but he stomps his feet — or would if that didn't feel like more energy than he was actually willing to waste on being petulant — the entire way there, and tries to open the door without knocking. which, when it inevitably doesn't give because he hasn't got a keycard, eggsy just leans against the door frame and whines a disgruntled, ) Harry... ( at the peep hole. )
[Harry was honestly expecting another five minutes of argumentative nonsense before actually getting an appearance from his reluctant colleague, which is why he's still not quite ready to face the day - which is to say that the top three buttons on his shirt are unbuttoned. His reflexive scratching at the wounds across his collarbone has tailed off a little but not ceased - the main difference is that he's more conscious of it when he starts doing it - which means today a couple of them are raw and red, weeping a little. Rinsing them in salt water is preventing the early signs of infection from getting worse but not staving it off entirely.
He goes to open the door, giving him a look that's half disapproval and all bemusement even as he steps back to wave him inside.]
not unless absolutely, completely necessary at some point or another; unless he's dealing with someone he doesn't know very well, or feels the need to tread lightly around; unless he's affected some faux uptight demeanor again and is completely committed to the role. so probably not, and not ever around harry.
whom he's giving a completely noncommital shrug as he steps over the threshold, and whom he's only really looking in the face after inviting himself to sit on the bed — on the edge as far away from the mini fridge and harry's personal food stores. )
I would have thought you'd be a bit fatigued by now.
[Harry circles around to the mini-fridge. He's using it for the
older fruit, replenishing from the newer things in the drawers under the
dresser; the chocolate is keeping perfectly fine at room temperature, and
the sweets will probably outlast both of them. He takes an apple and holds
it out to Eggsy.]
( he doesn't want the apple, more on the principle that he doesn't want to take any more from harry than he already has rather than he isn't hungry. eggsy'd not thought to keep many stores save for some occasional late night snacking materials, and had subsisted thus far on the begrudgingly accepted rations from his collegues and the generous souls offering around the hotel, and on stubbornness alone — this is what he got for not preparing properly, and he loathed taking handouts.
not that this apple, nor all the ones before it, feel like a handout. they're more like gifts forciby imposed, and eggsy doesn't dislike them because he feels belittled. but because he's not got a way to say you're more important to me than me without sounding like a sap, he refuses them with the hopes harry'd eat them himself.
he worries about the man, and apparently rightfully so because when eggsy squints from apple, to face, to apple again, his gaze catches on the spots of wet red peeking out from the thin v of harry's haphazardly done up button down. )
You cut yourself? ( he asks, gesturing loosely at the other mans collar bone — while still steadfastly refusing to take the fruit. )
[If Eggsy so much as touches his collar the provenance of the blood
would be obvious. The shrapnel scattered from his collarbone to his
cheekbone, and the place where healed scrapes become picked-open sores will
be perfectly clear.
Which Harry knows, which is why he reaches to button his shirt with
one hand while keeping the apple resolutely held out in the other.]
that apple in hand isn't exactly being snatched, but there's an air of impatience about him, and now eggsy's just gesturing with the apple in hand.
again: )
You cut yourself, you — ( the pull of the shirt to button it must press the fabric to one of the more fresh, open wounds, because eggsy swears he sees the faint discolor of lymph and watery blood plasma, if not outright blood spotting against his shirt. ) You're bleeding. ( is this concern? an accusation? why not both! )
[Harry can feel it too, the sting of cotton brushing against raw
flesh, and he hates how welcome the pain has become. It's something
real, something he can control.]
Pleased to hear that your watchfulness training wasn't entirely lost on you
- yes, I'm bleeding. I hope it hasn't spoiled your appetite.
[He slides the top button into place and feels marginally
better.]
Nah, I'm still working on consuming muscle mass, I'm fine.
( fine and skeptical; standing but not entirely invading harry's personal space yet — he has to pause and blink back the sudden light headedness before investigating further. )
You seen the doctor yet, is that — ( because that's bleeding a little too low on his person to be from the likes of a straight razor malfunction during shaving. once upon a time he wouldn't even have suspected a shaving incident at all, but harry's not the most stable hands anymore. ) ... new?
( excuse you harry, your clothes have how high a thread count and you expect him to believe that crap about aggravating. )
But the ones on your face look fine.
( the impromptu tablecloth bandages he'd delivered must have been much rougher than the freshly bloodied button down. and eggsy has to fight the urge to reach out and poke at his wounds to make a point; that's impolite. )
( he's too tired to summon the energy it would require to swallow that load of crap. too tired to keep standing. he'd really like to go back to sitting on the bed. but.
try fucking talking to me.
i appreciate your concern but there's nothing worth talking about.
this conversation echoes something awfully familiar, and eggsy officially feels like they're tiptoeing around conflict. which you can't deal with while perched on a bed eating an apple. )
Still. And I don't know how to help you, but you don't even let me try.
Some things can't be helped, Eggsy. I know you understand that.
[He'd be genuinely surprised to be reminded that they've as as good as had this conversation once before. Almost two months ago - two months beleaguered by fitful sleep shot through with nightmares, by a worrying inability to tell the real from the imagined, by starting at shadows and unable to relax even behind the locked (and, sometimes, barricaded) door of his own room.]
