[It was already the ninth, and still no word from Mattias. An uncomfortably sick feeling has been twisting and growing in his stomach since their argument, and the time from his drunken calls to now has only made it worse. Mattias has vanished, completely. No answer, no sign of him in any of the casinos or bars he'd happened to wander past. Not in the shops, on the streets, not in his room where he should be.
The hotels he'd visited gave no luck. He was looking in all the wrong places, and he felt more sickened by it every day. He blamed Mattias for this. For whatever was eating at him. The dropping sensation of his stomach, the tense, constant nausea, the flares of anger, the bouts of sadness. It was all Mattias' fault.
But he hears his voice, and the composure that he clings to is a shell of what it usually is. Surprise is written across his face, and the anger that fills his eyes isn't the same as usual.
It reflects the deep concern that's been slowly building in him.
All at once, that sick feeling is ten times stronger, and he's torn between turning him away or hitting him or-- or something a little too fond, he thinks. His eyes dart, searching his face for an answer as he takes just one step closer.]
[One step closer and he wants to back away but the door behind him hits him like a cage. His throat goes tight, his hands twist further into the fabric, yet still he steels himself. Stands a bit straighter when he answers, though his voice is still as weak as before.]
The station. I—I rented a room there. It's small. Nothing impressive. I needed... I needed to get away.
[For a long time, he just watches Mattias. Lets him fidget under his gaze as his own thoughts try to straighten themselves. It's not working, and that just makes him more frustrated. He doesn't understand his own concern, his own feelings.]
And was it such a trial to say that ahead of time?
[That's a little softer, but the impact is clear. He makes it sound like it would have been easy. Like he wouldn't have countered it with reasons not to. He turns his back to Mattias, arms folding across his chest.]
Save your apologies for the ones you do care for worrying.
[These are all of the wrong things to bring up. He penalizes Mattias for each one. Mentioning the last discussion not going well. Which did he mean? His attempts so coldly rejected or the arguments that he's being blamed for? As if Mattias hasn't done wrong himself.
He was selfish, and so Oren doesn't correct him. He lets it sink into silence as the mistakes continue coming from Mattias' mouth. Concerned? Oh, now he was concerned?]
The speed of your response doesn't speak for concern.
[He pauses, and after some intense glaring at the floor, finally looks back at Mattias from this half-turned away pose.]
I'm fine. [But from the short, curt way he says it, that's doubtful.] Why did you come here now?
[He doesn't say it, but the implications are bleeding through. An apology doesn't take nine days. He wasn't thinking about Oren. This must be something selfish. A need, a desire, a want. Be it for forgiveness or a task-- there must be something there for himself.]
[He wilts, back sagging against the door. His eyes are downcast, never once able to meet Oren's. Where did his courage go? The empowerment? Oren could break it all as if it were straw.]
I... I had a proposition. It's something I'd need your help for. Something mutually beneficial.
[His gaze raises just a bit.] It might help us get back home.
[His arms drop to his sides, but he doesn't turn back immediately. So he did need help. Funny that he'd show up and claim it mutually beneficial after breaking the news that he's dead.
He does aim to prevent that, but it's a heavy weight on thoughts of return and duties right now.
A map of the stars. [He sweeps a hand towards the window.] Of the planets. The equipment they give you—it's hardly comprehensive, correct? With a map, we might be able to find a way home.
[He wets his lips, catching Oren's gaze only in brief glances.] I don't know—I don't know how to format it just yet. We'd have to get a complete view. Above, below, every possible angle. I'd need your help in turning the ship. But I think, if we work together, we could do it.
[He thinks about that, following that gesture out to the window. A map. Time consuming, but something to work off of. Not a bad idea in general. He does want to get back. He has to. There's nothing else for him here-- but.]
Find the way home... to my time? [He looks over.] Or yours?
[Letting that settle in for just long enough, he lifts his arms out in a wide gesture. His steps lead him to his chair, and he falls back into it with a laugh.]
Well, who am I to bring up such points? Don't look so worried. I'll help.
[Mattias nods his thanks awkwardly.] Thank you, I'd—
[But something hits him. Something that deeply disturbs and concerns him. He falters, finally able to raise his head now that Oren has turned his back.]—It might not be either of our times. We could be dead or—or not yet born.
[The question of what would they do then lingers heavily in the air.]
Or we could be dancing in the square, already accounted for.
[He looks over to him as he leans back in his chair, feet kicking up. A hand extends to wave away Mattias' thoughts, despite being the one to cause them.]
We won't know unless we try, isn't that right? I thought you weren't the type to give up.
