judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

We're not talking about me.

[He doesn't want to talk about him. Not even a little bit. All it does is provoke more arguments and Red Wine is, for once, just tired of arguing with Steak. He brushes his hair back slightly and that discoloured graze on his cheek comes into view again for just a moment before he turns away.]

If you're determined not to leave me be, you can make yourself useful and talk to me while I try to sleep.

[Ugh. So annoying.]

[ They're not, but Steak couldn't help the jibe. It was meant light-heartedly, for once, and no arguments erupt from it.

Instead, Steak seems more interested in the mark on Red Wine's cheek, catching his shoulder in a light grip and turning him back to brush a thumb over the mark.

It's a little thing. One which will heal soon enough, the kind of injury he's seen on Red Wine a million times but rarely on his face, as vain as the bastard is. ]

If you insist.

[He flinches minutely under that grip, resists it slightly, frowns down at Steak's hand and then freezes at the brush against his cheek. Red Wine stares for a few moment in startled bewilderment.]

-- Hmph.

[Chilly fingers around Steak's wrist pull his hand down, though with no measure of force behind them.

It had been a moment of a slip of concentration. A moment had been all the creature he faced had needed to strike a blow across his face, infuriating him to such an extent that he then tore the offending beast apart.]

Annoying...

[ He could snatch his hand back, but he doesn't. Aefenglom's bonds rearing their heads again and changing a source of irritation to one of comfort.

Red Wine's touch means he's himself, here and alright, and Steak can still keep him safe. So he lets fingers remain looped around his wrist and rolls his eyes. ]

Bastard.

[ But there's something entirely too fond about the way Steak says that. Red Wine may be a bastard, but he's Steak's bastard. His brother in arms. His... best friend. ]

[Something small, quiet and nameless flutters in the pit of Red Wine's stomach. Something beyond all the anger, the irritation, the weak aching in his body and that constant blasted chill through every limb. He looks at Steak as if he doesn't quite recognise him, just for a moment, and with his free hand he brushes a stray red curl back off his forehead.]

You're utterly intolerable.

[He mutters, then he drops his hand and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, carefully taking his earrings out and picking up a length of ribbon to tie back his hair.]

I don't know why I put up with you.

[ Being a wholly mature, immortal being, Steak does something exactly as mature and refined as one would expect:

He sticks his tongue out at Red Wine and returns to the bed, flopping on the other side and carefully undoing his boots, red eyes continually flicking up to watch Red Wine's hands work at all that hair.

It's too much hair. Steak doesn't get it. It's hardly practical for all the fighting they do, but then again, Red Wine has never been one for practicality. In that way, it suits him.

Boots are placed to one side and trousers soon follow, tossed over them carelessly, and hands begin to work at all the fastenings on his top. ]

[The ribbon is tied into a neat bow, and Red Wine looks over his shoulder. He observes Steak for a few seconds, impassively, then huffs out a sigh and drops his head down onto the pillow.]

I wasn't aware you had to undress in order to talk. Did you decide you're to share my bed as well?

[So selfish, so annoying, yet it doesn't appear that Red Wine is going to kick him out.]

You really ought to get into the habit of asking my permission before you do things that involve me.

[ Like it's the first time! Steak pauses, halfway to easing his top over his horns, and scoffs. ]

Was I supposed to sleep on the floor?

[ You're not Angelea!

But, if Red Wine insists... ] Fine. Can I sleep with you, Red Wine?

I didn't ask you to sleep here at all, but if you're going to insist.

[Looking at him from his already quite comfortable position, he makes a gesture at the open space beside him on the bed.]

Fine, but if you kick me in your sleep I'm throwing you out.

I'll kick you now, you—

[ The grumbling is reflexive, Steak dropping his top on top of his trousers without paying any real attention to what it looks like, before he leans back into the bed, shifting his pillow down so his horns don't scrape the wall, legs hanging off the edge.

It's uncomfortable, but Steak's arm brushes against Red Wine's side and the Bond's calmness washes over him once more. ]

Red Wine?

[ His voice is quiet when he pipes up, glancing up at the other Soul as he speaks. ]

[It's easier, when he isn't feeding his rage into that vicious feedback loop between the two of them. Forget about going feral... he'd almost completely lost his mind.

Red Wine turns onto his side and curls up slightly, making himself look smaller than he is under the curve of the duvet. His eyes were shut, but he half opens them when his name is so quietly called.]

... yes, Steak, what is it.

[He notices it too - the way he feels oddly calm when they touch. It's the first time he really allows himself to feel anything from the peculiar bond between them.]

I—

[ God, this phrase tastes horrible on his tongue. Old habits die hard when it comes to the two of them. ]

... I'm sorry. [ A sigh. ] For everything.

