I JUST LIKE BROTH.

‘ i don’t regret it at all.’ it is overstimulating, the house, the family, the food, but so long as he can catch a breath every now and again, it’s worth treading water for. he folds his hands across his stomach and returns the half smile, at ease, which is not something that can be said when barry occupies a room alone. he doesn’t imagine michael inspires that same feeling in everyone, and while it’s only an assumption pieced together from the company of other men they served with, he feels special- individual even, which is more important.

The safest option here is to just ignore all that other stuff and move swiftly on. “Of course I meant it. You think I’d lie to you? To your face? About your top? It’s a nice top.”

Wanker.

‘ people lie to my face all the time. ’ this isn’t a jab at her deflection, not intentionally so, but it’d be pretty convenient if she takes it that way. barry’s train of thought has now made off in an entirely different direction.

@1000yd

Barry’s a total sadsack. You just get this energy off him, like he’s never gonna be happy. And god, that’s so hopelessly fucking tragic to even think about for another person, but it’s making me feel better just sitting next to him, cos I feel like I have more of a chance now.

Not with him. With – being happy. God that’s depressing. Although, you know what, he’s tall, he’s got arms, he’s got a jawline, he’s got a not-unsubstantial arse. Potential rebound?

“That top looks nice on you.”

Don’t look at me like that. He was asking for fashion advice the other day.

he pinches the collar of his shirt self-consciously, pulls it out for a look from which he gains absolutely nothing, and lets it fall back against his chest. if it’s a real compliment, if he could confidently tell, he’d go right home and order three more in incrementally muted colors.

‘ do you mean it? ’  did she? does she?  

@1000yd

‘I thought you’d prefer everything to plain as everything offers more of an experience in the bite,’ he slides over the bagel in its brown paper bag and lets out a very light laugh, ‘doesn’t that sound like something a vampire would say? I promise I’m not trying to get you to eat some of my blood so you’ll be my beholden ward for the rest of eternity. I’ve tried to donate it and been turned away for ‘not having enough’ so many times.’

@1000yd​ liked

Tim gets a call. It’s near enough to midnight that he’d been halfway towards actually sleeping, so when he answers the phone he’s verging on groggy and blunt alongside it. It takes him half a minute to actually figure out what he’s being asked, if he knows a Barry Berkman. He does know a Barry Berkman, but his brain needs a few seconds to sort through itself and find that information.

By the time he gets up and ready and drives out to the local PD that picked Barry up, he’s collected himself enough that none of this makes any sense. Before he’d been clammed up with a dim, half-asleep acceptance, Barry being caught somewhere he shouldn’t be and dropping Tim’s name like a hotcake. Now, Barry being caught somewhere he shouldn’t be is a fact that’s snagged itself in him like a door handle around knit fabric, yanking him back a few steps.

He makes up some bullshit excuse to scoop Barry out without charges – something about calling in a few favours, and the lot wasn’t owned by anyone anyway, and there’s nobody to really press charges, and he didn’t actually break anything, did he, so really it was just the entering half, and isn’t this America, a free country – and walks him out to his truck. He’s running on a few beers, but with the exception of what he does during the day at work, he’s always driving on a couple. It’s fine – he’s used to it.

He’s a few minutes away from the building before he says, lightly, “So what the hell was that all about?”

‘ i told you i do work on cars, right? the guy who wants me to work on his car, the reason why i’m here, must’ve given me the wrong address to his vehicle -- his ford explorer -- or google maps really fucked up.’ he tries to look hapless, sheepish even, pulling out all the stops just short of batting his eyelashes to sell what is a really shitty lie. even so, even under gene’s instruction, it’s not good enough to buy. tim will know he’s lying, but maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world. better for tim to let barry’s skeletons out of the closet while his own back is turned, seeing the look of disappointment firsthand would- well, it wouldn’t be great for his brittle self esteem. 

with every passing minute he readjusts his seat, crossing his legs under the dashboard, uncrossing them, leaning pensively towards the window, leaning reluctantly in towards tim. what a stupid idea to come here in the first place, to plan a hit around a vacation that’s planned around rekindling an old old (missing adjective) interest. it was probably one sided back when it started, something borne out of necessity and tons of testosterone. whatever, stupid thought, can’t go down that hole now, it became too late to start regretting things when he crossed state lines. 

He holds an easy gaze on Barry, just letting a few breaths come and go in the frosty morning air. The gaze drifts away when he speaks, because he shouldn’t have done that. If he’s going to try and put himself above the rest, he can but try. ‘Yeah, good idea. You stay here. Maybe there’ll be some free space by tonight.’ He keeps leaning on the doorway, giving Barry an occasional glance as if he expects a few more visitors.

he doesn’t know how long he’s supposed to wait, but by the state of the men let in before tyler stepped out, he can guess it’s nothing short of a day. with a sense of dejection that’s not well hidden, barry angles himself away from the doorframe, freeing up a path for anyone to pass him on by. if there was something more than fuches’ missed calls waiting for him at home, he’d be gone already, dust. then again, if there was something more than fuches’ missed calls waiting for him at home, he’d never have gone to a fight club in the first place.

    ‘ do i have to wait like everybody else, or are you gonna let me in now because you’re already standing here? ’ 

i don’t know what he means by that and i’m not sure i want to ask. there are drugs in cigarettes, sure, but if they’re antidepressants then they’re definitely not working. it almost makes him smile, a hard little curve that wicks away after a second.

barry isn’t really looking at him, but that doesn’t bother him much. he pinches a cigarette between his teeth to light it. the conspicuous lack of the blinking red light on the ceiling that signifies a smoke alarm is, if he were feeling particularly self-critical, an indictment of his instability. he’s usually feeling pretty self-critical, but right now he can pass it off by saying that he doesn’t sleep when it’s on, that he doesn’t even cook that much anyway, so there’s no real chance that he’ll leave something burning and wake up with the entire building on fire.

“yeah. i dunno if you can get like – really addicted.” this from an addict. i can’t tell if narcotics anonymous would kick me out or be happy to have me. is it motivational to hear that your addiction is no worse or better than anyone else’s? that it’s all the same, synapses and signals, ineedthisineedthis? i don’t know if i need cigarettes so much as i just want them. “like, either you are addicted or you aren’t, right? there’s no, like, sliding scale.”

we are loudly avoiding the topic of staying. that’s okay with me.

elliot’s a pretty smart guy, barry’s ready to take him at his word without the formality of a second opinion. he doesn’t want to believe in the personal threat addiction poses to him anyway. pretending consequences are just short of arms reach is his speciality, his very shitty means of coping without healthcare. when the other shoe drops it’s going to flatten him. we’ve got some time before that, though. time enough that he’d rather spend here, in bed, next to someone he likes. someone he thinks returns the feeling, even with all the conspicuous lies.