[He smiles but it's weak and wavering, uncertain if the compliment is genuine. Uncertain if any of this is outside Oren's game.]
You're right. It's worth a shot.
[He stands there for a long few minutes, fidgeting beneath Oren's gaze before nodding and turning to leave.] I won't—I won't burden your time any longer.
[Those words are enough to make him sit up straight. He turns in his chair, one hand gripping the back of it as he faces Mattias. There's not the same anger that's been burning in them the rest of the conversation. It's left something a lot more hesitant. Worried. Unhinged.]
I haven't once said it was a burden.
[His voice is softer, even if there's something mildly stern in that.] How many times did I call you? I've been returning to this ship each night with the hope that you'll come back so that I can rest at ease, Mattias.
Did you really come here only to ask a favor and leave? [His grip on the chair tightens slightly.] I get nothing more? No thoughts, no plans, no conversation?
[He wants to beg him to stop. Wants his words to cease and the concern that's so evident to go away. It's hard to negate. Hard to mirror his words with the harsh tone of their argument, the tone that had set him off. Funny, how now he can barely remember it.
The heart is a fickle beast and it betrays him in this moment.
He half-turns, biting his lip, mulling over words to tell him. He could speak of how he occupied nearly every thought. About how many nights he yearned to call him just for a simple conversation. How he wanted to hear him laugh again, see him smile, feel his hands across his skin. Instead, all he offers is a feeble grin.]
... I've been meaning to go shopping. If you would like to accompany me.
He tries not to let the surprise show on his face, but there is an evident pause in reaction. Slowly, his hand slides off the back of the chair, and he glances to the ground between them. Shopping. So was he regretting his actions after all? He hadn't given up on him completely?
But he'd still avoided him, he reminds himself, and there's a strange mix of relief and dread. He lets out a breathy laugh and stands, and the look that rises to meet Mattias has a charming amount of shyness to it. A strange contradiction from all of his behavior just before.
There's a chance that this won't end in argument. Right?]
I'd quite like that.
[He glances down at himself to double check that he's presentable, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt as he steps closer to Mattias.]
[There's something about the motion that sends his heart aflutter. Some semblance of insecurity, of timidity in his presence that might be genuine. He smiles, however small, and points his head towards the doorframe.]
Follow me, I suppose.
[He leads the way, largely silent except for multiple reassurances that the store was "just ahead". It wasn't, and they got lost more than once as Mattias was distracted by multiple attractions and vendors, poking and prodding at novelty items in passing before resuming his search for the strip of stores.
When they finally get there, he leads the way into the first one—an expensive boutique that has them both befuddled, swaying awkwardly in a dance of uncertainty around the other. Half-hearted coughs and nervous comments litter their stay and the entire experience is unabashedly uncomfortable. Mattias leaves the store with nothing, shaking his head at any clerk who tried to offer their "expertise".]
That was... perhaps not the best choice. [He says outside the store, rocking back awkwardly on his heels.] In stores, I mean. You have my apologies. I—[Something catches his eye. A vendor's stand only a few yards away, selling glasses with pitch black lenses. Canting his head, he walks towards them, plucking one off the stand and turning them over in his hands.]
Oren. [He calls over his shoulder.] Do you know what these are?
[The entire thing had been awkward. Joking comments that Oren would usually make were shelved with the worry of changing Mattias' mind, leaving far too much silence between them. The store had been too pricey and he could barely wrap his head around navigating a conversation while not feeling confident, let alone shop for things.
It was only now that he forgot of their absence from each other. Tension slowly left as he leans in to inspect what Mattias holds in his hands.]
Are those glasses?
[A smile quirks at just one side of his mouth, and he laughs, reaching over to pick up a pair himself.]
Colored so darkly? What's the point of this? A fashionable blindfold?
[Frowning, Mattias tries to strap one around his arm. It nearly falls to the ground before he catches it.]
I suppose not. [He holds them to his face again, frowning again.] The lenses are too thin. How will this block the sand? It'd be scratched within minutes. How much are they charging for this?
[He turns the one he has over in his hand until he notices the tag, leaning over to Mattias to point it out.] 80 credits? There are different colors. For 80 credits I could look mysterious, is that it?
Hm. [Mattias can't help but chuckle, shelving his own pair and taking Oren's. Gently, he slides the pair onto his face, trying his best not to smile and failing.] Well, for 80 credits you might just need it. You're a hard sell on mysterious.
[He laughs, hands raising just to lightly touch fingertips over the back of Mattias' palms. But the glasses slide into place just right and he doesn't have to mess with them. His hands withdraw, and Mattias can admire the mirrored image of himself in the lenses as Oren laughs again.]