[ Ugh. Never tell anyone he said this, alright? ]

[Oh.

There's a strange, hollow twinge in the centre of his chest when he hears that, and he doesn't move. Doesn't look up. He focuses on a crease on the bed and frowns at it, then lets out a soft and slow sigh.]

Don't be stupid. [He mutters.] Just what do you think you've done that you have to be sorry for?

[ U G H. ]

Don't make me say it, you bastard...

[ It was hard enough to say sorry, thanks. ]

For being an asshole about... all of this.

[Red Wine chuckles softly. If Steak hadn't behaved exactly the way he had, would things really have been all that different? He shifts, props himself up on his elbow and looks down at his companion with a faintly amused expression.]

You haven't done anything I wouldn't have expected of you. [He says, his voice low and honeyed, set soft in the back of his throat.]

You've never apologised for your personality before.

[ There's something about Red Wine's tone, familiar by virtue of the length of time they've known each other, which settles strangely inside of Steak, echoing around in the hollow space of his ribs and resting in his spine.

He suppresses a shudder. ]

Tch. In that case, I'll take it back.

[ Ungrateful jerk. ]

No, you won't.

[Because isn't it so difficult for either of them to apologise to the other? Red Wine had already done his part, saying his sorries for the undeniable effect he'd had on Steak's mental state, but Steak was always so much more stubborn than him.

He touches Steak's arm, curling his fingers around a bicep and letting them linger there.]

I didn't say I didn't like it.

[ Red Wine touches his arm, and something in Steak's expression changes as he looks upwards, ears flicking and flattening against his skull.

Being here has tested them both, has added new pressures to their friendship, rivalry, whatever they should call it. Becoming a monster has done more to Steak than he believed it could have when they first arrived.

But gaining this bond, a whole level deeper than the link between them on Tierra, has done something too. Something Steak can't quite quantify, not yet, but to curl in a touch closer to Red Wine, tentacles twitching idly. ]

What made you stay, once Madam passed?

[ He doesn't know what makes him ask that, but he does. They made promises, sure, but Red Wine was never above lying to make someone happy, or changing his mind after the fact. ]

She asked me to. It was her dying wish that I look after you.

[Those words come slow and quiet, and he knows as well as Steak does that it can't have only been that. A promise to a dead master attendant means only as much as you make it mean, and though he had loved her dearly he had not been bound to her once she'd passed on.

Still, it stings to talk about her.

He rests his head back down, though leaves his hand where it is.]

And I'd grown used to you. I despise change.

[ That day was the first time they'd taken their fists to one another, rather than their swords, and Steak remembers it well. How could he forget? It was the last day home truly felt like home, not a cage surrounded by hungry-eyed humans. ]

I'll take that as a compliment.

[ He's at least better than change? Great. ]

[He laughs softly, a brief flash of sharp teeth that melt into a smile as he closes his eyes. They stay closed, and he shifts his head against the pillow to make himself more comfortable.]

I've had worse company.

[There wasn't anyone else he'd rather have with him in a place like this. Even Gingerbread, who he loves dearly like a sister, wouldn't be able to come close in comparison.]

And I know I would be... less, without you.

[ But Gingerbread is sorely missed, by both of them, a constant ache in the depths of Steak's heart whenever he finds himself drifting off in the middle of the day, or looking for work to fill his time with.

Right now, however, his mind is occupied fully by the jerk next to him, and Red Wine's words get Steak's brows raising, a flush coming to his cheeks as he clears his throat and looks away.

Ah. ]

You need someone to lose to.

[ That's. Easier to deal with. Their competitions, a thing which suddenly seems so petty and insignificant in the scheme of it all. ]

Hmm.

[An argument isn't forthcoming, and perhaps it's because Red Wine is already half asleep... or perhaps there's another reason. He digs his knuckles very lightly into Steak's ribs.]

I shall take it as a compliment... and a statement to your vanity that you believe yourself the only Food Soul I might lose to.

[And not all the time. He's still keeping track.

Red Wine opens one eye and a corner of his mouth curls up in a small smirk.]

[ Who are you calling vain, bastard? He's simply confident and realistic about his skills. Steak exhales a forceful huff out of his nostrils, a sound which has somehow only become more bullish since his transformation in Aefenglom.

He looks up at Red Wine once more, the jerk as infuriatingly beautiful as he's always been — even here, undead and paler than before —, and prods him back with a tentacle.

Jerk. ]

Eh...

[He mutters, lightly batting that prodding limb away from another attempt. Mm. No. Don't like that. Red Wine isn't sure he's going to get used to see those things on Steak, let alone being touched by them.

This place is doing unholy things to the both of them, and Steak has been so much quieter about how he feels about it all.]

You don't have to sleep just because I am.

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