judgementor | [Aefenglom IC Inbox]

[ 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.

[ He's kept himself busy. Treated this place like he would treat anywhere on Tierra, and it helps. The more work he has to do, the less he has to think about what he's becoming. And, all things considered, the tentacles have their uses. It's much easier to do things with eight extra limbs to hold and work. ]

Well, I've already undressed.

[ And ever since the shape of his horns changed, his top has become so much more awkward to pull off and on. He's too tired to deal with that now. ]

Yes, I did notice that.

[Not that he had asked him to, or asked him to stay, or said anything that would imply he wanted him to share the bed for the night. So annoying. Presumptuous. Just like him.

He sighs and settles, tucking one hand under his pillow and leaving the other on Steak's arm.]

I suppose you'll just have to stay here.

[ And yet, Red Wine never told him to fuck off. Or kicked him out. Both of which Steak would expect if he really didn't want Steak to stay. ]

Hmph. Thank you.

[ And he tries to get comfortable in his current position, tries to stop thinking about that hand against a hide-covered arm. ]

Good night, Red Wine.

Mm, good night.

[And he doesn't struggle like he used to. His breathing steadies, slows, then stops entirely, with the only indication of life continuing in him at all being the small twitches of movement behind his eyelids and his fingertips against Steak's warm skin.

For once, he isn't disturbed by unsettling dreams.]

[ And in the morning, to nobody's surprise, Steak rises first, blinking and groaning to himself as he tries to resist the urge to go back to sleep, pushing red hair back out of his face as he sits up.

And looks over at Red Wine, still as anything as he rests, pale and unearthly beautiful, in that way Food Souls often are. But more than before — skin whiter, fangs (which poke out just slightly) sharper —, he's something surreal.

And Steak reaches out, and brushes a few pieces of dark hair back from his face, an automatic gesture to get it away from his eyelids. ]

[Despite how he looks, all Red Wine is doing is sleeping soundly. He moved a few times in the night - rolling over, hugging Steak's arm for a few hours, half-waking and then dozing off again when a shaft of sun slips through the curtains and falls over his eyes.

When Steak wakes up, he doesn't notice.

The touch to his face, though, makes him grimace faintly and scrunch up his nose. He grunts softly in the back of his throat and squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Pulls in a sharp breath, then coughs as it fills stiffened lungs.]

... Five more minutes...

[ If Red Wine is never going to get used to Steak's new appendages, Steak is never going to get used to Red Wine's (quite literally) dead sleep. Which might be because they obviously don't sleep together all that often.

This is just a... twice or thrice off. Nothing more. ]

C'mon, jerk. [ That said, Steak doesn't speak as loudly as usual, muttering to himself more than anything, prodding Red Wine's cheek once with his finger before he takes more drastic action.

Such as ripping the covers off Red Wine. ]

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