You've grayed out! [That's not really clear, he realizes, and a little jokingly he reaches out to touch Mattias' chest, testing his distance.] I mean that I can still see, but your colors have changed!
[The lingering fingertips are enough to make his heart ache. He tries not to think about them, pushing on.]
It changes the color of your vision? [He touches the lens before the salesperson barks at him in an alien tongue. He shrinks, smiling sheepishly and mouthing "I'm sorry". Then he simply pulls his own pair of glasses off the rack and tries them on. Laughing, he claps his hands.] You're right! You're pink!
[Continuing to laugh, he cups Oren's cheeks.] Look at these rosy cheeks!
[He laughs himself, brushing Mattias' hands away in a few playful swipes.]
Oh, hush! You look like some sort of bug in those, I'll have you know.
[As if his are any better. He reaches up, leaning on his tiptoes to take the shades, and hands them back to the alien that is getting increasingly impatient with the both of them. Oren doesn't seem to care, pulling a plastic pair from the shelf and moving to place them on Mattias.]
[Oh. That comment is enough to lighten his chest and pull a wider smile onto his lips. He looks over his sunglasses at him for a good few seconds before taking them off and setting them aside.]
Don't they all? [Curiously, he grabs one of the pamphlets from the section, half-eyeing it as he reaches up to grab another pair of glasses for Mattias to try on. He urges it at him as his eyes flick down, running over the bold words on the front.
"Protect your eyes from harmful UV rays! Shield them from the sun!"]
Wait, Mattias, look here. [He lightly bats the side of his shoulder, gesturing at him with the advertisement.]
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The hotels he'd visited gave no luck. He was looking in all the wrong places, and he felt more sickened by it every day. He blamed Mattias for this. For whatever was eating at him. The dropping sensation of his stomach, the tense, constant nausea, the flares of anger, the bouts of sadness. It was all Mattias' fault.
But he hears his voice, and the composure that he clings to is a shell of what it usually is. Surprise is written across his face, and the anger that fills his eyes isn't the same as usual.
It reflects the deep concern that's been slowly building in him.
All at once, that sick feeling is ten times stronger, and he's torn between turning him away or hitting him or-- or something a little too fond, he thinks. His eyes dart, searching his face for an answer as he takes just one step closer.]
Where have you been?
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The station. I—I rented a room there. It's small. Nothing impressive. I needed... I needed to get away.
[A beat.] ... I'm sorry.
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And was it such a trial to say that ahead of time?
[That's a little softer, but the impact is clear. He makes it sound like it would have been easy. Like he wouldn't have countered it with reasons not to. He turns his back to Mattias, arms folding across his chest.]
Save your apologies for the ones you do care for worrying.
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[Didn't go so well. His lips thin and part of him dies when Oren turns his back to him. Was he'd done been so bad?]
I didn't mean to worry you. I just thought—I didn't want anyone to contact me. I just wanted to be alone. It was—it was selfish.
[Oren might have been drunk when he had said it but that didn't make it any less right. He looks up sharply, concern seeping from his very being.]
Have you been well? Your call... it made me [frightened, angered] concerned.
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He was selfish, and so Oren doesn't correct him. He lets it sink into silence as the mistakes continue coming from Mattias' mouth. Concerned? Oh, now he was concerned?]
The speed of your response doesn't speak for concern.
[He pauses, and after some intense glaring at the floor, finally looks back at Mattias from this half-turned away pose.]
I'm fine. [But from the short, curt way he says it, that's doubtful.] Why did you come here now?
[He doesn't say it, but the implications are bleeding through. An apology doesn't take nine days. He wasn't thinking about Oren. This must be something selfish. A need, a desire, a want. Be it for forgiveness or a task-- there must be something there for himself.]
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I... I had a proposition. It's something I'd need your help for. Something mutually beneficial.
[His gaze raises just a bit.] It might help us get back home.
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[His arms drop to his sides, but he doesn't turn back immediately. So he did need help. Funny that he'd show up and claim it mutually beneficial after breaking the news that he's dead.
He does aim to prevent that, but it's a heavy weight on thoughts of return and duties right now.
Frowning, he turns back to Mattias.]
What is it?
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[He wets his lips, catching Oren's gaze only in brief glances.] I don't know—I don't know how to format it just yet. We'd have to get a complete view. Above, below, every possible angle. I'd need your help in turning the ship. But I think, if we work together, we could do it.
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Find the way home... to my time? [He looks over.] Or yours?
