.][.

Photo

Wed, 06 Feb 2013 23:40:15 -0600

Return & Rehab -

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 14:30:04 -0600

He’d tensed immediately, only taking a shaking breath and nervous laugh when the other calmed. That was probably the worst hello he could have mustered. Almost as great as his goodbye letter.

Which didn’t exist. Shoot.

“Yeah.” A small smile and he’s taking a step forward. Still not close, but at least his back isn’t pressed against his bedroom door. “I used to be great at writing letters, just ask my parent’s workers. But I had to get help that wasn’t here.” He’ll keep to himself that it’d only slowed the consumption. Not quite a 7-day-sober chip holder, but weeks since he’d been absolutely knock-down drunk.

“You been keeping busy.” Look to the wall. Focus on the small pinned moth in the shadowbox that looked well dusted. Try not to smile to wide and dorky-like. “Airplanes have really changed to something swell, i-if you haven’t been on one lately. I was recently. N-not an airplane but.” He sucked in a breath and shifted again. “I-i should go to bed, I just got out of a clinic and flew in-” And boy aren’t his arms tired. Or no, that’s from the constant rubbing. This was becoming awkward fast. “Talk more in the morning?”

Immediately, the man starts rambling, which is the most surefire sign that Rorschach could have been given that this was, indeed, Byron. And he was talking about help - away from him. The smaller man wasn’t entirely sure what he was talking about, but he was hanging onto each word regardless.

Clinic. There it was. For the alcoholism? For the rumored insanity that history spoke so often of? It was anyone’s guess, at that moment, but he certainly looked frazzled. Speaking of airplanes and twitching nervously.

Sleep, sleep would be a good idea. Rorschach shifted for the remote and turned the television off before finally standing. There’s a stretch, snap crackle and pop of his joints before he glanced back over at the other man. “Should sleep as well.” Flexing of his fingers made his hands hurt, and a glance down reminded him that they were still raw from that night’s fight. He’ll have to re-bandage them in the morning. “Will you be here?” That last bit is said without any eye contact. He’s not sure he can sleep, regardless, but if Byron will be gone when he wakes up - that would make it all the worse.

Return & Rehab -

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 01:51:18 -0600

drunkenmoth:

A few minutes of flitting around his room, and the vague sounds of a TV finally reached him from behind the door. Was he still- of course he was. If not some squatter was about to have one very rude hello so late in the evening.

Byron cracked the door and peered out, some static-filled rerun of M.A.S.H. across the screen and cutting to commercial. Every last bone in his body told him how bad of an idea it would be to just walk over and tap the body’s shoulder. If it was Rorschach, he’d be on high alert. If it was anyone else-

He swallowed and stepped out from around the door, shuffling on his feet and rubbing at his arm in a tic he’d gained somewhere in his journey. This would be so much easier drunk.

“U-uh, hello.” A cough to clear his throat. “I had- after what everyone said, what I read. I had to get help before I turned into a kook.”

At first, he didn’t wake. His body too tired, mind too exhausted, and with the television running, he almost didn’t think anything unnatural of it at first.

But the voice was different from the television. A more familiar tone, more real. Rorschach was slightly startled out of his sleep, teeth clenching together as his tense muscles drew pain out of him, and he sat up, balling injured hands into fists and—

—but when he set eyes on the intruder, he had a hard time processing what he saw. Or rather, what he didn’t see, because he had to still be asleep. Had to be dreaming that Byron had returned to him, like so many other dreams before.

Though this was real, and he knew it. He hadn’t heard a word that the other man had said, only that he was there and speaking, and slowly Rorschach unballed his fists, easing back down onto his seat on the couch. Features once fight-ready smoothed back down into confusion, disbelief, and he stared at the other man, blinking.

“Byron-?”

Photo

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 01:13:23 -0600

Return & Rehab -

Sat, 02 Feb 2013 01:09:38 -0600

drunkenmoth:

Byron was, as many jokes to his nature said, flighty at best. He didn’t mean it. He tried. But this new world was… different.

Things that used to be known as bad and taboo were free-roaming things, liquor was quicker on the draw, nobody looked at you funny if you were suddenly the ‘drunk’. Nobody stopped him. Sure Rorschach was there, but then there were patrols and heaters. He carried his own for protection, but compared to the others his was-

Old school.
Out of date.
Antique.

So Byron took to drinking himself into a stupor nightly when he could get away with it. Not his time period, not his problems.

It was a few months into it that one of his new-found bar friends started to notice something was off, and with the help of some college kids he disappeared into the night. Like a moth- he was just.

Gone.

He scooted from clinic to clinic until he could get a hold on his addiction. Rorschach would understand. He’d heard rumors of what happened to himself in a different world. Don’t risk it; don’t be stupid. There was too much to read and do here.

