[Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[judgementor]

"Leave a message. If it's important, I'll get back to you."

*beep*

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[judgementor]

[There's a small movement when Steak touches him, a cursory motion that's more of a gesture than any real attempt to wrench himself free. His jaw clenches tightly enough to ache, his body stiff in Steak's hold, but he does look up when the other Soul speaks.

For a moment it looks as if he might curse, or say something harsh, and neither of those things would have been entirely unexpected given his usual manner around his companion.

Instead, though, Red Wine lets both of his hands drop to his sides. He lets his straight posture crumble slightly.

He drops his head and bumps his forehead into Steak's shoulder, and doesn't move.]

[battlebound]

Ah—

[ A whispered exclamation and Steak blinks down at the head of dark hair against his shoulder (bare, the patches of hide long since expanded into something which entirely engulfs what used to be skin), but says nothing further.

Does nothing further.

Nothing but the slow loosening of his grip on Red Wine's arms, until his palms smooth slowly against the fabric, repetitive and — given the Soul doing the action — strangely unassuming.

Is this... enough? Is this what he's meant to do here? ]

[judgementor]

[He takes a deep breath in, one that trembles slightly on the exhale, and as much as he hates showing this kind of sensitive weakness to this person in particular... there is also an undeniable comfort in the solid warmth of him so close.

And that uncertain chafing against his arms.

Red Wine has always kept his problems to himself. Even when someone was clearly trying to kill him, when Gingerbread was needing to step in between him and the cold arrows flying from the shadows, he had kept his problems to himself. No one else need be involved in his business until he deigns to tell them about it. This is a sharp turnabout from his usual behaviour, but all of this is more than any Food Soul usually needs to pit themselves against.

Give him a Fallen Angel, a monster to fight any day. Just don't ask him to look at one in the mirror without putting a fist to his reflection.]

... I'm scared.

[battlebound]

[ Give Steak that too. It was far easier to charter a journey back to Palata and confront Bloody Mary in the Countess' former home than to figure out how to... deal with this. How to support Red Wine through this.

All he's really good at it serving his masters, as Red Wine might put it. He can fight, can take care of the physical tasks, and that's... really all there is.

This requires a more delicate touch. One he's never had. ]

...

[ His mouth opens and then closes, whatever he wanted to say swallowed back for once in his existence, replaced with arms wrapping slowly around Red Wine, in a way he's never done before. He's pulled Red Wine close in anger, and in drunken celebration, but never like this.

And he sighs, breath forced out against the back of Red Wine's neck, those unspoken words bitter on his tongue.

Me too.

Not because of Red Wine, but because of what's happening to both of them. This thing they can't control, can't fight against. This bubbling, tearing sensation of two forces at war within him. Anger. A craving for the sea. For the land.

For a million things he cannot name. ]

[judgementor]

[In all honesty, he expects to be pushed away. It would fit with how they usually do things, even if it isn't what he really wants right now. What he wants is, as it turns out... exactly what happens.

Red Wine and Steak are not strangers to one anothers personal space. When you've been with someone for so long such things become a minimal concern, but they have never... hugged. He presses his palms flat against Steak's back and huffs out a sharp breath through his nose, tolerating the strangeness of this for a few long moments before he moves himself away from it.

And he feels better. A little. More centred somehow.]

Come on, let's finish this book.

[A sharp subject change, but neither of them are too accustomed to opening up about their feelings. The entire exchange has left Red Wine feeling off-balance in unanticipated ways, and he keeps his back to Steak as he picks the book up from the bed and leafs through it until he finds the other Soul's writing.]

I assume you've managed to spell everything correctly.

[battlebound]

[ It's a welcome change of subject, something which he easily slips into because it's more like them. More like everything they've always been. He folds his arms and settles into the position Red Wine had occupied before, turned towards the room, red eyes following Red Wine's movements.

The calm and the relief disappear as quickly as the subject changes when Red Wine mutters that particular comment. ]

Wh— [ Rude. But typical. Typical is good. ] Do you think I'm illiterate?

[ That's too easy. ]

[judgementor]

You know my opinion on your general level of intelligence.

[Red Wine replies blithely, crossing one knee neatly over the other and resting the book against his thigh. He looks over what Steak has written, and... finds no real fault with it.]

It's sufficient. [He says, humming out the words softly.]

Are you finished?

[battlebound]

[ And for that remark, Red Wine gets a very obscene hand gesture and eye roll. ]

Good night, Red Wine.

[ He's out. ]