gluttoning | SATURDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL (The World)

( He frowns, slightly. Yeah, this is the part he's not good at. Even more because - what did he do when his life changed due to injury? Well, he became half-focused on death, half-focused on violence. Any reassurance he knows he knows from the lips of other people, but, even then, he isn't so sure how he feels about it all. He can't lobby back platitudes he doesn't wholly believe in.

A beat. )

... You're still enough for me.

( He offers a hand, palm up - to take, if Barrett wants it. )

It's fine if you don't have an appetite right now. I don't mind waiting, even if it takes a long time.

[There's a blink, slow and steady, at the hand held out to him..

With hesitation, he takes it between both of his own, his fingers wearily tracing the shapes of Morgan.]

The appetite isn't a problem. Not... not when it comes to you.

[The statement makes his face color slightly, but it's momentary. The silence takes its place, shaped only but the press of Barrett's fingers - a tender gesture, a nervous gesture, like he's losing his chance to know this touch any further.]

...I can't do anything for you like this.

[A swallow.]

I can't... do anything for anyone.

( The matter of appetite not being an issue when it comes to Mithrun earns a suggestion of surprise in his features. Still, he can feel the tension in the way Barrett holds his hand in both of his, and he wonders if this is maybe why his past self said too much to Barrett - in the inverse of how he is now, where he says too little. )

... It's hard.

( Losing things. He knows it. Their situations weren't perfectly similar, but loss and grief ring familiar. )

But the things you do for me don't rely on your strength. I think your brothers feel the same. ( In the end, what he likes is... ) ... I just like talking to you.

( He takes... Barrett's hand in his, the one facing his own palm-side, and holds a it a little firmer. )

But... it still feels bad, right? You don't have to do anything for anyone to have value. But it still feels awful.

( Coming from Mithrun, who's expressed frustration he can't do basic tasks anymore, that he always needs assistance, and struggles with independence - even if Barrett doesn't have to do anything to prove his worth, even if Barrett comes to believe that one day, things aren't easier just by virtue of their truth. )

[...

There's something nice about Morgan not bothering to soften his feelings and worries with platitudes. It makes the words that come instead feel a little more believable, harder to think his way around.]

...Yeah. I...

I think... I understand a little better, how you must have felt when I said stuff like that to you. It's easier to say it than to believe it. I... wonder if it's how Booker feels, too.

[Guilt traces the syllables, pressing his thumb against Morgan's palm. An unspoken apology.]

I can't take care of you or Booker or anybody by just talking to you. I wish I could, though. Right now, I...

...It just feels like I'm looking at a big black hole when I try to think about what I'm going to do from here.

[To do anything: to live his dream, to care for his loved ones, to be helpful and strong and reliable and a resource. It's all been put on hold, all ripped away. At least it's not as bad as it could be. At least he'll recover eventually. He'll be able to walk again with time. He'll be able to function with some independence again, with time. But what happens to the people that rely on him, while he has no choice but to rely on them instead?]

( He feels the apology in his touch and he feels it's not quite - necessary. It's fine. It was better Barrett said those things than said nothing at all, he thinks. But he doesn't have the words for this. Give him a second - he'll get there. )

... I think you should do the things you want to do.

( Wow, thanks Mithrun. If only anyone else thought of that. But he's trying to speak sincerely - chipping away at an idea he's trying to get closer to. )

You want to figure things out for yourself and support your family in your own way. Right? So it's not enough if someone ( me, ) pays your way there, or anything. You want to do it yourself.

But there'll probably be a point where everyone splits off. ( He remembers even Booker wanted to be independent eventually, and he knows the rest of them are pretty far apart. They all seem to be in different fields already. ) They might not need you to support them financially, or take care of them. They might be just fine on their own.

When that happens... Will you still want someone to take care of, to support? ( Do you want it, or need it? Is it both? ) Or do you think you'll find it in you to relax?

( He's not critical, or judgmental. The questions are genuine. Barrett should do the things he wants to do - and that means knowing what that is. He wants to accomplish whatever it is on his own - Mithrun doesn't think that's changed. But the rest is what he thinks Barrett should define. )

[It's a lot of questions that hit raw against how much is physically impossible for him now.

He wants to play football. He wants to be with his family and help them just like he always has. He wants to be able to use his freedom to be there for the people he loves.

