[ It cuts to the root of the problem so succinctly that Charles is left speechless for a moment. Truly speechless, rather than confused and slightly dumbfounded. He doesn't have words because he knows--knows--everything Arthur has just said is true.
He feels like shit. It shouldn't surprise him that he looks just as bad, and honestly, the presence of the beard is an immediate testament to it all on its own. And he had, if he were to be perfectly honest, come here as something of an escape. He's falling quickly, it seems, back into old patterns he'd been so sure he'd shaken years ago. But with every loss and hardship and scare: every fight with Erik, every trip to the medbay, every paranoid conversation he'd had about this place since arrival, he'd slipped a little farther and ended up right back here, scarcely noticing it.
When he is able to lift his gaze, it's pained. Sad and tired, and he looks like he's either not slept for days or cried for just as long, and his eyes burn the same. It's only then that he gives a defeated sigh and shakes his head. ]
No. What I need has never much mattered.
[ Or so he tells himself. He has a knowledge of basic psychology, he knows that self care is just as vital as anything external, or all of that validation he's aimlessly, fruitlessly searching for otherwise, but usually it's neglect is rarely this apparent, and the fact that someone else is taking the time to stop and notice it is a shock he's not really prepared to deal with.
All he can think is that this had been a bad idea. That this isn't a burden he needs to be laying on anyone else, but he can't take it back when it's been laid so bare before them both, and he's stuck at a crossroads as a result. Finally: ]
I'm sorry. [ He shouldn't have to do any of this. See any of this. ] I should-- [ And he thinks to say go, but what's done is done, isn't it? ] Fine.
[ Arthur's own expression gets softer, concern more visible and he lets Charles work through what he has to before finally agreeing. But he moves forward again, a hand going into the other man's hair, fingers gently rubbing the scalp as he leans down. He presses his forehead to Charles', looking in his eyes. ]
[ He can only meet Arthur's gaze for a moment before the guilt and trepidation win out, and his eyes avert. Any longer, and he'll no longer be simply on the verge of tears.
Here, now, he's faced with that acceptance he's always wanted. An acceptance given without caveat, without the weight of expectation of his caretaking or heightened responsibility. It's a role he hasn't attempted to play in a very long time. One he hadn't, frankly, felt worthy of, and still isn't quite sure he is now either. ]
Alright.
[ It's quiet, and slightly defeated, and more than a little awestruck. He reaches up to meet that hand and simply nods. ]
[ He leans forward to brush his nose with Charles' and then pulls away, giving the other's scalp another rub before doing so. He's backing up back in the direction of the bathroom, motioning for Charles to follow. ]
Don't worry. I'm not drunk this time so there's less a chance of dropping you.
If it makes you feel any better, I honestly don't remember how that felt.
[ He remembers details of that night, of course, but they're intermittent, fleeting things. Emotions, really, rather than a play-by-play, at least up until they'd both gained some relative lucidity. The hangover had been worth it.
Still, he smiles just so. Present, but still tired. He follows with little prompting, despite his earlier protestations. ]
And I'm still willing to write that off as a fluke. Maybe.
[ The laugh is interrupted by a soft sigh at the sudden jolt at the reality of Arthur's apartment being just too small, and doesn't really see that they have much of a choice, if the man is so determined to see this through. And thus, Charles nods and follows direction, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. ]
[ A hand pats on Charles' arms after they wrap around his neck and he leans back to hook an arm under each knee. He's then pushing himself back onto his feet, lifting Charles with him.
A moment before, ]
Yeah, I think this works better.
You want to sit on the counter to undress or the toilet?
[ The toilet was closer to the tub but the countertop for the sink higher. ]
[ He considers the options for only a short moment before settling on the one less cramped. Closer, perhaps, but the latter choice is also shorter on space. ]
Counter, please.
[ Once temporarily settled again, his sweater is easily shucked off, quickly and without comment. That is always the simplest part. And entirely sober--even if the exhaustion sometimes brings that lucidity into question--he's cognizant enough to fold it as he sets it aside. Like a nerd.
