neurotic to the bone

“Not many are ready to believe in ghosts.” Xandre replies in agreement, sighing. The disbelief is understandable, probably feeling like yet another excuse to the man who was actually charged with her death. Had Octavia not ever visited Lysander like she had the rest of them? He’d call him lucky to not witness the gruesome image she now painted but — no one seemed to be the lucky party anymore. At the question of their staying he does smile, light snort of a laugh escaping before he glances down at Tal. “There are many things i’d do for you tonight if you asked, “ he begins, running a hand through his hair. “ – but sleeping on a curb is not one of them. Never did it drunk, refuse to begin it sober. We can head home and come back tomorrow, grab a room at that inn down the road, couple of choices here. But no cement and cobblestone. I have limits.” Softened words, he shuts his eyes as his head tilts to the sky, content enough to wait Tal out until his mind has sorted itself to enough reason.

an empty nod and t is caught off guard by a breath of air xandre exhales. he is no fool. he recognizes that this is a laugh expressed at his suggestion of the curb, even as his mind smooths over other statements that make his heart still. “ the bench? ” he mumbles despite knowing it will go over as no better a suggestion than the last. however, he is glad it does not immediately affect alexandre. not with the moonlight’s dance along his features, the city’s calming wind gently quaking the irreplaceable mess on xandre’s head. he does not understand how the preston can make silence seem so graceful or stasis so beautiful just for a second. it makes tal wish he knew how to sketch like winifred or write like theresa. all he might be able to do is describe it out loud, but he doesn’t think he could explain how he wants to trace the slope of xandre’s slim, pointy nose beneath his thumb without laughing at himself. his bruised face softens nonetheless. a mindless, dreaming lilt of his lips on a head that’s tilted curiously. after a time, he speaks quietly though afraid he has fallen asleep even while his eyes have been open. “ what are you dreaming about? ”

     again, she’s surprised by how blunt he is. though she shouldn’t have been, recalling their last conversation. something in her expression changes at the mention of christian. their last conversation sharpens in her memory when this detail comes to surface. she wants to laugh, but doesn’t. instead: “and you know me.” it should’ve been as simple as that. “when did christian even make it into the conversation? it’s christian.” even with the arrest of valentine she can’t fathom a possibility in which christian is guilty of something. she thinks of their conversation; wonders if something about him was acting out of guilt rather than grief. she still can’t imagine it. “i’d hope so.” freda pauses, impressed with the civility in both of their tones. “considering i took no part in it.”

tal cannot seem to meet her gaze. his eyes ducked to examine the length at which they stand apart, though a sudden movement results in him biting his thumbnail. “ i don’t know if i do, wini. ” a furtive glance upwards extends far past its time when he is absorbed in his rhetoric, “ it’s the same with christian. i mean, i thought i knew him until alex said -- ” the boy sinks his teeth into his bottom lips when he tucks his hands under his arms. he supposes he has stopped himself with that secret too late for winifred not to notice, but he pushes through nonetheless. “ val too. had lunch with her nearly every day. you’d think you know someone. ” and he doesn’t know wini just like how she doesn’t know him. 

the feeling is similar to when georgina had first chosen to approach him at a dance when they were younger. when lysander had done the same under the sycamore tree four years before. it’s being included when he knows he has no right to be anymore. 

 “i was supposed to meet with barnaby at three to discuss the philball,” kit replies, stitching his lips together in a thin line, gaze shifting from cigarette to talbot. “but i suppose he will be president next year when i am gone so… i will tell him to start without me. as i am rather de-caffeinated… and quite hungry.” a tentative smile creeps onto the corner of his mouth, finally taking the offering of the cigarette. his own way of saying that he’d like that. 

rejection is the only thing t was expecting at the mention of barnaby, of kit’s final philball. prepared to stare and bid him adieu. however, he found the answer fulfilling, same with the lopsided quirk of kit’s lips. “ great. ” sometimes seeing a friend smile after so long apart just dislodged grumpiness. any of which in tal was promptly forgotten when he too plucked a cigarette and promptly lit it, lighter held haphazardly out to light kit’s.

“ so,  you’ve had a change of heart? or are you just that desperate for coffee? ” he knows the question is jarring and rather vile, but so was the vicious hate between them just last week. or perhaps it wasn’t so vicious, not in comparison to wolfie’s. besides, when he’d used to think it wasn’t possible for kit to hate anyone, there was the well-timed blade plunged into lysander’s back. now, he was straightening up, a whimsical air about him and that waggish smile.