A few more months, and just as quickly as he’d gone Mothman was back. Crawling in through his own bedroom window to eye the dusty surfaces of things that hadn’t changed.

Not under control, just-

Better.

The past few weeks had been rather rough on Rorschach, to say the least. He’d grown too comfortable in the company of another - too dependent and soft, and when Byron disappeared—

—well, Rorschach hadn’t known what to do with himself.

Like any good partner, he spent days on end, without sleep, combing the streets. No villainous subterfuge, no traces of a struggle - and not even the heroes of Manhattan had seen hide or hair of the famous Mothman.

Days turned into longer, and Rorschach was growing restless, disturbed with worry and anxiety. He’d been left alone again, left to his own designs, and finally, he’d managed to track the trail all the way back, right to some college hole-in-the-wall, and after a few square hits, he’d been given the most vague of explanations. Gone, left with a “friend”.

So, he’d been abandoned again.

Rorschach didn’t exactly leave the house. It was useful, he’d grown accustomed to it and it wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t any sense to leave it behind, not in the middle of winter especially. So he’d stayed - left Byron’s part of the apartment entirely untouched. Except, perhaps, for lingering glances and brief - though maybe not too brief - moments of standing, lingering and waiting. For what? He couldn’t say.

And, custom as well, he’d managed to keep the place at least somewhat tidied up. Though he was eating less and occupying himself more, between patrol work and nights in fighting rings. It was another night for him, curled in a ball on one side of the couch, with bandaged bloodied hands from his latest fight, and the television softly droning into old reruns of MASH. He hadn’t heard Byron return, hadn’t noticed a thing through his exhaustion. Even though he shivered slightly in his sleep from the heat being turned low.

Rorschach could count on one hand the number of times he’d participated in Christmas. Most of...

Tue, 25 Dec 2012 19:26:20 -0600

Rorschach could count on one hand the number of times he’d participated in Christmas.

Most of which were either leaving small presents for Daniel’s later discovery, or being forced into a Christmas bash while the Watchmen were still together. When it came to Christmas, he was mostly indifferent. He’d had no real childhood memories of it, so the attachment wasn’t there.

Though, it did bring a certain wonder and happiness to the faces of others, so he could not say that he hated it. Christmas always held a certain air of innocence and peace to it in the end, and so he’d found himself growing fond of it.

Though now, he had a roommate that seemed at least partially interested in the holiday. Which meant that Rorschach found himself wanting to obtain a gift for the other man. Which he did, in the end.

A decent sized bottle of Jim Bean Black, wrapped in a lop-sided bow, and left on the livingroom table, on top of a note.

“Merry Christmas.

.][.”

Comic-con in Manhattan this past weekend. Saw small child wearing a duplicate of my uniform. Hurm.

Mon, 15 Oct 2012 18:31:00 -0500

Comic-con in Manhattan this past weekend.

Saw small child wearing a duplicate of my uniform.

Hurm.

drunkenmoth: … I can’t tell if you mean actual spirits or the people’s spirits. It’s kind of a...

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 03:03:37 -0500

drunkenmoth:

… I can’t tell if you mean actual spirits or the people’s spirits.

It’s kind of a shame, it’d be nice if everyone was so ‘in it for each other’ all year round.
But hey, that’s why we’re here, right?

Would not be us without them. Humankind eternally struggles in violent filth.

Can only hope for breaks in endless cycle.

drunkenmoth: Sometimes false isn’t so bad, if it benefits someone who needs it more than you right?...

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 01:50:37 -0500

drunkenmoth:

Sometimes false isn’t so bad, if it benefits someone who needs it more than you right? Sure there are limits and it’s never good in the long run- u-um, but… I see what you mean.

Even the air feels better. Does this usually last past the month?

Hurm.

Lasts until end of October. Halloween brings out a bitter taste in Manhattan. Spirits give rise to horror and unrest.

drunkenmoth: I wouldn’t say for once, I’ve found some happier people hanging around the bars in...

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:58:46 -0500

drunkenmoth:

I wouldn’t say for once, I’ve found some happier people ~~hanging around the bars~~ in some libraries.

But it’s definitely a shift, it’s nice. Even the normal couples I see wandering around seem happier.

False happiness, ruled by little lies and masked falsehoods.

Good for the city.

drunkenmoth: Is there some calendar of these events laying around town I haven’t found? It’s kind...

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:27:36 -0500

drunkenmoth:

Is there some calendar of these events laying around town I haven’t found?

It’s kind of overwhelming, just how open everyone is.

This month seems to be “LGBT History Month”.

Wide array of events. Happy people in the city, for once.

drunkenmoth replied to your post: Did I remember to thank you for dragging me out again? Look on...

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 00:03:43 -0500

drunkenmoth replied to your post:

Did I remember to thank you for dragging me out again?

Look on your face was thanks enough.

Colorful day. Smiling faces in the city; flags bright and striped. Quiet night. More quiet than...