His wants anchor so much around others, his love for others, his need to be something valued by others. So to have that seemingly core value trashed, to have his wants questioned... it makes his blood run cold with a sickening tightness to his stomach.

He stays very still and quiet for a long moment, turning it over in his head, his eyes bright and wet the longer he dwells on it. It hurts, to think about.]

...I don't know.

All I've ever wanted was to be able to get my family to a life where we could all be together and happy. Where we might have some peace.

I know that... they're not going to be around forever. It's already kind of hard to get Matt and Damian involved in things. Aiden lives his own life. Lucas is so busy we never really see him. Levi stays to himself. Booker's the one I see the most, but I know that I can't be there for him forever.

I... think it'd feel a little empty, to be by myself. I don't...

I don't feel I've deserved something like that, if my family can't be there with me.

( Maybe Barrett should've been the bunny that night of the Telo dinner...

He's quiet as Barrett speaks, his lips pursed, brows furrowed, in thought. He thinks this is the bigger issue, really - this desire to be needed by others, by his family. Because he could tell him practically, you can be a lifeguard, you can be a chef, you can find a great number of professions that don't ask you to sit in an office and don't ask for your body in its prime. These are all true things. But it doesn't really matter if he can manage these things on his own, if the end goal is to keep close to everybody else, if he can't believe he deserves peace and content.

Eventually: )

... It's not the same as family, but...

( His gaze falls to their hands, his hand in Barrett's, and his voice trails off. It's not the same as family - it's probably not worth that much, even. But it feels so strange how on Thursday he'd been in this hazy dream, where he'd settled on his death, and then - stumbled into Saturday, and he found he'd never been so panicked about another person, not since Niamh. He'd never been so angry. He lives self-centric in most ways, but it felt for the first time like he had gotten out of his own head.

It's really not the same as family. He considers again if he shouldn't pivot off this. He hesitates, but, eventually: )

... Could I try living like I won't leave you alone?

( Like he'll be there on that day his brothers say they're fine and independent - like Barrett won't be by himself; like he won't hand what's left of his life to the professor on a silver platter, and beg him to eat it.

It's not worth a lot, because he knows he can't promise so much. He doesn't think Barrett would believe any foolhardy proclamation that he's decided to abandon his revenge, anyway. But - he can try, he would try, if it means something to Barrett. His fingers curl light against Barrett's palm. Maybe he just wants it to mean something to Barrett. )

[idk, you ever seen a captive lion so depressed it doesn't want to move anymore

He goes still again at the question, eyes widening and touch going slightly slack.]

...What?

[Open, confused. A very small sound.

Like he wouldn't leave him alone...

Why was he asking something like this? Was it just to try and make him feel better? Less lonely? Why does it feel a little frightening to hear it?]

Morgan, I...

[Hadn't they just talked about this days ago...? He couldn't take Morgan the way he wanted then, and he definitely couldn't if he was stuck like this. He has nothing to offer here.]

I can't ask you to do something like that. Everything you want to do, your... your issues with that man, and--

[His eyes drop to their hands.]

--You wouldn't be happy living like that. I wouldn't want it, if you weren't happy.

I already couldn't give you what you need. Like this, I'm... I'm not going to be able to give you what you need for a while, if ever.

I want you to try living, Morgan, but... not for me. You deserve more than just living for me.

Edited 2023-09-22 05:27 (UTC)

( He shakes his head. )

... I can't live for you.

( Feral cats can become barn cats, but they can't really become house cats. He doesn't have any illusions about that - that he has crossed some point of no return, in terms with his proclivity. Mithrun doesn't need other people to be happy - not anymore. He's not like Barrett; he's not like a lot of people he knows. )

I don't know what you think I need. I don't need a carer, or an accessory. ( In murder, he means. ) But... no one spoke to me after my accident. Then they put me in that apartment and told me not to go outside. And I got this book for you because I thought... we could talk about it, later.

Companionship is a choice that I make. And I like choosing yours.

( ... )

... I don't need anything from another person. But there are things I've come to like. I liked going to the carnival. I liked walking through the low surf. I liked... the idea of cooking with you. ( Little gestures, new experiences; mundane things, faintly interwoven. ) ... But, it sounds like... that's not enough for you.