[ Arthur lets him get started on taking the sweater off, going over to get the tub started. He's feeling the water with one hand as he catches Charles folding the sweater. He barely manages to smother the smile that forms, concentrating on getting the water warm and then getting it plugged up.
He walks back over and starts to undo the other man's pants. ]
I imagine the lack of seeing the room spin helps, hm?
[ There's a laugh inherent in that response, easier now that they've pushed their way past the initial awkwardness of this whole affair. That doesn't stop Charles' unease completely: he still very much hates needing help in this regard or even asking for it, but it helps when it's approached with such casual disregard. (Or at least seeming disregard; they both know the reality check that necessitated this to begin with).
The sweater is set aside to free up his hands as they come to the actually awkward portion of actually getting his pants off. He braces against the edges of the counter to redistribute his weight. ]
[ Arthur has little experience with this sort of thing but he can also tell that Charles doesn't want to be treated with kid gloves. And so he never has. He is considerate of his needs but that's where it ends. It would be insulting to baby a grown man just because he's in a wheelchair. (Though Arthur can't help but wonder what it would be like if he could walk.) ]
It does. Too bad I can't put any mood music to this stripping.
What was it? George Michael with the saxophone?
[ But despite the joking, he's careful in getting the pants (and underwear) off, not wanting to pull Charles off the counter accidentally. Once those are off, he places them by the sweater and goes to check on the tub, leaving Charles to get his shirt off. ]
[ Charles just sort of scoffs. ] I'm not sure it's a show really worth all that.
[ Of course, this is still punctuated with his attention focused on the buttons of his shirt, which are at least much easier when his focus isn't caught in a drunken haze that makes the whole act of getting undressed a frustration. That too is folded and then set aside with the rest. ]
And that solo honestly necessitates one.
[ "Careless Whisper" is a seminal classic, goddamn it. ]
[ He's keenly aware of his situation here, and while the situation itself and his aversion to help may be awkward, it would be strange to look at this as anything other than what it is. He shakes his head and pulls Arthur back across the small bathroom. ]
Don't be ridiculous. Honesty doesn't have to be modest.
[ Arthur goes where he's pulled, an arm loosely going around Charles' shoulders. ]
Nice save, there.
[ His smile is a small, smug one before he's leaning in to kiss the other man again. This time a little less chaste but just as short before he's pulling away again. ]
[ The smile it elicits, one of the first since he'd showed up on Arthur's doorstep, is small, but genuine. Though it doesn't last long and is followed by something of a pout as Arthur pulls back away. ]
[ He is and he isn't, both. He's still wary about this level of vulnerability, and even years of it hasn't dulled the awkwardness of opening it up so blatantly like this, but he had brought himself here of his own volition, and perhaps that speaks to trust he hasn't been sure how to voice otherwise. He'll have time for the litany of thanks later.
Charles regards that brief touch at his hips, the sensation still spotty in places, with as much a smile as he can continue to muster, and nods. He doesn't quite trust his voice at present. ]
[ And when Charles does that, his arms will loop under the knee of each leg, reversing the way he carried him earlier. His muscles are tight and starting to strain by the time he steps into the tub, each step slowed down with how careful he's trying to be. The water sloshes and soaks the lower half of his sweatpants but he hardly pays it much mind. His breathing a little harsher from his nose, steady puffs of air against the other man's skin as he lowers the other man into the water.
At least to a point, ]
I'm going to let your legs go; can you lower yourself the rest of the way?
[ Mainly so he can brace against the walls of the bath-shower while letting Charles do the rest. ]
[ Every time Arthur does this, it seems to get a little better, and it's enough to clear at least some lingering melancholy. He takes the question as a warning, and shifts to brace himself against the sides of the tub with a quiet nod in confirmation. (He could have, reluctantly, gotten this far on his own in a good five times the time and aggravation, and it's...nice to not have to answer endless questions about it or have to apologize for the inconvenience--even if the latter urge still exists).