“Stop apologizing.” He chastises, no bite to his words in the slightest for fear of setting off Tal once more. Xandre continues on, lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. “Say it once more and I will find something for you to be sorry about, hmm?” But T sinks to the floor, and it’s all the elder boy can do to just set the bag down before them and tuck himself a foot away. Watching, waiting, listening. Confusion does mar his face for a moment before he can school it away, unexpected. Why wouldn’t Lysander want to see his brother? He repeats it out loud, tacking on – “If you want to tell me, that is. We…..we can do whatever you want T. Sober you up and take you to his, or I can take you home to sleep it off and we can try again tomorrow…whatever you want.”

He wasn’t very good at this. The comforting, the easing of aches and heartache rather than the cause of it. There wasn’t much he could truly do for him in this very moment, but he’d try. He had to. The latter half of words has a long sigh emerging from within him, laced with far more than exhaustion. He glances over, watching him. “Don’t apologize for feeling. You’re human. A bleeding heart still beats, so i’ve heard.” It was a better alternative to the life he tried to lead, numb and unseeing and jumping from one rush to another. Never ending, never quite enough. 

a sparse smile finds its way to his lips, no matter how poor xandre’s taste is. that is before the question soaks into his skin, making t wish to shake it off. however, he also wants to share a truth. a truth more than that which everyone already knows. “ he’s mad at me. i sort of told him octavia was alive — or, or a ghost or something. ” he pauses to swig the water much like a bottle of alcohol, although the first of which he spits out over the stones to rid the horrid taste from his mouth. “ i think i was high, ” he whispers before he continues, “ and, he wouldn’t like me being drunk either. he — our da, he . . lysander just doesn’t like it. he used to smell like alcohol all the time. sorta still does i guess. ”

t knows he must say his thanks. the thought a forefront he refuses to let leave, but he can’t quite draw out. and he knows he isn’t very responsive, but he does crawl over to place himself right next to xandre following words of encouragement. hips touch, shoulders brushing though he doesn’t crane his head to meet eyes. “ then, can we stay here? i don’t wanna leave. we can, we can sleep on the curb? ”

– “WELL, THAT’S PRETTY SUCCESSFUL AT ASHCROFT,” SHE SMILES WRYLY, and it’s the first time she’s joked about the turn of events. maybe she is becoming more cynical as time passes, or because of talbot’s heavy, overwhelming energy in their apartment. “ no thanks, ” she wrinkles her nose, “ don’t eat fake cheese or…anything you microwave in a plastic cup. ” or at least, not any more. she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she tentatively moves closer to the counter. “ can you…i mean, can you tell me what happened ? why he hit you and all. ” 

a hum slips from his lips rather than an actual response. he suspected she would glare at him and he’s rather off-put when she joins in. the microwave chirps when he presses start, fingers gravitating towards the ice till he issues a gentle, soon retracted touch of freezing cold ice to his cheek. “ truly, sounds like a depressing existence, ” the corners of his lips tip up as he jeers.

“ why wolfie hit me? ” t briefly bares his teeth as though talk of it is distasteful. that is before he turns to peer into their small, relatively empty pantry. it is a small package of corn cakes he pulls out and slides across the counter towards her. he thinks about asking if she’d like him to make her some toast, but he figures she might not respond well to further force-feeding. “ he started it. i mean, i . . . ” instigated. there was no doubting that. “ just talk about octavia, and lysander, and the prestons’ mole in the bobbies. frankly, it’s all the same. and yet, never gets old. also said he would kill me, but i’m sure it’s nothing. is that why — ” he waves a fork he’d retrieved towards the set up in the living area.

Xandre winces as tal stumbles to his feet, making his way to the trash bin as the sound of retching follows. He’d been somewhat expecting it with the force of tears leaving him heaving so vehemently. And so he rises too, grabbing the bottle of water discarded to the side and heading over to where he leans over the bin. The apology is waved away, the water offered swiftly. “You can rinse your mouth, it’ll help.” So would the small tin of altoids in his left back pocket. Used to occasionally smuggle various other pills, but a few mints were actually in it’s container most of the time. “You don’t have to apologize to me. It’s…alright.” 