( That Barrett needs - to take care of and support someone in some larger way, a way more dramatic that satisfies himself, that soothes his own anxieties. That someone who is able to be content with themself just leaves Barrett lonely. )

Edited 2023-09-22 05:56 (UTC)

[It's firm corrections - more than he expects from Morgan, ones that shut his mouth tight, letting him unravel his desires like untying a particularly complicated knot.]

...Why do you think it's not enough?

[It's a quiet question, though one he isn't sure he'll get an answer to.]

I don't want to be another parent to you, Morgan. I just want to feel you can rely on me, when you need help to do what you want. To see you being able to thrive by yourself...

I think I'd really like to see it.

[Just as he is now, could he be anything reliable? Would just companionship be enough?]

( Hearing this, he thinks - maybe... the way he phrased his question had been poor. Maybe it didn't describe what he was trying to get at. It's... Mm... It's kind of like...

Gently he brings up his other hand and he lays it on Barrett's, and he takes his hands apart - Barrett's hand in each of his, like Barrett had done when guiding him into the water, before they'd walked back side by side. )

... Then can you let me try to show you that you're enough, even now?

( Maybe that's it. It feels a little more right. Does it convey? Does it carry? He can't promise he's going to be here in a few years, he isn't trying to ask Barrett to be with him right now. But, you know - this isn't it, this isn't all. That's what he means. Isn't that what Barrett tried to tell him, too?

He curls his fingers against Barrett's own, his hold light but firm. )

... It feels like, maybe... you think people can only lean on you when you're a certain way, doing certain things. I like those things, too. But it doesn't seem like it's enough for you, when I say you've helped me other ways.

( "I can't take care of you or Booker or anybody by just talking to you." If only Barrett knew how quiet things had been, with nothing for company, before Fragment. That Kabru and Cithis began to talk to him is something of a recent development. )

I don't know if I can thrive yet. But I'm learning things, being with you. ( Being Barrett, being with others - fumbling through relationships, experiences, learning he's loved, learning what it means to matter... ) I think that's worth something.

[He lets his hands be led, the mirror to their positions only days ago. He lets Morgan continue to shape his words, to shape the meaning of his statements, to give them clarity.

It leaves his chest a little more full, aching in a strange way - both with the corrections and the guilt of his own misunderstandings.]

...I don't mean to. To say things that make you wonder if I don't believe you, I mean. I... really want to believe you.

[How does he explain... SHOULD he?

His hands gently tighten against Morgan's.]

I've never really had someone say that before. Me just talking to someone and having it be something they liked. It's... not something that happens.

[He knows being called clueless or stupid or childish or simple. Not compliments. Not something out of kindness or genuine enjoyment.]

I don't know how to think about it. I like it. It makes me happy.

[And yet he can feel his eyes burn.]

You're enough for me. I... want to be enough for you, I-I...

[His hands occupied, Barrett can't quite stop the tears that fall. There's only a few, beckoned out of exhaustion and grief.]

I want to feel like I'm enough.

Edited 2023-09-22 07:14 (UTC)

( Ah. Is this what it's like to connect, or get close enough to it? He doesn't know if - he can make Barrett happy. He doesn't know if he can promise he'll learn how to thrive, he doesn't know if he can really be the one to show Barrett he's worth a lot more than he thinks he is - and he doesn't know if he has to be all these things, anyway. Barrett has six other brothers and these many friends who care for him, too.

He squeezes Barrett's hands as his tears roll down his cheeks. )

... It's okay if it takes awhile. I think... I can try to figure it out with you - how I feel about myself.

( Because he isn't convinced he's enough either, but - well - first - he's not - he's going to say he's passed up revenge as an eventuality, or anything. But if he thinks for a moment, as a hypothetical, that maybe he won't pursue it - not a commitment to the idea, but trying the idea out, to see how it fits - would it feel like this, sometimes? Not less empty, but more - forgetting, a little bit, that he feels that way?

That was the feeling in his chest, when he first asked if he could try. He's not that good with words or feelings. He's getting there. )

... I want... to keep talking to you. And for you to keep talking to me. Even when you say things I don't believe about myself. I like them. Because... I do like you. ( A gentle rebuttal of the apology Barrett had signed into his palm. ) I can try to say it more. There's a lot of things I think but don't say.