He risks a glance back upward, a ghost of a smirk as he allows Arthur to pull away. ]
[ He knows his inexperience with this is showing pretty badly but he also likes to think he's getting better at it the more he tries. Since his bathroom (and apartment as a whole) isn't handicap accessible, they have to make due. And both of them trying to have a sense of humor about it is, in his opinion, the best thing they can have during this.
He looks down at that, not bothering to hide a bit of a smug lop-sided grin, ]
I always want the show.
[ But waits until Charles is down in the water before stepping back out of the tub. He sloshes water all over the floor but that's what towels are for. And he's got a few he can spare on it. ]
[ Luckily Charles is acquainted enough with the lack of access anywhere that isn't his own house (and even then, it's not always a perfect transition), but the unspoken appreciation of Arthur's earnest attempt is there regardless.
Not many people would do this. Offer, let alone take it with such grace (levity included--it's a necessity, otherwise this would have only stayed droll and upsetting). ]
I'm not going to wake up one day to all my sleeves cut off, am I?
[ He talks big, but that amusement is interrupted quickly at the introduction of warm water to his frayed nerves. It doesn't quite leave him speechless, but his focus shifts dramatically for a time. It's difficult--impossible now that he's not even trying--to hide how much he's needed this. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
specifications) wrote2017-06-22 08:26 am
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He feels like shit. It shouldn't surprise him that he looks just as bad, and honestly, the presence of the beard is an immediate testament to it all on its own. And he had, if he were to be perfectly honest, come here as something of an escape. He's falling quickly, it seems, back into old patterns he'd been so sure he'd shaken years ago. But with every loss and hardship and scare: every fight with Erik, every trip to the medbay, every paranoid conversation he'd had about this place since arrival, he'd slipped a little farther and ended up right back here, scarcely noticing it.
When he is able to lift his gaze, it's pained. Sad and tired, and he looks like he's either not slept for days or cried for just as long, and his eyes burn the same. It's only then that he gives a defeated sigh and shakes his head. ]
No. What I need has never much mattered.
[ Or so he tells himself. He has a knowledge of basic psychology, he knows that self care is just as vital as anything external, or all of that validation he's aimlessly, fruitlessly searching for otherwise, but usually it's neglect is rarely this apparent, and the fact that someone else is taking the time to stop and notice it is a shock he's not really prepared to deal with.
All he can think is that this had been a bad idea. That this isn't a burden he needs to be laying on anyone else, but he can't take it back when it's been laid so bare before them both, and he's stuck at a crossroads as a result. Finally: ]
I'm sorry. [ He shouldn't have to do any of this. See any of this. ] I should-- [ And he thinks to say go, but what's done is done, isn't it? ] Fine.
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It matters to me.
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Here, now, he's faced with that acceptance he's always wanted. An acceptance given without caveat, without the weight of expectation of his caretaking or heightened responsibility. It's a role he hasn't attempted to play in a very long time. One he hadn't, frankly, felt worthy of, and still isn't quite sure he is now either. ]
Alright.
[ It's quiet, and slightly defeated, and more than a little awestruck. He reaches up to meet that hand and simply nods. ]
You're right, I know you're right.
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Don't worry. I'm not drunk this time so there's less a chance of dropping you.
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[ He remembers details of that night, of course, but they're intermittent, fleeting things. Emotions, really, rather than a play-by-play, at least up until they'd both gained some relative lucidity. The hangover had been worth it.
Still, he smiles just so. Present, but still tired. He follows with little prompting, despite his earlier protestations. ]
And I'm still willing to write that off as a fluke. Maybe.
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Oh, so that's how it is, okay. I see.
[ But Charles' chair won't fit through the door so he has to walk forward and gives the other man his back before kneeling down in front of him. ]
Wrap your arms around my neck.
[ Let's try it this way and see how it goes. ]
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[ The laugh is interrupted by a soft sigh at the sudden jolt at the reality of Arthur's apartment being just too small, and doesn't really see that they have much of a choice, if the man is so determined to see this through. And thus, Charles nods and follows direction, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. ]
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A moment before, ]
Yeah, I think this works better.