The words that had felt like blows now a week old were shoved down, the hurt of them soothed over with time and presence. He’d gotten crossfaded and said too much, a jumble of words and admissions that he’d take back and press close to his chest now if he could. But there was no erasing it, and so he pushed down. Shoved forward. Such had to be the way of his world. “Do you feel better? At least Lysander won’t mangle me for bringing you to him unable to stand.”

amid his perch above the trash can, all he’d like to do is make sense of anything that’s happening: why xandre is here when he’s not drunk, what he had been saying, how he could act so gentle. but his gut is not there yet and his curiosity is shaken from his reach and he would really rather let lethargy and inaction take him. so, as he hangs his head, he mumbles a reason to not take the water for the moment, “ i— just, give me a second. ” and then two later, no matter xandre’s assurance nor his wish to be given time, “ i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. ” 

he doesn’t know exactly what he apologizes for, but maybe it is for how he shakes his head no or the knowledge that untangles itself from his brain after they’d already set off into town. “ i don’t think he wants to see me, ” he confesses, and not just while merely possessing the ability to stand without falling. putting aside the fact that lysander never liked seeing him drunk due to that common past they shared, there was still that lee did not believe in ghosts. or talbot might be apologetic for a different reason: the idea, as he turns his back around and his hand curls around the bottle of water, that alexandre had paid for the bottle in his hand, the items stowed in the bag. the realization hangs over his head while wobbly knees give out to sinking his back down against the trash can and sitting. he has difficulty enveloping his face in his hands, especially with the water bottle clenched between them but he makes do. “ sorry, i . . i don’t know what i’m saying. doing. i’m, i won’t cry again. i promise. ” he is painfully aware how he is moving in circles, not physically, although it feels just as much to him, but mentally. 

“Tal.” The word is soft, does nothing to dissuade the boy as he continues on, the words pouring from his mouth so brutally honest, a swift blow to both of them. He’d known this was a worry, how could it not be? Many things, never a fool. But he would be making one of himself if he promised much now, yet the urge to do so was at the tip of his tongue. He’d make himself a fool, a liar, a dead man to right the wrongs this damned place had brought down on them all. That that fucking family had brought with their bloodied hands, no different from his own. “Tal… Talbot. Look at me.” He grips, lifting their chin until their eyes can meet, wiping away the tears endlessly falling with each hitched breath. “He won’t die in there. YOU won’t die here. Do you hear me? Understand me. Know I am fighting this, with every damned resource and secret and power of sway I have left for myself. I am using them here, now. God, T. I’d die myself before I let her murderer walk free again.”

 it is the most raw truth he has, but with every breath he means it. “Someone is going to pay for this, every moment of it. And it won’t be you. It won’t be Lysander. We… we’ve done enough to you both.” because he knew the fears weren’t illegitimate. If somehow someway the conviction on the Vegas managed to stick, the Griffith’s would be released but what life would they have to return to? He could throw money at it all, influence, connection. Whatever he could pull on his own out from under the eye of his own father. Yet none of those healed heartbreak, grief. “I will fix this for him. However I can. He.. he loved her. They all tell me that, over and over. That has to be enough for me.” Alexandre aches with the words, the reminder. “I will make them make this right, and then you’ll never have to hear the word Preston again. You’d be better off for it.”

t is not certain how much sense he has made after he has spoken. the lamenting lost to him, as distracting as xandre’s embrace could be. and as his chin is lifted, he is face-to-face with words that he doesn’t quite understand. not that he doesn’t hear them, but he does not recognize what they mean, what ‘i will fix this’ or ‘you’d be better off’ promises. a bruised face scrunched and mouth hung slightly ajar. in this stupor, he only knows that he doesn’t care who killed octavia. as long as it is someone other than lysander that pays the crime. but as gentle fingers brush salty tears away, he cannot voice such a selfish thought when of course he cares.

as confusion rears it’s head, so does his tears reign in. “ i’m sorry, i don’t — what do you mean — “ he has started to ask till his gut has caught up with him, pulling back both his hand and face as he stumbles to find his feet. he is lucky the trash is not far, for as he leans over it he finds alcohol left warming his stomach is perhaps not doing as much anymore. he finds the breath to apologize softly, and the wits to hope for a mint, “ i’m sorry. ”

     looking for something to be angry about isn’t characteristic of her. she forgives and forgets without even an apology. this time is different. maybe she’s imagining it but there’s something accusatory in his tone again. “no,” she answers, defensiveness snaking its way into her tone. “not aside from all my normal work, at least.” freda looks down. she’d give anything not to fight, but it isn’t up to her. she toes at some pebbles by her feet, lets more silence fill up their time. “why…. why do you think it was me?” after a few days, this is all she has to ask. when she runs through their conversation again, the beginning is always so convoluted, so many details lost in the heat of their tempers.