( He'll need to recognize that he's in the process of liking something and then pull together a compliment, but - he's open to the idea. Barrett worries a lot about what people need, but he guesses not a lot of people get to hear what he needs, in turn. )

...I... I like you, too...

[It's delicate, giving the feeling a name. Realizing it's returned, even if not in the same flavor. A burst of nervous warmth behind how his tears still fall, slowly, unabated by the slow nod he gives, clenching his eyes shut and squeezing Morgan's hands with more purpose. That blossom stretches, wanting.

It is, after all, a want. A want from him... and it's another want from the young man who he holds hands with, a want from Morgan who never speaks of wanting. It's like a nail being driven in, painful and sharp, of how certain Morgan is about this, to give it that sort of word. A solid fact in the midst of grieving doubt.

Even if it was something Barrett himself didn't consider good enough, or something that made him worthwhile like his body or his potential... Morgan still wanted it. Enough to voice it. To give it reason and not let it exist in a hypothetical, at least for a moment.

...

His face feels messy and warm, and the urge to break contact to wipe it off grows by the second. Pull himself together, let him be stronger in front of Morgan so he won't have to worry. But the touch isn't something he wants to drift from. Like the walk back from the beach that stretched much longer than the journey out.]

I don't think I'll always understand everything. But I-- I like that you make me want to think. It's hard for me. I can't pretend to know things I don't understand. But... most people give up on me when I can't keep up.

You don't.

So I... I want to hear what things you have to say. Even if it's something you don't understand. Or if I don't understand. I... want to figure it out. With you.

[It's touching to think of it. Of the mundane chatter, the serious chatter. Listening to the sound of Morgan's voice and knowing the words don't come from obligation. He wonders if he'll ever hear that sea of words that flows from his mouth when he discusses something important -- he wonders if he'll be able to follow along someday. To understand and grasp that much more why Morgan feels so brilliant to him.

A quiet moment passes, and his voice grows small again.]

You're sure this is enough?

I... can't take you anywhere. Or be there to help you if you're in trouble. I can't show off for you.

I feel like...

...

Like equipment. That can't be fixed. That needs to be replaced. I... want to yell at all the doctors. All the news crews. I want to tell them I have a lot left to give, but... I...

I hate it. I feel like I lost my chance.

[Obsolete in a single moment.]

Edited 2023-09-22 19:10 (UTC)

( He's fine without anyone else. He understands this to be true; he had thought on it for a time after he broke his feelings off from Hani and Justy earlier like he would a ceramic plate. And he had thought, it had hurt when he brought the thing over his knee and snapped it, but he no longer feels the tension on either side of the half-split crack that'd been running through him, and he feels at ease. He understood he could still set aside anything. And so he had come to some balance with Barrett in the ocean, in that - he looked toward the professor before he looked toward Barrett.

So this isn't, really - needing. It's kindling something else. Killing the professor is a need, because he doesn't know what else to do with himself, because he doesn't know what other meaning there is for him if not for that. And maybe it's a little weightier in his chest to say I choose this, I've decided to want this, when I know I have every means to walk away.

With each tumbling and tear and word, his chest feels not so much a steady beat as it does a gentle thump, one that lands a little heavier and a little softer into its soft bed of feeling with each repeat. So naturally, like a reflex, he meets the gentle squeeze at his hand with a full and proper hold, so he is not so much keeping Barrett's hands wrapped in his as he is holding it, mutually, with as much intent as he can manage. )

... If you want to yell at them, then yell. They don't know you. And if you don't know the words yet, you'll find them. We'll find them, it sounds like.

( He says it like a fact - like a weather forecast - like maybe they just don't know when, but it's bound to happen from the look of it. His voice is certain and frank, as it is when he speaks of things he knows.

He squeezes Barrett's hands once more before he lets them slip free, just so he can gently let the palms come to rest on either side of Barrett's face; the fingers half-spread, so they can curl light into his wet face. )

... You're enough for me. ( The phrase echoes familiar. ) You, you as you are. I like seeing into you - seeing you. And you don't look broken from where I am.

[Morgan holds tight to his hands, and his own relax in turn. Not an unwillingness to hold on, but rather an intentional act to let himself be held, to let the weight of touch rest in Morgan's palms and not be worried for a moment about having to be the one to hold him up if he stumbles. Not right this second.