( where as eggsy remembers it viscerally, and is exponentially more frustrated by getting no further this time around. wherever he'd been going with that sentence ends in an abrupt and unhappy huff, and eggsy scrubs a hand over his face, pressing his palm to his mouth before he says something he might regret. you're full of so much shit comes to mind. )
You mean to tell me there's nothing, not a thing, I can do for you?
[He feels so fucking weak. He's Galahad, for fuck's sake -
Galahad who breaks trafficking rings, foils assassination attempts, defuses
bombs planted in major metropolitan centres and neither seeks nor wants.
Galahad who wiped the floor with a shitty little urban gang of thugs to
blow off steam, Galahad who feels a hum of satisfaction when he watches a
mark drink a poisoned whiskey and places their life in his hands.
Galahad who shamed himself, who lost control, who died with the
adrenaline of pure indiscriminate bloodlust still roaring in his
veins.]
Eggsy, the one small ray of light shining into this whole fucking mess is
that you cannot understand what I am going through.
( that's not a ray of light so far as eggsy's concerned, that's just keeping him further in the dark and it's not fair. another small bit of unfairness on top of being stuck here and being starved. all he really wanted to do was talk with harry — maybe, though he doesn't allow himself to dwell on the thought much, make up for what could and would be lose if they were to ever return to their respective places and times back home — but there was a mile high wall of post truamatic stress between them. and while eggsy was undoubtedly closer than others, he still felt rather at arms length when they talked in circles like this.
and he's too untrained to be doling out psychotherapy babble. )
That's now how this is supposed to work, you're supposed to talk about it. Do you — do you talk to Merlin? ( who is his neighbor and who he'll deal with later if this becomes spymom and spydad talking over his head, the jerks. ) Did you talk to your Captain? ( who has since vanished but still gets an honorary mention. )
[Harry frowns at the mention of Jack. He's relieved for the man's
own sake that he's gone - home, he hopes - but he misses him regardless.
Misses the quiet company when he can't (won't) sleep. Fucking sentimental
nonsense, he knows.]
Eggsy, there is no 'how it's supposed to work'. There is no
universally effective coping strategy. And turning my problems into yours
is hardly going to resolve them.
We're all stuck here together, yeah? Everyone's problems are kindof everyone's problems.
( and there's some bullshit about how he's equally invested in all the other hotel patrons; about how they're in close quarters, it's science or something — the evolution of a community under duress. but there's weak excuses and then the reality that he's little better than his mother at handling loss; that he's clingy, and a little desperate for what was prematurely taken from him by richmond valentine's sim cards and handgun.
and maybe a little scared. not very, just slightly. the way people get when they're faced with something devastating they want nothing more than to fix and yet can't. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kman encryption.
no im good
kman encryption.
Let me rephrase that: You need resupplying. Come to my room.
kman encryption.
do you even eat?
kman encryption.
I'm perfectly fine, Eggsy.
[Which is not strictly a yes.]
kman encryption.
im don't even feel that hungry all the time anymore
kman encryption.
action
but he stomps his feet — or would if that didn't feel like more energy than he was actually willing to waste on being petulant — the entire way there, and tries to open the door without knocking. which, when it inevitably doesn't give because he hasn't got a keycard, eggsy just leans against the door frame and whines a disgruntled, ) Harry... ( at the peep hole. )
action (thread cw: self-harm and some grossness)
He goes to open the door, giving him a look that's half disapproval and all bemusement even as he steps back to wave him inside.]
Someday you'll actually knock, won't you, Eggsy? Promise me.
action (also ~*~feelings~*~)
not unless absolutely, completely necessary at some point or another; unless he's dealing with someone he doesn't know very well, or feels the need to tread lightly around; unless he's affected some faux uptight demeanor again and is completely committed to the role. so probably not, and not ever around harry.
whom he's giving a completely noncommital shrug as he steps over the threshold, and whom he's only really looking in the face after inviting himself to sit on the bed — on the edge as far away from the mini fridge and harry's personal food stores. )
Got anymore jokes?
action
I would have thought you'd be a bit fatigued by now.
[Harry circles around to the mini-fridge. He's using it for the older fruit, replenishing from the newer things in the drawers under the dresser; the chocolate is keeping perfectly fine at room temperature, and the sweets will probably outlast both of them. He takes an apple and holds it out to Eggsy.]
Here. Eat slowly.
[It's advice he gives every time.]
action
not that this apple, nor all the ones before it, feel like a handout. they're more like gifts forciby imposed, and eggsy doesn't dislike them because he feels belittled. but because he's not got a way to say you're more important to me than me without sounding like a sap, he refuses them with the hopes harry'd eat them himself.
he worries about the man, and apparently rightfully so because when eggsy squints from apple, to face, to apple again, his gaze catches on the spots of wet red peeking out from the thin v of harry's haphazardly done up button down. )
You cut yourself? ( he asks, gesturing loosely at the other mans collar bone — while still steadfastly refusing to take the fruit. )
action
[If Eggsy so much as touches his collar the provenance of the blood would be obvious. The shrapnel scattered from his collarbone to his cheekbone, and the place where healed scrapes become picked-open sores will be perfectly clear.