“ because you did it. ” such a sentence makes it’s way out of his mouth before he has the time to truly think over her question. and despite the collected conviction in his words, his temper doesn’t rise. in fact, he finds himself stumbling backwards through his words. “ i mean, you know christian. ” and by the way he smacks his lips, even that doesn’t cut it for him. it is an explanation that eludes him in words, or at least words that he does not want to express to her should she  either scream at him or hold him. both are terrifying possibilities, though as he stands there he wishes to express so much of the last few days that he sinks his hands into his pockets to somehow push them down. “ not that i’d -- i wouldn’t want you to go to jail. ”

he could feign ignorance. pretend like he isn’t fully aware that talbot is referring to the gentle dusting off of a dinner jacket, the careful hoisting off the ground he’d extended to lysander’s brother. his old friend. such tenderness and care he hasn’t exhibited in a long while outside of his immediate circle without the help of a glass in hand. but kit’s tired. emotionally exhausted, so when he finally does nod his head, it comes as no surprise that it’s just as lethargic. “yes,” he says, so softly that it barely registers as a word. “i had to… well… i wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

silence fills t’s lungs. a feeling he’s always grown to despise, but now he can’t end because he doesn’t know what to say. he reaches into his pocket to jar himself from it, pushing back a profound need to cry and how his heart thumps violently in his ears. and in a moment he’s produced a pack of cigarettes which is flipped open and extended towards kit despite the fact they stand in a hallway only recently emptied of professors and students alike.

“ i’m sorry i called you tess, ” he offers and if watched closely, one can see the glint he wipes from one of his eyes. “ you wouldn’t happen to be incredibly de-caffeinated, would you? i’m in the mood for a cup of coffee. and maybe some fish and chips if you want to tag along for linner. ”

The moment T’s head meets his shoulder and the tears have fallen, those sobs crack the thin, shiny veneer of a wall Xandre had rebuilt against the other. He drops the pack to the bench, pulling an arm around him as soft, soothing whispers escape against the hair he presses lips to. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m sorry. That was fucked of me. It… it’s gonna be okay. Please don’t cry, ange.” But the tears weren’t easily reigned in, and Xandre couldn’t fault him, never for this. It was his own family that had torn their world apart, had taken away whatever normalcy the Griffith’s had before it begun. It wasn’t right. His world rarely was. A less selfish version of himself would leave him be, let him gather whatever life he could back for himself away from any trace of a Preston. But he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He’d damn himself another night for a moment of this mess he had with the boy in his arms. Until there was nothing left.

No longer denying the tears Tal cried, all he could do was hold on, brushing a hand through the waves on his head over and over to soothe the ache of their sound. And so he did. Waited the other out and held tight. It was a comfort to not be alone when misery felt so deep in his own bones he drowned in it, and he hoped it would be for the other too. They were fucked up, both of them. But the world quieted a bit in the shadow of it, and so he remained. Grabbed their hand, placed it over his chest to feel the way he steadied his own breaths and hoped they’d follow one the worst had passed.

“ we’re going to die like this. ” he knows he is hysterical, but that knowledge by itself is not a cure. and while valentine is exchanging lies with the police, he is sat here cascading into pieces because some damned man showed him an ounce of kindness in his drunken stupor. he has done nothing but mumble sweet nothings to the bobbies and exchanged blows with anyone who so much as wishes lysander jail time. a lazy, ungrateful brother who can do nothing but weep — and weep he does as his hands grasp tightly to the cloth on xandre’s back till his left is led astray towards the thumping in alexandre’s chest. it spurs truth, unearths doubt.