Thu, 11 Oct 2012 22:52:49 -0500

Colorful day. Smiling faces in the city; flags bright and striped.

Quiet night. More quiet than almost ever.

Breath of fresh air.

drunkenmoth: No reason. She just reminded me of you Hurm.

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 21:59:21 -0500

drunkenmoth:

No reason. She just reminded me of you

Hurm.

drunkenmoth: #You tagged me Tried, at least. Did it work? Yes. Why?

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 21:45:17 -0500

drunkenmoth:

#You tagged me
Tried, at least. Did it work?

Yes.

Why?

bluekitsune: SO if you look at this from afar it has a OxO face...

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 21:36:19 -0500

bluekitsune:

SO if you look at this from afar it has a OxO face and a blue scarf.

.][.

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 21:12:17 -0500

.][.

drunkenmoth: You’re the boss. [His comment was more of a chirp, pushing just a pleased slur of...

Wed, 19 Sep 2012 04:49:49 -0500

drunkenmoth:

You’re the boss. [His comment was more of a chirp, pushing just a pleased slur of words as he follows behind like a duckling. He wasn’t tired, but he could pretend to be under the promise of a warm body to huddle against in bed. That promise could stop anything he wanted to do full-stop, up to and including a night-flight.]

[Byron slid his thumb over Rorschach’s knuckles as a quick sign to let go and pulled away, clambering into bed and throwing back the covers. No need to stop and change, he’d already covered that part earlier when he checked on his leg bandages, loose pajama bottoms near-tripping him up as he crawled in completely and smiled over.]

Coming?

[Rorschach lets go when his hand is brushed, taking a moment to watch as Byron clambers slowly into bed. He can still notice the favoring of a leg as the other moves, is still worried about the healing and pain or lack thereof - but he manages to push such thoughts down. Byron wants him there, and that is not a request he often hears so blatantly.]

Hurm. [A nod, and he’s moving towards what is quickly becoming his side of the bed. There’s little want, however, to change into his sleep pants, and so he merely shrugs out of jeans and shirt, deciding that the underwear he’d dug out of his drawer earlier in the evening was sufficient sleepwear. After all, Byron had seen him in less. And so he climbs onto the bed as well, taking no time to settle in against Byron’s side and chest, nestling completely comfortably.]

drunkenmoth: [Hands, where should he put his-] Nothing, I was just wondering. [They ended up...

Wed, 19 Sep 2012 04:24:10 -0500

drunkenmoth:

[Hands, where should he put his-] Nothing, I was just wondering. [They ended up settling somewhere above a hip bone, dip of Rorschach’s lower back. Not hard enough to describe as holding, more resting, like he was still a little afraid of how much touching was too much. And people called him flighty.] Would you rather keep standing here or move somewhere else? Like the bed-

[God. Why was that the first thing he had to say. Byron startled at himself before quickly tacking on-] Or the couch. I’m kinda restless, I’d hate to move weird and accidentally drop us. [Drugs to blame there. If it’s not liquor it’s prescription medication.]

[Rorschach nods, a slow movement yet again. Tonight, he is slow. Perhaps the onset of fall, with the cool night air seeping in through the cracks of the apartment. It’s cool, but not cold, and the redhead nearly matches it in his small form.] More comfortable on the bed. [If Byron was attempting to make a come-on, it goes mostly unnoticed, as Rorschach is more focused on the fact that Byron is actually allowing him to nestle in against him.]

[However, he disloges himself, moves and takes one of the other man’s hands in his own. His calloused hands always a stark contrast to the moth’s long, slender fingers and smooth skin. Another marvel, he notes, and begins to guide the other man to the bedroom.]

drunkenmoth: [Ah, he barely missed it. Just a tiny crinkle at the corner of his eye and the moth...

Wed, 19 Sep 2012 04:06:08 -0500

drunkenmoth:

[Ah, he barely missed it. Just a tiny crinkle at the corner of his eye and the moth knows what’s happening, his own smile growing that much more.] No promises, but I’ll try to remember.

[He feels like he should say something more but no, way too close and Byron didn’t even realize he was staring until he’s suddenly got the corner of his lip caught on a tooth, chewing. Bad habits he could never shake. Easier just to press against Rorschach’s lips again with a cautious nip before pulling back.] S-so.

Good enough. Don’t mind reminding you. [Rorschach finally pulls back again, but instead of standing and staring, he leans in, lips kissing along the line of Byron’s stubbly jaw, his nose brushing against cheek. After a moment, he settles. The smaller man presses forward, leaning into Byron’s frame and simply resting against him. It’s odd, how comfortable he is with this man who has given him no reason to mistrust him. This man who he has cared for for months and who has cared for him in return fully and completely.]

[At Byron’s soft utterance, Rorschach hums softly in response. Nothing committal, but a simple notion that he’s listening.]