This was amongst one of the more humiliating moments of Soren’s life. There were a large handful of them, considering just how low he’d gone as a kid just to get by. During the times where he’d scooped up Reese and run off from some of the more rough foster families and had attempted to sustain them on the streets, there were things Soren had done he still hadn’t talked about to date. He’d lived with shame since he was born - horrified by the people he’d been brought into the world by, ashamed that the one person who was meant to be his constant had left him behind after years of protecting and taking care of him, like Soren was nothing more than an acquaintance from an abroad trip. Disgust, with himself, with his upbringing, the way he coped with it, with himself as a person - it hung heavy on his shoulders, always. It’d been there when Roman knew what he was getting into, and it still draped across him like a weighted blanket as he took in Roman’s gaze. Worse, now, knowing that he was practically giving Roman what Soren suspected he wanted - to see him so low.
There’d been a time where Soren had gotten genuinely frustrated with Roman’s insistence. What’d worked in their relationship was the ease - the lack of volatile criticism that both their father’s had produced. They knew to never raise their voice with each other, never point fingers or transfer blame. And despite Roman sharing these qualities from the beginning, Soren had done what he could to make sure he didn’t dive too deep, accept too much from Roman, let alone become a boyfriend. The word alone when Roman had first presented it made Soren flinch, visibly cringe in front of the other’s face like he’d suggested they get matching tramp stamps on date one. But Roman was - affectionately relentlessly. Positively so, giving Soren space while simultaneously refusing to let him forget that Roman was, very much so, aware of his angle, of the fact that Soren was going to continue pushing him away. And then he didn’t go anywhere. What was Soren meant to do with that, other than fall for him so pathetically it left him splayed in the middle of the street on a random night?
“Go away,” he tried again, words slurred and inaudible even to his ears. Closing one eye to see Roman properly - and immediately regretting it, trying to focus on anything that didn't make him more and more nauseous. Roman had commented he wasn’t completely gone, but Soren felt as if he was. Couldn’t even feel his face at that point, head swimming, swallowing thickly as his stomach gurgled and threatened to go belly-up again. The only thing that’d pulled him out of his momentary drunken stupor was Roman’s speech about Soren and Patti - an apparent couple now, one he wasn’t aware of. It made him bellow out a guttural, “Huh?” that might’ve been warranted and more digestible if he weren’t as drunk as he was. As it was, Soren could barely sit up, thought he was still clinging to the name he’d heard - suddenly wishing Patti was there, sure they’d drag Soren to their dorm and shove him into bed while preserving whatever dignity he had left, if not at least making fun of him the entire way back. He was fiercely protective of them - hated Roman even saying their name. “Patti?” Said in an almost perfect Scooby-Doo impression with how intoxicated it was, falling from his mouth more than anything else. “Fuck’re you talking about -?” Attempting to sit up, Soren’s forehead knocked off of the hand Roman had extended to him. It made him start - the first time they’d actually touched, skin to skin, since the break up.
“We’re not dating. Fuck’re you talking about?” Soren repeated - to preserve Patti’s dignity, make sure their name was never in Roman’s mouth again, if he could help it. Though his gaze hadn’t left from the extended offer of a hand - they’d grazed each other now, but it wouldn’t be the same, if he simply reached forward and took Roman’s hand. After the adrenaline of moving to England, starting at Palladian, Soren had to come to terms with the fact that his family was gone - done with him, fully left him behind even when he’d been the one to try and keep them together, and when that failed and it was just a family of two, keep them alive. It hurt - often. Like pressing on a freshly formed bruise that blossomed right over his core and often left him sickly and breathless. When he was at his worst, there were days where Roman would force him to his own dorm, but didn’t expect anything. Simply let Soren sleep for hours on end while patiently and dutifully holding his hand the entire time. It was a simple form of communication, but it’d worked for them. Now, seeing Roman’s hand extended to him, Soren felt nothing but a raw and paramount anger.
For a second, Soren merely continued to stare. Then, when he clasped his hand onto Roman’s, he didn’t hesitate - using whatever strength he had left to drag the other in, tug him in as close as possible, and kick out. Make sure Roman’s foot tripped out from underneath him so that he had no choice but to stumble, Soren simultaneously shifting his grip, so that he could hold at Roman's wrist and chomp down at the sensitive skin between thumb and index finger. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that the intent was obvious. Screaming out while he did so, sounding akin to Samara Weaving in Ready or Not, leaving a dent before pulling back and drawing out his bellow as he did so. A continuous shout that he hadn’t let out since the day he’d continuously texted Roman, concerned, until suddenly the texts had stopped going through. “Fuck! You!” Shoving Roman’s hand away, like it’d personally offended and Soren hadn’t just physically harmed him, he attempted his crawl again - pushing himself to an eventual stand and stumbling immediately. The rush of the moment keeping the spins at bay, but he was still far too drunk for his own good, world spinning on its axis and causing his vision to swirl with how quickly he stood. When he fell backwards, straight into Roman, it wasn’t with a shuffle or a trip of his feet - it was more trust fall than anything. Soren was prepared to crack his skull open, sure that was his fate, rather than Roman actually catching him. He’d just bitten his hand after all - Soren had always been more feral mutt than whimpering pup when he was properly angered.
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