“ lysander is going to die in jail. ” and that’s the brunt of it. t could give less of a shit about how he himself dies. whether strangled to death by some stupid fucking angel or burned at the stake by this man’s cousin. all he cares for is his brother. and the sentiment feels too little too late knowing how much he had sacrificed for tal. “ this stupid school was supposed to turn his life around. away from mum. he worked so hard for this, to matter and achieve something like — like some kind of quantum bullshit. and all he’s done is cared his entire life. even, even got a job when da — when mum needed it. he took care of me. works so hard. and he hasn’t even lived yet. he only just, he only just found someone to love and she’s dead. and how is he supposed to live now? he’s not some troubled kid who fucking belittles and hurts and — he got into ashcroft on a scholarship for fuck’s sake! he’s so good. he’s nothing but good. he doesn’t deserve this — we don’t deserve this! and val’s — ” rich and that’s what matters in the end. because he knows how this will all turn out. always has. god, how he wails. gasps for air too, like he is a fish out of water, whole body tensing till he focuses on that heart and whines once again, “ it’s not fair. i don’t want to die here. it’s not fair, i want to see france and denmark and china and . . and maybe just england if i have to settle. ”

“No, no tears. I’m – fuck i’m so sorry, T. It’s alright. It’s gonna be okay.” The heaviness in his heart cracks open at the sight of the tears, fingers coming up to brush them away with soft, soothing noises. He’s pretty like this, and how fucked of a thought is that? It’s one Alexandre shakes off, wincing. “Pills first then, face can come once you won’t spit open at the seams with one touch.” Four pills shaken out into his palm, opening the bottle one handed and sliding them both to the other. Once Tal has taken them and his hands have freed, he reaches for the rest. Dampens a cloth and chin in hand, does his best to dab at the wounds before attempting the same with antiseptic and neosporin. “This is gonna—” He hisses in sympathy at the sting he knows must come from the touch, never pleasant. Little by little he blots, swipes, reveals until the bruising remains, any broken skin cleaned, and while stitches aren’t a call he can make, a butterfly bandage might just hold over. 

The cream is next, taking arnica lightly and rubbing it in feather light motions over the worst of the bruising. Makes a mental note to drop it in Tal’s room to continue use, or give it to Georgina to deliver. God wouldn’t that open yet another can of worms. His grip on T’s chin rotating it back and forth as slowly as possible to not trigger nausea he knows the other is pushing down. The ice pack is last, Xan cracking it between his palms to activate the chill and once it was ready, pressing it lightly to the worst of it. The joke is weak, pouring from his lips in a vain attempt at dodging whatever is brewing within him. “ Ready to hate me just yet? Even I wouldn’t fault it.”

patience is yet another thing he could work on. the idling he has done since he’s sat is destructive, not calming. he doesn’t even understand why xandre is apologizing, or what he believes he is providing t comfort for. which ultimately defeats the purpose of those actions by still offering pudgy tears. the caress of his fingers needn’t stop them either — more so an action of encouragement. however, he takes the four pills and clings to the bottle with a moment’s hesitation to shift further into the bench towards xandre. a grievous, pained exhale slips out amid the squeeze of his eyes closed and after he clenches his teeth, the brunette is weeping again in that boyish way he does like the tears are not those of the current as much as they are of the past.

the procedure has gone by much more quickly in this way though, because before he can focus on how overbearing and spineless he must appear crying, the freezing pack of ice is tickling his face. he opens reddened eyes to peer at the maker of the crude comment. “ that’s not funny, ” he utters, the more lax xandre gets with the ice pack, the more tal’s forehead gravitates towards his shoulder till it is there and he is sobbing gently and then all at once.

there are many things kit has been called or mistaken for in his life. tess had never been one of them. well, it hadn’t until it had poured out of tal’s mouth so many times kit had begun to think in his own drunken stupor that maybe - just maybe - he was suddenly theresa rigby after all. 

if he hadn’t been actively avoiding talbot before the picnic, he certainly was now. up until the moment he almost jumps out of his skin from seeing him again. “i-” kit catches himself about to make an excuse, clutching to his satchel like it’s an escape rope before finally letting out a light sigh. “okay… i have a moment.” 

a blatant sigh of relief projects from t’s mouth, not long after kit’s own. and in a moment to collect his thoughts, he sinks his back into the wall. “ that was . . you, right? ” the questions that appear to have no logical beginning seem to have no end, and yet still pulled out of thin air. after a couple days, he is nearly certain that his memory hasn’t lied. though he wants to hold nothing but contempt, t finds such an ability slipping from his grasp for memories of such a gentle kindness.

christian considers not even answering, avoiding tal for just a little while longer; but no, that would look worse. still, he doesn’t open the door right away, raising his voice so he can be heard from inside.

