A little. We weren't having orgies or anything. People did hook up a lot, though. Mostly we just got drunk and punched each other. Ate a lot of food. Good times.
[ Drake slips under Ephemera's good arm, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him to the couch -- not either of their rooms, he has to stay awake -- to set him down gently. ]
I'm gonna get you some ice and something to eat. State your preferences now or choke down what I bring you.
[ Drake's strong and solid, and he doesn't waver at all. Just gets it done. Ephemera reaches out to touch his arm briefly, meeting his eyes. He nods. ]
[ He wavers there for a moment, then pulls back reluctantly to cross to the kitchen. In the interest of time he rummages through the fridge for something left over that might be appealing, and while that's heating up he fills a bag with ice... then pours Ephemera some juice and pulls a pack of cookies out of the cupboard. It all gets brought over when the microwave beeps. ]
You finish it all and I'll show you the embarrassing photos.
[ He passes the plate over and sits down close, wrapping the baggie of ice in a dish cloth. ]
[ Yay, food. He'll probably manage to keep it down. Probably, Ephemera thinks, and breathes out slow as he takes the plate. Taps his nails along the rim to center himself, stay in the moment. Food's good. He needs the calories right now or he's going to crash hard and he probably won't get back up again for a good long while if he does. ]
[ Ephemera nods slowly, then leans into the ice pack. Ow. But it helps, or it will. He knows how this goes. Hardly the first time he's gotten the shit kicked out of him. ]
[ Not really. But at least he can smile and - hopefully - lighten the mood a bit. It's like being back in the war, with his family at his side. How they'd patch each other up in the aftermath. Try and stay sane, stay human.
He snags one of the cookies, though. Yay, sugar. ]
See, this is why everyone likes you. Charming fucker.
[ Even under the circumstances. Even when there's blood on the ground. Ephemera watches Drake for a moment, wondering - not for the first time - how the fuck they ended up finding each other. Why it works so well. And then he wonders what'll happen when Drake steps back and realizes what a fucking mess Ephemera keeps making of this shit.
[ He huffs a little. This guy. Goddamn, he thinks. There's always been something about Drake. He's charming and calm and it works. Maybe it shouldn't but this makes sense to him and so little does around here. ]
[ Drake stands to fetch the book and a fresh shirt for Ephemera, but the sentiment that the other man needs to make this up to him has him glancing over his shoulder.
He shakes his head. ]
Everything will balance out. I don't want you feeling like you owe me anything, or that I'd hold this over you.
Just a minute.
[ He disappears into his room, and there's the sound of a drawer opening. Things shuffling inside. When he comes back he's got a red photo album and a long sleeved black shirt. They're passed over one at a time. ]
[ Oh. Ephemera stares after Drake for a moment, wondering what he's supposed to say. He keeps fucking things up, and Drake is always - there. A steadying presence. And there's a part of him that wants to be steady too, to make it symmetric, but he doesn't quite know how.
But maybe he could learn. Maybe he could do that one day.
His expression softens when Drake returns. ]
Think I've got it. Thanks. Now I definitely have to share my fancy chocolate with you.
[ Drake really does believe that it'll balance out -- and that if someone steady was what he needed, Ephemera could be that for him. But right now... he doesn't know what it is he needs, besides the other man alive and with him. It's an easy requirement, really.
He smiles again, sitting back down and resting one hand over the cover of the book while Ephemera puts the shirt on. ]
I'd like that. Since we're sharing and all... do you guys have rattails in the future? That's a style I hope never came back around. Anyway.
[ He flips the book open to reveal that they're starting things with baby pictures. In many of them a woman with fluffy red hair holds a baby that's surely too small to have turned into Drake, her smile bright and proud. ]
[ He leans in closer, tugging his shirt down. It's different, seeing baby pictures. Wondering what that must've been like, to grow up with blood family around. Sometimes Ephemera thinks he remembers a woman with dark hair, a woman in uniform, but he's not certain if that's a real memory or something he made up, the kind of story orphans tell themselves to fill in the gasp. Either way, this is real. This was Drake's life. ]
It is. And everybody starts out tiny, but yeah. I came a little early.
[ He turns the pages; the baby pictures are pretty standard. Silly outfits, happy expressions, bathtime, first unsteady steps... the beginning of a life, documented at the start of a thick album. Drake knows Ephemera doesn't have anything like this. That he's lucky to have had his ma, who thought he could do no wrong.
If he's observant, Ephemera might notice a handful of the pictures are snipped, someone taken out of them. It's just Drake, and his mother.
The grade school pics are where the embarrassing hair begins and oh lord, it doesn't stop. ]
...I'd say I was too young to know what I looked like, but high school was just as bad.
[ But now he does. Ephemera shifts closer, reminding himself to eat while Drake turns the pages. The idea of family photo albums is still a novelty, something that other people did that Ephemera only knows by reputation. But this is Drake's life, piece by piece, picture by picture, and Ephemera gets to share that.
He huffs a little, nudging Drake with his arm. ]
Nah, I've seen worse. Trust me. You look happy.
[ He doesn't comment on the snipped pictures. He knows part of that story. It doesn't need to be dredged back up, not unless Drake wants to tell him more. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
A little. We weren't having orgies or anything. People did hook up a lot, though. Mostly we just got drunk and punched each other. Ate a lot of food. Good times.
