oh deer

Santiago was... in a strange place this year. As of January, since Romy was born, he had managed to stop drinking sometimes. At first, it had been hard, just skipping it when he knew he would go see the two the next day. And then he'd go back to it, needing the oblivion and to stop his head and heart from running. But then it had felt necessary to figure it out, especially after the flea market and the scene that had been made, and him still being in such a dark moment that he hadn't even been able to talk. And later, when Iggy had been in the hospital, he had gone dry turkey for almost two weeks, spending half the time in the hospital, half in Maisie's place. Seeing Lianna had not helped, for sure, but...being there for Ignacio and talking to her for him...

Hesitating for a second, Iggy reached out and shook his father's hand. It was weird, because he didn't really shake hands with anyone. Iggy was more affectionate than that, even with strangers. Shaking his dad's hand brought him back to their father's day dinner, which made him feel just as queasy as he had then. He'd gone, against his better judgement, and he'd sat, silently picking at his plate the entire time. He'd tried to say hello, offer everyone a smile, even said happy fathers day once, but otherwise nothing. Just eyes on his plate, fork in his hand, and silent, deep breaths to keep himself upright. When Hiro had gotten there, he'd excused himself politely, said simply he wasn't feeling well. It wasn't even a lie this time. He hadn't felt well, and he'd been uncomfortable. The only person he felt even enjoyed his presence ever was Ivy, and Ivy had brought River, so Iggy felt alone.

"Eyy, nice one," Hiro glances to Iggy with a slanted smile, nudging the toe of his boot against the side of his shoe. He keeps it there as they work on their clay, the only point of contact they can manage while keeping their hands occupied on their projects. He does a few subtle jokes here and there, stroking the clay as he builds it up into a distinctly phallic shape before pressing it back down into something that can become a bowl. He's really not sure what he wants to make. He was kind of hoping inspiration would hit him or that whatever is hidden in the clay would make itself known so he just molds it without much thought until it starts to form an interesting shape. It's turning into a bowl. He doesn't need anything decorative. In his van where space is limited, he doesn't have room for anything that isn't really functional in some capacity and all his decor is generally little trinkets that he's picked up through his travelling.

It was weirdly soothing, the feeling of clay under his fingers. Iggy was fixated on the wheel and the work in front of him, his brow furrowed, tongue just barely poking out of the corner of his mouth as he leaned into the work. Occasionally he'd glance up, looking over at Hiro's clay, and open his mouth to say something...but he never actually said anything, eyes dropping back to what he was doing instead. It was the quietest he'd been in a long, long time.

Honestly, in the duration of waiting, the Uber he'd ordered had already come and left but it was not because they had waited for Iggy but instead because Lake was having a difficult time getting River out of the building at all. River kept slumping and moving away, not wanting to be contained and restrained, arms flailing and trying to dance again like a loose limbed marionette that the Uber outside had simply left because it was taking too long and didn't want a drunk in his backseat. Lake supposes he can't fault the driver so by the time he gets River under control and outside, they now have to wait a little bit longer for the next available Uber to come by. He's glancing down to his phone to check on the status when he feels the weight of his sibling being distributed differently and now catches sight of Iggy underneath River's arm.

"Of course I had fun," Iggy lied with ease, not even thinking about the words as they slipped out of his mouth. He was used to lying about things, it wasn't a big deal to him. There was no reason to explain to River that it was just his job, that he didn't necessarily have fun while working. He definitely put on a good show that he was enjoying himself, but that was to keep vibes up, and to keep the tips coming in. And truth be told, it had been a good night for him. Most of the clientele had kept their hands to themselves, he hadn't heard any of the derogatory or condescending things a lot of people liked to spout after a few drinks, and Iggy was going home with a little over nine hundred dollars in tips. Iggy looked over at Lake and nodded.

The hospital room doesn’t feel like a hospital room anymore. The longer they kiss the more it feels like somewhere else, somewhere else more nicer than a hospital room and if it weren’t for that constant beeping reminding him that this is a hospital room then it might be easier to forget. But the beeping beeps faster, louder, more pressing and impossible to ignore and then Iggy’s lips are pulling away from his and the breath of air that gasps between them feels too cool and too sudden. Hiro feels himself immediately leaning again to close the gap, to reclaim those lips and stops himself just short but just enough to feel his lips moving when he speaks and to taste his breath. His warm breath.

Iggy's head falls back and he sighs. He wants to keep kissing Hiro, keep looking at him, but his eyes fall shut anyway because the room is moving in his vision. His good hand is still holding on tightly to the other, holding him close, but he doesn't kiss him again, not yet. It's too much, too intimate, and his body stiffens as he suddenly remembers who was kissing him last. Before the hospital, before his cousin and Hiro had found him in the motel room. He'd kissed someone else, someone he didn't really want to kiss but what did it matter if it was just a kiss, right? (It was never just a kiss.) A kiss that got him what he really wanted. Attention, and an escape that came in the shape of death this time.

For the duration of their night, River has approximately one more drink that they nurse slowly and Lake has had several. His tolerance for alcohol is far greater than his sibling and whether this is a point of pride of concern is still to be determined. It’s not something that Lake is going to think of tonight at the very least.