Which Harry knows, which is why he reaches to button his shirt with one hand while keeping the apple resolutely held out in the other.]
One thing at a time, Eggsy.
action
that apple in hand isn't exactly being snatched, but there's an air of impatience about him, and now eggsy's just gesturing with the apple in hand.
again: )
You cut yourself, you — ( the pull of the shirt to button it must press the fabric to one of the more fresh, open wounds, because eggsy swears he sees the faint discolor of lymph and watery blood plasma, if not outright blood spotting against his shirt. ) You're bleeding. ( is this concern? an accusation? why not both! )
action
[Harry can feel it too, the sting of cotton brushing against raw flesh, and he hates how welcome the pain has become. It's something real, something he can control.]
Pleased to hear that your watchfulness training wasn't entirely lost on you - yes, I'm bleeding. I hope it hasn't spoiled your appetite.
[He slides the top button into place and feels marginally better.]
action
( fine and skeptical; standing but not entirely invading harry's personal space yet — he has to pause and blink back the sudden light headedness before investigating further. )
You seen the doctor yet, is that — ( because that's bleeding a little too low on his person to be from the likes of a straight razor malfunction during shaving. once upon a time he wouldn't even have suspected a shaving incident at all, but harry's not the most stable hands anymore. ) ... new?
action
No.
[Someone with Harry's training knows better than to take a step back, to cede any ground; it betrays intimidation.]
The shrapnel. Some of the wounds have been aggravated by my clothes and they're not healing as well as I'd like.
action
But the ones on your face look fine.
( the impromptu tablecloth bandages he'd delivered must have been much rougher than the freshly bloodied button down. and eggsy has to fight the urge to reach out and poke at his wounds to make a point; that's impolite. )
You been touching them? They'll scar.
action
Strangely, Eggsy, I do have some experience with how these things develop over time.
[He sighs softly.]
Your concern is touching, Eggsy, but there's nothing for you to be concerned about.
action
( he's too tired to summon the energy it would require to swallow that load of crap. too tired to keep standing. he'd really like to go back to sitting on the bed. but.
try fucking talking to me.
i appreciate your concern but there's nothing worth talking about.
this conversation echoes something awfully familiar, and eggsy officially feels like they're tiptoeing around conflict. which you can't deal with while perched on a bed eating an apple. )
Still. And I don't know how to help you, but you don't even let me try.
action
[He'd be genuinely surprised to be reminded that they've as as good as had this conversation once before. Almost two months ago - two months beleaguered by fitful sleep shot through with nightmares, by a worrying inability to tell the real from the imagined, by starting at shadows and unable to relax even behind the locked (and, sometimes, barricaded) door of his own room.]
action
( where as eggsy remembers it viscerally, and is exponentially more frustrated by getting no further this time around. wherever he'd been going with that sentence ends in an abrupt and unhappy huff, and eggsy scrubs a hand over his face, pressing his palm to his mouth before he says something he might regret. you're full of so much shit comes to mind. )
You mean to tell me there's nothing, not a thing, I can do for you?
action
Eggsy--
[He feels so fucking weak. He's Galahad, for fuck's sake - Galahad who breaks trafficking rings, foils assassination attempts, defuses bombs planted in major metropolitan centres and neither seeks nor wants. Galahad who wiped the floor with a shitty little urban gang of thugs to blow off steam, Galahad who feels a hum of satisfaction when he watches a mark drink a poisoned whiskey and places their life in his hands.
Galahad who shamed himself, who lost control, who died with the adrenaline of pure indiscriminate bloodlust still roaring in his veins.]
Eggsy, the one small ray of light shining into this whole fucking mess is that you cannot understand what I am going through.
action
and he's too untrained to be doling out psychotherapy babble. )
That's now how this is supposed to work, you're supposed to talk about it. Do you — do you talk to Merlin? ( who is his neighbor and who he'll deal with later if this becomes spymom and spydad talking over his head, the jerks. ) Did you talk to your Captain? ( who has since vanished but still gets an honorary mention. )
action
[Harry frowns at the mention of Jack. He's relieved for the man's own sake that he's gone - home, he hopes - but he misses him regardless. Misses the quiet company when he can't (won't) sleep. Fucking sentimental nonsense, he knows.]
Eggsy, there is no 'how it's supposed to work'. There is no universally effective coping strategy. And turning my problems into yours is hardly going to resolve them.
action
( and there's some bullshit about how he's equally invested in all the other hotel patrons; about how they're in close quarters, it's science or something — the evolution of a community under duress. but there's weak excuses and then the reality that he's little better than his mother at handling loss; that he's clingy, and a little desperate for what was prematurely taken from him by richmond valentine's sim cards and handgun.
and maybe a little scared. not very, just slightly. the way people get when they're faced with something devastating they want nothing more than to fix and yet can't. )
Re: action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action
action