It's... okay, isn't it? If he lets himself go for just this moment?

It matches how his throat and chest tighten, eyes screwing shut even as Morgan's hands deposit his to frame his face instead. He can't conjur up words. The what-ifs that pile up feel muted under his touch, the worries of the future something for another moment to process and devour.

Right now, Morgan believes in him. Expects nothing eloquent. Sees nothing broken. Breaks the distance and voices himself anyway.

Barrett can only nod in response. The tears start to flow a little more, and he takes in a shaking breath, letting one hand rest against one of Morgan's hands as he presses his face into the other.

For a long moment, and another, it's all he allows himself to do. To nod, fervently, as though he can't trust his own mouth, while his hurt bubbles up like a spring that's finally been allowed to release, his shoulders shuddering along with his breaths

...

When he finally feels he can regain control of his breathing, his reddened eyes open a little more, glancing at Morgan with exhaustion laced with a touched sort of gratitude, before his free hand lifts to try and wipe at his own face.]

--'M making such a mess, huh... [A tight, choking sound in the back of his throat, what could be a laugh if he weren't just fresh off of crying. He exhales deeply, intentionally.]

...I trust you. I want to keep trusting you.

( Barrett's tears are hot against his palm, and Barrett's hand is hot against his skin; he cradles his face with a little more steadiness when Barrett presses his face in, like he needs a place to rest his head. Barrett needs time like he's working his heart through a strainer, and Mithrun doesn't mind staying here. He accepts what he sees as Barrett, too - with weakness, with faltering; but still, Mithrun thinks, whole.

He'd meant it, when he said he liked Barrett like this, too. Mithrun is not so good at reading hearts; he can't see them so well when they're hidden away. He thinks he understands this a little better - the vulnerability, and how it balances Barrett's affection. And Barrett seems a creature of love, if anything - in that so much of what he does is defined by how he cares for others.

Caring, wanting - are both hungry things. And Barrett offers them to him anyway, even while red-faced and teary. Gentle thumps, gentle thumps. He can't think of Barrett as anything like a mess. )

... I think... I'd like that. I trust you, too.

( His palm presses into Barrett's cheek, fingers brushing into his hair. He'd considered for a moment if there was anything better to say here, but he guesses he will never quite have a hang of what the right thing to say he; he can only be transparent and honest.

Which, speaking of honesty and feelings. He recognizes a feeling that he'd just sort of been overlooking for a time - he just notices it now. If his hands weren't preoccupied, he might've just followed his impulse into direct motion; but, because he's almost reluctant to move them: )

... Would it hurt if I came up onto the bed?

( Like, not in with Barrett exactly, but up beside him. Getting closer, as it were. )

Edited 2023-09-25 07:40 (UTC)

[On the bed?

Barrett thinks for a second before shaking his head shallowly against Morgan's hands, taking a moment to wiggle his closest arm down to collapse the handrest on the right side of his bed with a fumbling touch.]

If I don't move very much, it'll be okay. [Given Barrett's size, there's not a ton of room to work with on the cramped incline... but they could make it a snug fit.

Looping his right arm further back on the bedframe, guiding IVs out of the way, Barrett holds out his other hand to rest against Morgan's forearm. Pulling slightly, eagerly.

Stay with him.]

Edited 2023-09-25 11:14 (UTC)

( !

His fingers curl and brush along the underside of Barrett's eye before he lets his hands slip away, carrying away what's left of the wet lingering there - taking in, for a moment, his red-eyed, wet-faced gaze; better now, he thinks. He wonders how often Barrett lets himself cry.

Then he abides by the charmingly eager tug and he pushes himself up and into the bed. It's a quick and easy motion, slipping in just beside him - against the chest, just under the arm - a little snug, but comfortably so. He's thankfully petite enough to Tetris in. As he comes to settle in against him, cheek brushing against his chest (not really sitting up, but not fully lying down yet, either), he is quiet for a moment; past the familiar sterility of the hospital and its familiar fabrics, he feels... )

... You're warm.

