campjesus | why would i want to watch you disconnect and self-destruct

After two hours of wandering around downtown LA at night, it occurs to Brody that he has nowhere else to go.

He left his money and valuables -- a plastic shopping bag full of expensive leather wallets, watches, rings, cufflinks, and cash, some of it blood-stained -- in his room. He could hustle for the money for a place but he really doesn't feel like it, hasn't felt like it in a long time. He could kill for it, but he isn't hungry, there's no guarantee whoever he picks will be carrying cash, and anyway he doesn't feel like putting in enough effort to get rid of the body. There's no one he knows well enough in New York to crash with, not considering his situation. There's definitely no one in LA. He can't spend the night on the street and he doesn't want to go hang out in the sewers again. It's disgusting and it stinks.

He comes slinking back to the Room instead, relieved that Harvestman isn't there anymore. He doesn't want to talk to him right now. He knows he's being unreasonable, but it bothers him that all of a sudden he's treating him like a child when he's been expected to be an adult for the past year, and it upsets him that it's taken him a year to get around to caring enough to bring it up. Then why do you insist on doing it by yourself? He felt like screaming, still feels like screaming. Because I've fucking had to.

But talking makes it worse. He can scream it until he's blue in the face -- not that that can happen anymore -- and it won't change anything. It won't help. It won't make him feel any better.

It takes him a long time to knock on Lucas' door, clutching a jar full of dirt with his creepy dead dog sitting at his feet. He's been wearing the same clothes for weeks.

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The door opens and Lucas leans just his head around it. Thankfully, he's cleaned at least a little since his detox or it would smell worse than those sewers in there. However, the remnants of his latest fear-induced breakdown are still lurking, including a (very badly drawn) scrawling approximation of Brody's face done in charcoal on a piece of paper tacked up next to his bed and his knife, stained with blood belonging to a variety of different people, left in the center of his tiny table. When he sees Brody, Lucas's eyebrows lift and he scoots into the doorframe with childish defensiveness to keep them from view. Once he's there, though, he looks pleased, then concerned, eyes from clothes, to dog, to dirt.

"Something has happened."

He won't look at him, keeps his eyes on his feet instead. One of his boots is starting to come apart at the toe -- that means it was cheap, glued and not stitched. He should get new ones.

Shoes are easier to fixate on.

He doesn't say anything for a few long moments. Then, "Can I stay here for a few days."

He doesn't hesitate, the word out almost before Brody is finished asking.

"Yes."

Then he pauses and steps forward to smooth a hand over Brody's hair. "Yes. For as long as you wish."

He doesn't flinch, but neither does he move, and he still won't look up even though he knows he should. He feels like an asshole. The least he could do is look at him. "Okay." He's still reluctant to move, rooted where he is. "Thanks."

Lucas backs off after that, sensing Brody's discomfort, opening the door further in invitation but then moving quickly over to the bed to tear down the sheet of paper and crumple it in his hand, chucking it toward a corner. Then he turns and, not knowing what to do with himself to appear welcoming, rubs his opposite shoulder and looks about the room.

"If there is anything you need..."

Brody finally moves, shuffling in awkwardly. He catches him throwing the paper way and stops, his head tilting.

Apparently he decides not to comment on it, though.

"I'm fine." He glances at the dog instead. It's just sitting there, staring and very unnaturally still, like a statue. Probably he shouldn't have brought it, but he didn't want to leave it at home. He's pretty sure it's not going to try to eat Lucas as long as he's here, anyway.

Lucas stops fidgeting and looks at him, frowning plaintively in a way that Brody is probably sick of by now.

"May I hold you," he asks quietly.

Well, if he didn't feel like an asshole before, he definitely does now. He entertains some brief but vivid self-flagellation fantasies before answering, "Yeah."

That is apparently all Lucas needed to smile again. He moves across the room almost as quickly as he did before and wraps Brody in both of his arms. After a kiss to his temple and a moment of relishing just that, he speaks again.

"Do you wish to talk?"

He turns then and presses his face into Lucas' chest, breathes once -- a long inhale. No exhale for a long time. He's holding that scent inside instead for as long as he can.

Exhale. "No." This is not new.

"Then we will not."

Even if not all of his concerns ended up voiced, their last conversation was tense enough for Lucas to want nothing more than a return to the norm, at least for some time. He pets the back of Brody's hair rhythmically as he thinks.

"I can speak, if you wish. There is also a television, and the bed is clean." This is deserving of mention since it usually isn't.

Brody shifts and leans over so he can set the jar down, freeing up his arms, which he wraps around him as he turns his head to the side and presses his cheek to his chest. Sometimes he hates being touched. Sometimes, like now, he needs it. "Talk to me."

Lucas hums deep in his chest, thinking. He turns so that he walks backward toward the bed, pulling Brody along after him until he can sit and then draw him down to lie beside him. Then his hands move, wandering, touching, smoothing.

It is easier for Lucas to speak when he doesn't try to also follow someone else's thoughts. He closes his eyes so that he can talk into that black vacuum, outside of uncertainty, restrictions, and language barriers.

"I have found books. I do not often read, but I have thought there may be books that will give me the words I lack for speaking of my position."

Brody allows himself to be led and moved. He's looking at nothing in particular, not seeing very much of it, anyway; it is easier to just check out. He lies very still, listening to him breathing. He doesn't typically feel like talking ever, but especially not now. "Mm."

"Most of it is difficult, but I am learning."

Boring. He frowns and changes the subject, gingerly. "I spoke with Alexi."

Brody says nothing, but he nudges him with his nose, prompting. Go on. About either.

"He was not repelled." Said neutrally. This is not so much about Alex, apparently.

"It is strange, how people in these places forgive so much."

He shakes his head. That's not new to him, but what he feels about it, well. He's not going to talk about it. (Among other things he's not going to talk about.)

"Strange." He shakes his head. "It makes all, less stable. What is wrong, and what is good." His hands begin to move idly over Brody again, unconsciously seeking some form of comfort.

Brody helpfully headbutts his arm, then bites him. Not hard enough to hurt, just a tiny bit of pressure from his teeth. That's how he shows affection, okay, with biting.

He has, believe it or not, come to understand this. Lucas lets the subject drop with just a purse of his lips and then turns toward the teeth on his arm, calm again.

"I have decided to acquire a phone. A smart one, if it is possible. I no longer wish to be confused by your references."

why would i want to watch you disconnect and self-destruct

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