“yeah, what is it?”

relief has a moment to surge before irritation. a heavy-hearted sigh drips from his lips as he leans against the doorframe, pounding one last fist into the door before he gives up, however briefly.

“ i have another water bottle full of vodka. and . . questions. ” that much is obvious. t rolls his eyes before adding, “ you know, i’m used to talking face-to-face — not, the door. ”

“Alright, off we go then.” Xandre wraps an arm around the other’s waist, leaning in so Tal can use him to balance as they walk. He eyes the champagne, now growing warm and less indulgent by the second. Not too huge a loss. “No. I don’t. I’m … trying something new.” With that he offers a weak smile, and they’re off. While Xandre has no idea where Lysander currently lives, he does know the location of a near pharmacy or two, and steers them that way. The need to fix, to repair is rather new within him, but a sensation he’s chosen not to fight, not this evening. God, he’d be murdered for this one day. Perhaps tomorrow. All the better to make his night matter then. 

It is luckily not long before the lights of the pharmacy are within sight, ignoring the looks of two college students stumbling down the cobbled paths. He finds a bench outside the store, guides T over to it before crouching before him. “I’ll be right back. please stay. Dog jokes aside. Sit, stay, be upright. Two minutes, ok?” He’s off then, tinkling of a bell above the door his only company. It’s quick enough to grab the supplies, he’s been here before. The egos of being a Preston meant patched knuckles, bruised eyes. Alexandre himself was also very adept with a bottle of concealer, but figured Tal was alright for now. Antiseptic, arnica, a quick crack ice pack, cloths and a bottle of water, tablets of pain reliever. Three minutes later he’d returned to the bench, sitting down himself and angling towards his — Tal. “Alright, c’mere you.”

talbot ambles, one foot at a time in the direction alexandre is so kind to lead. conversation is led by t, but every time the air around them gets quiet, he offers an ‘i’m gonna throw up.’ a statement that’s less of a declaration of how they need to stop and more of a bleat to solve the silence he doesn’t like. besides that, he is content with the spot on the bench he’s assigned. “ okay, ” he agrees, though he does slouch with his head lolling back rather than stay upright like he is told. the dark sky is what he keeps his eyes on while he waits, searching for a single star above edinburgh. near silence he’d succumbed to has his singular attention span on that of his aching. brow furrowed when the door swings open again. eyes closed as he sniffles. stray tears have blossomed in the absence of company, while he is sitting and idling. 

the reemergence of xandre’s voice and the sudden weight on the bench next to him is a welcome distraction. tears are brushed away as jarringly as they’ve appeared. “ i’ve a headache, ” he whines in the same voice he’d insisted he would throw up at least four times before. but now as he’s sitting here watching xandre plan his course of action, does t soberly realize he is uncomfortable with letting the preston treat his wounds. it feels taboo in a way. lysander should be doing this, like he always has. yet, talbot is as equally content with following orders once again albeit with the exception of a few more slow, scanty tears. 

     catching tal’s gaze had been a mistake, but now that she had, it would be foolish to walk away and pretend otherwise. it must mean something, still, that he takes care not to smoke in her presence. she stops in front of him, books pressed to her chest. a beat passes as she searches for what to say. “how’ve you been?” it’s painful to hear the apathy in her voice, though it’s only because she doesn’t know where she stands with him any longer — if valentine’s arrest has only enforced his suspicion of her.

phone tucked away safely in his back pocket, t is as equally hesitant, though not apologetic. besides, apologies do not come easily for him. all the same, he cannot be hard on winifred for long. not when she asks a question that warms his heart no matter how despondent she sounds. it hurts to think she’s playing a long-winded trick on him and a question that might’ve brought a smile not long ago constitutes a furrow of his brow when skepticism takes its place. “ okay. ” he blinks at her, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the trashcan nearby. with a pinch of his lips does he play along, “ you’ve been . . busy? ” 

“Easy.” He warns, the quick press of their lips overshadowed by the pain that flickers across the other’s face. It is a relief for once, to be so glaringly sober. Xandre isn’t sure he’d have been able to do much for the other if he hadn’t been. “Easy, T.” He repeats softly, brushing his thumb across the boy’s lip before leaning in, the press of their lips this time too soft for anything they’d ever once held between them. A breath, and he’s pulling back to smile lowly. “Alright, guess we’ll see when we get there. If anything, I can always grab something while you talk to your brother.” It was very clear how drunk Tal was, and it left doubts in his own mind about Lysander’s willingness in it all. He’d seen him before of course, across a court room, he himself too high and in mourning to recall any resolute details. Not exactly a stellar impression.