You want to sit on the counter to undress or the toilet?
[ The toilet was closer to the tub but the countertop for the sink higher. ]
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Counter, please.
[ Once temporarily settled again, his sweater is easily shucked off, quickly and without comment. That is always the simplest part. And entirely sober--even if the exhaustion sometimes brings that lucidity into question--he's cognizant enough to fold it as he sets it aside.
Like a nerd.It's the rest that gets more complicated. ]
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He walks back over and starts to undo the other man's pants. ]
Not really as sexy as last time.
[ A beat. ]
Or as difficult.
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[ There's a laugh inherent in that response, easier now that they've pushed their way past the initial awkwardness of this whole affair. That doesn't stop Charles' unease completely: he still very much hates needing help in this regard or even asking for it, but it helps when it's approached with such casual disregard. (Or at least seeming disregard; they both know the reality check that necessitated this to begin with).
The sweater is set aside to free up his hands as they come to the actually awkward portion of actually getting his pants off. He braces against the edges of the counter to redistribute his weight. ]
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It does. Too bad I can't put any mood music to this stripping.
What was it? George Michael with the saxophone?
[ But despite the joking, he's careful in getting the pants (and underwear) off, not wanting to pull Charles off the counter accidentally. Once those are off, he places them by the sweater and goes to check on the tub, leaving Charles to get his shirt off. ]
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[ Of course, this is still punctuated with his attention focused on the buttons of his shirt, which are at least much easier when his focus isn't caught in a drunken haze that makes the whole act of getting undressed a frustration. That too is folded and then set aside with the rest. ]
And that solo honestly necessitates one.
[ "Careless Whisper" is a seminal classic, goddamn it. ]
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I don't know, I mean. You got the gun show going on there.
[ It's a good thing no one else was around to hear that. ]
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That's still half a show at best.
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You're gonna get modest on me now?
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[ He's keenly aware of his situation here, and while the situation itself and his aversion to help may be awkward, it would be strange to look at this as anything other than what it is. He shakes his head and pulls Arthur back across the small bathroom. ]
Don't be ridiculous. Honesty doesn't have to be modest.
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Nice save, there.
[ His smile is a small, smug one before he's leaning in to kiss the other man again. This time a little less chaste but just as short before he's pulling away again. ]
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My vanity aside, if I'm modest, you're a tease.
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[ He's got to turn the water off, Charles. He's coming back over as soon as he does, his hands going to the other man's hips. ]
Ready to get in?
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Charles regards that brief touch at his hips, the sensation still spotty in places, with as much a smile as he can continue to muster, and nods. He doesn't quite trust his voice at present. ]
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Arms around my neck. Hold on.
[ And when Charles does that, his arms will loop under the knee of each leg, reversing the way he carried him earlier. His muscles are tight and starting to strain by the time he steps into the tub, each step slowed down with how careful he's trying to be. The water sloshes and soaks the lower half of his sweatpants but he hardly pays it much mind. His breathing a little harsher from his nose, steady puffs of air against the other man's skin as he lowers the other man into the water.
At least to a point, ]
I'm going to let your legs go; can you lower yourself the rest of the way?
[ Mainly so he can brace against the walls of the bath-shower while letting Charles do the rest. ]
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He risks a glance back upward, a ghost of a smirk as he allows Arthur to pull away. ]
You just wanted the show, didn't you?
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He looks down at that, not bothering to hide a bit of a smug lop-sided grin, ]
I always want the show.
[ But waits until Charles is down in the water before stepping back out of the tub. He sloshes water all over the floor but that's what towels are for. And he's got a few he can spare on it. ]
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Not many people would do this. Offer, let alone take it with such grace (levity included--it's a necessity, otherwise this would have only stayed droll and upsetting). ]
I'm not going to wake up one day to all my sleeves cut off, am I?
[ He talks big, but that amusement is interrupted quickly at the introduction of warm water to his frayed nerves. It doesn't quite leave him speechless, but his focus shifts dramatically for a time. It's difficult--impossible now that he's not even trying--to hide how much he's needed this. ]
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