Typically, after a shift, Iggy gets dressed in the changing room and heads out the back. That's what they're supposed to do. Nobody wants to see the dancers come back on the floor in sweats and a hoodie, that's not sexy, and it ruins the illusion that they're all just objects to be ogled at. So he looks at Lake and nods, glancing around and wondering what exactly he'd be able to get away with tonight. Probably not much, unfortunately. "Think you can get them outside? I've got to change, and I'm not supposed to come back on the floor in my street clothes," he explains quickly, already starting to walk away. He wanted to get dressed and get out of there now.

"Mm, but if you use every free moment for something then won't you end up having no moments that are free at all?" Mars muses thoughtfully while tapping the side of his head as if that prompts further and more intense thought. "You know, I always see you in here," going back to his original train of thought had been unspoken before but now comes to life. "Do you even leave?"

It was probably silly to be offended by the idea that he never left the yoga studio. But he did, often. He worked out in the gym itself most days, and then he spent a lot of time at home these days. "I actually only work part-time, right now," he admitted, smiling still. "Since the twins were born, I cut down on how many classes I teach a week. Childcare is a whole thing, so I prefer being home with them when Ok's working," Cullen explained. It wasn't always possible, and his family helped out more than he would've liked, but it was what it was. He wasn't one to complain about things.

"You lost your bike?" Ivy tilted his head in confusion. Yes, he had had a smoke before showering– he loved taking a warm shower when he was high, but that was beside the point. "Did someone steal it? How do you lose a bike? Anyway– I've thought I've lost the van a couple of times in my life, so... But why didn't you call me? I could have come to pick you up." He didn't want to remind Iggy about his leg and how it wasn't probably good for him to run long distances– he probably knew that already. If anything, Ivy was glad that Iggy was feeling good enough to run, even if the way he was standing now showed he had actually strained himself a bit too hard.

He wasn't sure he wanted to get into the intricacies of losing his bike and what had caused him to run all the way here. On the bright side, he'd run far and long enough that he hadn't been followed, and that felt like enough. "I can probably get it back. And then I can probably fix it," he said, waving a hand as if to brush the subject away entirely. Not a big deal, sure, sure, sure. "I was in kinda a hurry or whatever, I didn't think to call you. I'm fine, though, seriously," he wasn't fine, but he wasn't going to say that. He preferred lying to literally everyone around him. It had worked out for him for the most part thus far.

Heathcliff did not return the smile - he never did, at anyone who wasn’t a patient and even they would only receive a slight, polite twitch of his lips, professional and controlled. It wasn’t anything personal, it was simply Heathcliff’s way, the man perpetually neutral and focused-looking. Knowing this, it fell in line that he’d never shown any discomfort or reaction to knowing that the two of them shared a similar… hobby. As a matter of fact one might think by Heathcliff’s behavior alone, or lack thereof, that he’d completely forgotten about it or somehow despite all his intelligence as a doctor had not connected the dots. Neither were the case, of course. 

Jun had learned long ago not to be offended by the lack of personability when having a conversation with Heathcliff. Initially, he'd taken it as a slight, or as a sign that maybe the other disliked him. Now, however, he just thought it was who the other was. He was good at his job, and Junie had heard many other good things about him, and that was enough for him. He figured the other to be a decent person, and so he had decided a while ago that he liked Heathcliff. Where one was stoic, Jun filled the space between them with warmth and smiles.

Hiro does take the robe, appraising the material of it first before following after Patch. He always feels awkward wearing shoes in a house, but he keeps on his boots. They thud and echo through the entryway along with Patch's voice. He's not exactly sure when or how he ended up befriending so many rich people but Patch is now the second person he knows who lives in what can easily be described as a modern castle. It makes the whole situation of being here a touch more surreal so when he sees the laid out cheese plate and glasses of wine, it's only surprised there isn't a suited butler to go with them.

The boots echoing in the house makes Patch look down at his own slippers, and he wonders if he should've provided some for Hiro, too. Surely he wouldn't be comfortable in boots all night, and Patch didn't expect him to. But then he was overthinking, unable to stop his brain from making conclusions that didn't exist, and his brows furrowed together as the thought train chugged along. Hiro maybe wanted to wear his boots because he didn't plan on staying for long. Perhaps he wanted to get out of there quickly, to get away from Patch. The house was odd now, with just the two of them, surely? And Patch knew most people didn't see his home like this, empty and clean and quiet. People didn't see him like this, either. The robe didn't feel quite as comfortable anymore, instead it felt vulnerable.

"See? That's exactly what I mean." Eleanor glanced down at the coloring book and smiled. "I used to start out with good intentions, but then I'd decide the sky should be pink or that something needed extra flowers or little doodles in the corners." A small laugh slipped out. "I don't think I ever managed to leave a page the way I found it."

Teo laughed. "I love a good pink sky. And a picture can always use more flowers. Honestly, you were a genius at whatever precocious age you were at," he said, smiling. "I do surrealism myself, so pink skies are a-okay in my book." Teo put down the coloring book he'd been flipping through, and turned his attention to the pencils near them in the same aisle. "So are you just here perusing the art supplies, or did you come with a purpose? No judgement either way, I just like to pick other artists' brains sometimes."