He rises, holding out his hands to help Talbot to his feet, relieved enough for the moment that the other isn’t so incredibly concussed that a doctor is required. Well, yet. He’d prefer to be able to see T’s pupils in normal light before that verdict could be drawn. “C’mon, you. Time to play navigator.” His gaze falls to the Dom, contemplating whether it’s even worth it to tote it along.

with heavy eyelids that refuse to open does he receive xandre’s logic. logic that he doesn’t care for when all he’d like to do is play a game of copycat to achieve his own tender kiss, or to continue like a seesaw back and forth even. a pleased exhale trails past his lips, wishing he’d have grabbed him and deepened it, even if he’d had to have wrestled with his wounds in the process. rather, he sinks into the massive trouble of registering this alexandre with the one he’d cursed a week or so prior as he snorts out a chuckle.

hesitantly does he open his eyes, reaching for the outstretched hands that will help him up. “ okay. ” he smacks his lips, stumbling to his feet, “ actually -- we should, we should go to a drugstore first. please. ” whether t could correctly decipher xandre’s body language by now, he doesn’t stop to truly register any inquisitiveness, “ ly will worry, and that’s not fair. ” as family should, but if he had the ability to explain how much more his brother meant to him than just family, he doesn’t. and neither does he explain that lysander has been avoiding him. he deigns to hang off xandre for support instead, not all that well-balanced when he follows his gaze down. “ shouldn’t you need that to get drunk? ” the idea that he will be doing so is a no-brainer. he, of course, waits to nod towards the crest of the hill till xandre makes his decision.

The question gives him pause, blue eyes widening in mild shock as his grip on the other tightens, jus the smallest bit. It was a branch extending, as thin and precarious as it was. “You’d let me meet him? He’d want to?” The words are low, a whisper between the two of them even as his mind races onward. Xandre knows what this could cost, the damage it would bring if his cousin or father found out how he’d spent that evening. But the question wasn’t even one to be considered denying. Not now, not after it all. In the dark of night and escaping his cousin’s eye, it was much easier to accept the truth he felt deep down. Talbot Griffith was a weakness. One he couldn’t seem to bring himself to cut off. Call it what it could be; indulgence, infatuation, IDIOCY. But his mind was made up for the moment. 

“I’ll go. I’m not positive I trust you to make the trek there conscious. But I can also wait outside if he’d prefer it. Or you prefer it.” He’d caused enough grief to the Griffith line for two lifetimes. His hand comes up to lift Tal’s chin, tilting his face this way and that. “Does he have the things i’d need to help clean you up a bit more or should I run to a pharmacy?”

t’s answer lay in his mocking repitition of xandre’s dumbfounded questions and in his conspiratorial smile, only able to lean in closer when their voices became quiet. or, well, when alexandre’s voice quieted. tal was still rather boisterous despite his best effort. drunken, bruised. he likely wouldn’t be welcomed warmly into the apartment. but it’s not something he’s willing to admit. the brothers had their fair share of withholding information, like maybe how lysander was the one who’d paired theresa and talbot. but they pulled through, and usually without a hint of trouble in the face of company. surely xandre would be no different, though t would have never invited him to any such visit when sober.

he’s giggling, rather painfully, thinking of how alexandre must be negative if he isn’t positive when his chin is pinched. it’s something he humors for a moment now that his attention has shifted. but he means to fold his knees under him in the meantime and despite how he knows an answer is being waited upon, t leans forward to sloppily press his lips to xandre’s. he should have taken more care doing so, because it’s in an explosion of pain, not relief, he realizes such a move was unwise. though notices that despite the champagne set to the side alexandre is perfectly sober. a fact that he can’t decide if he’s uncomfortable about, because the preston should be drunk by now, shouldn’t he? nonetheless, it’s as he winces back and reaches to touch his own face that he answers poorly, “ uhh, maybe? ”