Neither would I. And we won't, but that doesn't mean it I'm not really annoyed about it. Whatever's going on with us - and it was going somewhere, whether it was just for fun or whatever, has to have some serious breaks applied. Neither of us wants to see him hurt.

[She returns, setting the larger glass down to pour the vodka. Once it's half full, she sets down the bottle and reaches for his shot glass, gripping it tightly.]

[The time spent tracking the vargulf, time spent with Peter and all the loss tied in a bow of confusion has colored his heart. Any other time Roman would have believed he could have his cake and eat it. Why not? A Godfrey gets what they want.

What about Lydia? She deserves a whole person that can be all hers, all hero and then some. And maybe one that's not so hung up on a supernatural hunt of one kind or another.]

Lydia, I don't want you hurt.

[Roman reaches out to touch her hand. His left. The bandaged right hangs over his thin knee.]

Or Peter.

Life is pain, Roman. And this? I can spring back from. This was barely a thing, yet. We can be friends. But you and Peter have shared history, and shared pain. You're connected. And he's not the kind who can accept there being room for others with you, I don't think.

[She smiles faintly, twisting her hand in his so she can squeeze while gripping the shot glass in her opposite hand. A bit too tight, and it actually cracks.]

Ow, shit! [The pieces fall to the floor, and blood wells on the meat of her palm, between the base of her thumb and her life line.]

[How come there's so much of it so quickly? That's what he wants to ask. Maybe there is no answer, particularly from Lydia. Who is he to whine about pain when it's clear she's got her own little patch of hell to deal with.]

I got it.

[Roman's off the couch and he picks up the shards. Automatic, gentlemanly and without thinking too much on where he was last involving glass but. It happens. He finds himself kneeling and he holds Lydia's delicate wrist to keep her hand up.]

Somebody told me once that God doesn't want us to be happy, that he wants us to be strong.

[Wise words as they might be he spits them out with a bitterness. Red, red blood falling into the line. The life line. Even though he's right there his eyes are drawn to it. His own thumb lightly traces, trying to find if there's another shard at first he tells himself.

Not true. It's to watch it spread more. Without another thought he's stooped with her hand pressed to his mouth. Coppery, warm and calming like a chaser to the vodka.

But it's sweet. It's different.

Peter's was rich, earthy. Something he'd compare to a dark brew of coffee.]

I don't know if I believe in God anym--

[What is he doing? Lydia stares as Roman's mouth is pressed against her skin and she intellectually knows she should be grossed out, and yet somehow, maybe it's the sense of death she always carries with her, some kind of knowledge and kindred supernatural spirit that they share,that this isn't aberrant for him, but it might not open doors to Roman that he should be wary of.

Her voice is a whisper, heady with reaction to what he's doing.]

Roman?

[Dark chocolate would be more like Lydia. He thought it was flowers. It's something more primal. Hearts beat like drums. There's nothing special about his hearing but he imagines that the pulse at her slim wrist is a solo he can hear.

His eyes lightly shut and Roman is more tasting then truly trying to suckle. The dimensions of the cut are not much larger than the tip of his tongue. Her hands are soft, most girl hands are. It vaguely makes him mindful to be careful.

The cut he made on Peter's face was so much larger.

Peter.

How much time has pasted? Roman lifts his head. The action came to pass fast all on impulse. He stares wide eyed at Lydia and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth shifting the stain of red to a smear.]

Um.

[A throat clear isn't enough.]

[She stares at him for a long moment and it's just impossible to tell what she's thinking.

At last, wordlessly she reaches out, and tucking her fingers under his chin, she uses her thumb to wipe away the crimson smear along his lips. When she speaks, it's sort of distant and detached. There's shock and confusion and a trace of arousal there, though her eyes lowering as she starts to turn toward the kitchen.]

...I'd better go clean this.

[Stare for stare, green eyes to green. Roman wishes he knew. Words are trying to form as she helps clean off his mess it makes his lips purse almost like a kiss.

What have you done, Roman?]

I should go.

[He should try to fucking go back to the apartment. He should check on Peter.]

You should.

[Because something is definitely going to happen between us if you stay. is the statement left unspoken as Lydia goes to clean the cut. But she can't help but add with a quiet fierceness,]

I better see you at the housewarming, though.

[Both hands rub over his mouth. Leaving is about the smartest thing he's said or done this whole time. They fall away so he can answer.]

Yeah. I'll be sure to come.

[And bring a present. Something useful. Making his way to the door Roman looks behind. Apologize? Thank her? He has nothing but--]

I'll see you.

[Because he will. And it will be different.]

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