( He says, gazing up at him. It's a tone of surprise, and positive regard. To Mithrun, who runs a little stuff and cold, and for the both of them sat in the off-kilter cool hospital, Barrett might as well be a radiator. If he thinks back on it, he thinks he may have vaguely noticed this before, on the occasions Barrett has picked him up, but he's never totally registered it like he finally has now. )

[He tries to stay as still as possible as Morgan slides into place, wincing only once as his body weight is shifted but putting a hand up briefly to let Morgan know he was fine. Oof, ooooof that hurts...

With Morgan up on the bed, Barrett's arm threads back to curl against the smaller man's arm and waist - an idle rest more than an actual hold, given how much is still attached to Barrett for equipment. The comment cuts through the whir of machines, earning a chuckle that vibrates through his chest as he rests his free hand against his own stomach.]

You too, huh...

Booker says that, too. Something about me being a good place for naps, I guess.

[A pause, a glance down.]

Is it bad?

( Oh, oops. There's definitely a sense of regard, a frown, when Barrett winces - but he's willing to let the matter be for the moment when Barrett reassures.

If the awkward and smushed-up positioning of the bed, the equipment, and the Barrett bother Mithrun, he doesn't seem to indicate it; or, mind if he does, as with most things.

Naps, huh... )

... No. You're comfortable.

( Hmm!! He sets his cheek against Barrett with a contemplative expression, as if to test it. (He may look too seriously thoughtful considering the levity of the subject matter.) Hadn't he done this before at the picnic? He was a little tipsy then, he thinks... Had he fallen asleep then? Was that because of the alcohol, or Barrett? )

... I can't really sleep, normally. I usually take medication for it. ( Sleeping, like eating and The Basic Human Instinct To Remain Alive, is also a thing he lost. ) But I feel like I might've fallen asleep against you last time...

( :thinking: )

You can't?

[The anti-Booker...... well, he supposes it makes sense, given what else Morgan struggles with. But sleep was an odd one. It felt so overpowering natural so long as you were tired enough and comfortable enough.

Maybe he just didn't remember how to be comfortable? But, no, he just said... hm.

Hmmmmmmmm. His brain creaks open, slowly, groggily. Test? Is this where you'd offer that?]

Booker falls asleep on me all the time. So I'm used to it. I guess I didn't notice at the picnic...

You wanna give it a try? It's, uh... not the nicest place to sleep right now, but... [He shuffles a bit to adjust one of the several hospital blankets draped around him, tucking the textured fabric against Morgan as best he can.]

I don't mind. It gets cold in here. And... it's easier, to sleep when you're not all alone. Sometimes, I mean.

[...]

I'll stay with you. Until you fall asleep. Just like before. [Just like when their positions were reversed, thousands of miles away over nothing but a phone, Barrett wrapped in the cold of night while Morgan slipped off to the drone of hospital monitors.

The touch at Morgan's waist curls a little.

He likes this. Not being apart this time. Even if this isn't a good situation... he likes the good in the moment.]

( "Sometimes," huh. He figures Booker must nap on Barrett more often than not. He can't really imagine what it's like to be that close with your sibling - twinship might have something to do with it, but even Barrett and Levi were close. He thinks briefly back to Cael, before his thoughts return here.

It isn't lost on him, the familiar echo of their situation - a mirror of some week ago, an inverse of the day before; it isn't lost on him, the warming sensation of his firmer hold. )

... Sleep too, if you're tired.

( He closes his eyes in quiet affirmation that he'll see if he can get some rest against the gentle radiator that Barrett is. He shifts - not so much getting comfortable but finding some closer position, arm curling up over Barrett's chest as he rests against him - and seems to settle there. )

I'll be back tomorrow, too. As long as you're here.

( He's not going anywhere. He couldn't tell you why or what for; he just simply has decided this would be true, and so he will be here.

His breathing remains steady for a time; the same, quiet breaths in his same, slow rhythm. Conscious, not really minding the silence; not needing to talk, even if it's what he likes. Being here is all right. And in the quiet depths of his relaxed mind, there is some part of him that finds relief in this; he doesn't realize how exhausted he'd been, all wound up and upset over Barrett.

Eventually, his breathing starts to slow. It's a gradual gradient. It languishes in its pace, but it flows its way to restfulness eventually. His expression relaxes, and the tension in his muscles goes soft.

Mithrun doesn't really dream; and he doesn't either, this time. But the darkness that finds him now is something more comforting, more safe than he's found it in a long time. )

SATURDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL (The World)

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