Another question. It shapes easily in the back of his throat; it crawls to settle on the tip of his tongue. Yeah, Neil can ask another question.
What are you? What, not who.
A smile, stretched thin across the other guy's lips, greets him. Annoys the hell out of him. Neil's sure the guy's fucking smiling at him, even as the blurs distort and shift further, not out of sheer amusement but something much, much older.
What a question, the other muses aloud as he tips the whiskey bottle into his cup. You're at a ten, are you not? No, actually. It's less with that 'hat'. He points to Neil's head, to the wrappings sticking against his hair and skin, and makes a sympathetic noise. My mistake, Lone Wanderer. I truly thought you knew.
Hurts. Hearing that really hurts. "I told you." Can't remember. Neil looks away to the wine glass, to the golden liquid swirling within, his cheeks flushed and burning.
The other man watches him for a long uncomfortable minute. All right, he finally says. You have my complete and full disclosure. My name... He leans in as if to kiss Neil, moving instead to the side, lips close to an open ear.
There's a whisper, three syllables to the count, and the stars align. They synchronize, they come together to fall to pieces, and Neil finds himself closer to another than he ever wanted to be, closer than even--
His fever rises, his skin's dripping sweat, and the one called the Lone Wanderer laughs darkly in his dreams. He pushes away the other with his forearm in a single lazy motion, the opposite hand coming up to flick the guy's nose.
"Fuck you," he says fondly, with emphasis, as the other gives a sound of disgust. "You're finally here." Was waiting for you. "Am I able to leave?" For good this time?
And end it all at last.
No.
A complete denial. It's expected, and still he hears the pounding in his chest. Feels the acidity in his ears. "Then why--" --the hell-- "--are you here?" asks Neil, his voice unchanging. And not with-- "--your better half?"
The other man makes a complicated face amid the blur, allowing Neil to feel vindicated. My better half?
Better half, is the prompt response. "Your husband." You know, he's -- "--kinda hot. Has a respectable job. Drives a decent car. Smells really good." That is, according to another. This other. Neil's only indifferent toward, well, nearly everyone; it's just the borrowed aspects that allow him to step over his bounds.
It doesn't matter how far he crosses. Not here, at any rate.
no subject
What are you? What, not who.
A smile, stretched thin across the other guy's lips, greets him. Annoys the hell out of him. Neil's sure the guy's fucking smiling at him, even as the blurs distort and shift further, not out of sheer amusement but something much, much older.
What a question, the other muses aloud as he tips the whiskey bottle into his cup. You're at a ten, are you not? No, actually. It's less with that 'hat'. He points to Neil's head, to the wrappings sticking against his hair and skin, and makes a sympathetic noise. My mistake, Lone Wanderer. I truly thought you knew.
Hurts. Hearing that really hurts. "I told you." Can't remember. Neil looks away to the wine glass, to the golden liquid swirling within, his cheeks flushed and burning.
The other man watches him for a long uncomfortable minute. All right, he finally says. You have my complete and full disclosure. My name... He leans in as if to kiss Neil, moving instead to the side, lips close to an open ear.
There's a whisper, three syllables to the count, and the stars align. They synchronize, they come together to fall to pieces, and Neil finds himself closer to another than he ever wanted to be, closer than even--
His fever rises, his skin's dripping sweat, and the one called the Lone Wanderer laughs darkly in his dreams. He pushes away the other with his forearm in a single lazy motion, the opposite hand coming up to flick the guy's nose.
"Fuck you," he says fondly, with emphasis, as the other gives a sound of disgust. "You're finally here." Was waiting for you. "Am I able to leave?" For good this time?
And end it all at last.
No.
A complete denial. It's expected, and still he hears the pounding in his chest. Feels the acidity in his ears. "Then why--" --the hell-- "--are you here?" asks Neil, his voice unchanging. And not with-- "--your better half?"
The other man makes a complicated face amid the blur, allowing Neil to feel vindicated. My better half?
Better half, is the prompt response. "Your husband." You know, he's -- "--kinda hot. Has a respectable job. Drives a decent car. Smells really good." That is, according to another. This other. Neil's only indifferent toward, well, nearly everyone; it's just the borrowed aspects that allow him to step over his bounds.
It doesn't matter how far he crosses. Not here, at any rate.