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Doesn't sound so different from my last crowd, honestly.
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It was a trip. Not really my crowd anymore.
[ For multiple reasons. ]
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[ Drake slips under Ephemera's good arm, wrapping an arm around his waist and leading him to the couch -- not either of their rooms, he has to stay awake -- to set him down gently. ]
I'm gonna get you some ice and something to eat. State your preferences now or choke down what I bring you.
no subject
Something hot. I'll eat anything, you know me.
no subject
[ He wavers there for a moment, then pulls back reluctantly to cross to the kitchen. In the interest of time he rummages through the fridge for something left over that might be appealing, and while that's heating up he fills a bag with ice... then pours Ephemera some juice and pulls a pack of cookies out of the cupboard. It all gets brought over when the microwave beeps. ]
You finish it all and I'll show you the embarrassing photos.
[ He passes the plate over and sits down close, wrapping the baggie of ice in a dish cloth. ]
no subject
I'm gonna hold you to that one.
[ He gives Drake a faint smile. ]
no subject
[ He grips the makeshift ice pack and drapes that arm on the back of the couch to hold it to Ephemera's head for him. ]
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Thanks. I mean it.
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You're welcome. And we'll see if you're still thanking me when I wake you up every hour tonight to make sure you're not in a coma.
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[ Not really. But at least he can smile and - hopefully - lighten the mood a bit. It's like being back in the war, with his family at his side. How they'd patch each other up in the aftermath. Try and stay sane, stay human.
He snags one of the cookies, though. Yay, sugar. ]
You want in on this?
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Hey, if you want them to be sexy wake up calls, just let me know.
[ He considers the cookies, then takes just one -- there are enough left in the package for Ephemera. ]
You've gotta drink up, too.
no subject
[ Even under the circumstances. Even when there's blood on the ground. Ephemera watches Drake for a moment, wondering - not for the first time - how the fuck they ended up finding each other. Why it works so well. And then he wonders what'll happen when Drake steps back and realizes what a fucking mess Ephemera keeps making of this shit.
He exhales. He drinks his damn juice. ]
I know. Not my first rodeo.
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[ He shifts the icepack a little to accommodate for how it's melting in the bag, and nuzzles closer to speak into Ephemera's ear. ]
Feel special.
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Shit. Guess I have to when you say it like that.
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Time to hold up my end of the bargain, huh? Here, take the ice pack.
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[ He means it. Despite all the damage, all the goddamn blood that Drake just finished scrubbing off him, this feels -
Right. Or at the very least, it's calm. Maybe he needs that, in the aftermath. He shifts to take the ice pack. ]
I'll make it up to you, okay? Somehow.
no subject
He shakes his head. ]
Everything will balance out. I don't want you feeling like you owe me anything, or that I'd hold this over you.
Just a minute.
[ He disappears into his room, and there's the sound of a drawer opening. Things shuffling inside. When he comes back he's got a red photo album and a long sleeved black shirt. They're passed over one at a time. ]
You need help getting that on?
no subject
But maybe he could learn. Maybe he could do that one day.
His expression softens when Drake returns. ]
Think I've got it. Thanks. Now I definitely have to share my fancy chocolate with you.
no subject
He smiles again, sitting back down and resting one hand over the cover of the book while Ephemera puts the shirt on. ]
I'd like that. Since we're sharing and all... do you guys have rattails in the future? That's a style I hope never came back around. Anyway.
[ He flips the book open to reveal that they're starting things with baby pictures. In many of them a woman with fluffy red hair holds a baby that's surely too small to have turned into Drake, her smile bright and proud. ]
no subject
[ He leans in closer, tugging his shirt down. It's different, seeing baby pictures. Wondering what that must've been like, to grow up with blood family around. Sometimes Ephemera thinks he remembers a woman with dark hair, a woman in uniform, but he's not certain if that's a real memory or something he made up, the kind of story orphans tell themselves to fill in the gasp. Either way, this is real. This was Drake's life. ]
You were tiny, man.
no subject
[ He turns the pages; the baby pictures are pretty standard. Silly outfits, happy expressions, bathtime, first unsteady steps... the beginning of a life, documented at the start of a thick album. Drake knows Ephemera doesn't have anything like this. That he's lucky to have had his ma, who thought he could do no wrong.
If he's observant, Ephemera might notice a handful of the pictures are snipped, someone taken out of them. It's just Drake, and his mother.
The grade school pics are where the embarrassing hair begins and oh lord, it doesn't stop. ]
...I'd say I was too young to know what I looked like, but high school was just as bad.
no subject
[ But now he does. Ephemera shifts closer, reminding himself to eat while Drake turns the pages. The idea of family photo albums is still a novelty, something that other people did that Ephemera only knows by reputation. But this is Drake's life, piece by piece, picture by picture, and Ephemera gets to share that.
He huffs a little, nudging Drake with his arm. ]
Nah, I've seen worse. Trust me. You look happy.
[ He doesn't comment on the snipped pictures. He knows part of that story. It doesn't need to be dredged back up, not unless Drake wants to tell him more. ]