[Letting that settle in for just long enough, he lifts his arms out in a wide gesture. His steps lead him to his chair, and he falls back into it with a laugh.]
Well, who am I to bring up such points? Don't look so worried. I'll help.
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[But something hits him. Something that deeply disturbs and concerns him. He falters, finally able to raise his head now that Oren has turned his back.]—It might not be either of our times. We could be dead or—or not yet born.
[The question of what would they do then lingers heavily in the air.]
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[He looks over to him as he leans back in his chair, feet kicking up. A hand extends to wave away Mattias' thoughts, despite being the one to cause them.]
We won't know unless we try, isn't that right? I thought you weren't the type to give up.
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You're right. It's worth a shot.
[He stands there for a long few minutes, fidgeting beneath Oren's gaze before nodding and turning to leave.] I won't—I won't burden your time any longer.
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I haven't once said it was a burden.
[His voice is softer, even if there's something mildly stern in that.] How many times did I call you? I've been returning to this ship each night with the hope that you'll come back so that I can rest at ease, Mattias.
Did you really come here only to ask a favor and leave? [His grip on the chair tightens slightly.] I get nothing more? No thoughts, no plans, no conversation?
Who is burdening whom?
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The heart is a fickle beast and it betrays him in this moment.
He half-turns, biting his lip, mulling over words to tell him. He could speak of how he occupied nearly every thought. About how many nights he yearned to call him just for a simple conversation. How he wanted to hear him laugh again, see him smile, feel his hands across his skin. Instead, all he offers is a feeble grin.]
... I've been meaning to go shopping. If you would like to accompany me.
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He tries not to let the surprise show on his face, but there is an evident pause in reaction. Slowly, his hand slides off the back of the chair, and he glances to the ground between them. Shopping. So was he regretting his actions after all? He hadn't given up on him completely?
But he'd still avoided him, he reminds himself, and there's a strange mix of relief and dread. He lets out a breathy laugh and stands, and the look that rises to meet Mattias has a charming amount of shyness to it. A strange contradiction from all of his behavior just before.
There's a chance that this won't end in argument. Right?]
I'd quite like that.
[He glances down at himself to double check that he's presentable, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt as he steps closer to Mattias.]
...Lead the way.
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Follow me, I suppose.
[He leads the way, largely silent except for multiple reassurances that the store was "just ahead". It wasn't, and they got lost more than once as Mattias was distracted by multiple attractions and vendors, poking and prodding at novelty items in passing before resuming his search for the strip of stores.
When they finally get there, he leads the way into the first one—an expensive boutique that has them both befuddled, swaying awkwardly in a dance of uncertainty around the other. Half-hearted coughs and nervous comments litter their stay and the entire experience is unabashedly uncomfortable. Mattias leaves the store with nothing, shaking his head at any clerk who tried to offer their "expertise".]
That was... perhaps not the best choice. [He says outside the store, rocking back awkwardly on his heels.] In stores, I mean. You have my apologies. I—[Something catches his eye. A vendor's stand only a few yards away, selling glasses with pitch black lenses. Canting his head, he walks towards them, plucking one off the stand and turning them over in his hands.]
Oren. [He calls over his shoulder.] Do you know what these are?
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It was only now that he forgot of their absence from each other. Tension slowly left as he leans in to inspect what Mattias holds in his hands.]
Are those glasses?
[A smile quirks at just one side of his mouth, and he laughs, reaching over to pick up a pair himself.]
Colored so darkly? What's the point of this? A fashionable blindfold?
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[Frowning, Mattias tries to strap one around his arm. It nearly falls to the ground before he catches it.]
I suppose not. [He holds them to his face again, frowning again.] The lenses are too thin. How will this block the sand? It'd be scratched within minutes. How much are they charging for this?
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What use do these serve? The price, let's see...
[He turns the one he has over in his hand until he notices the tag, leaning over to Mattias to point it out.] 80 credits? There are different colors. For 80 credits I could look mysterious, is that it?
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[He laughs, hands raising just to lightly touch fingertips over the back of Mattias' palms. But the glasses slide into place just right and he doesn't have to mess with them. His hands withdraw, and Mattias can admire the mirrored image of himself in the lenses as Oren laughs again.]
You've grayed out! [That's not really clear, he realizes, and a little jokingly he reaches out to touch Mattias' chest, testing his distance.] I mean that I can still see, but your colors have changed!
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It changes the color of your vision? [He touches the lens before the salesperson barks at him in an alien tongue. He shrinks, smiling sheepishly and mouthing "I'm sorry". Then he simply pulls his own pair of glasses off the rack and tries them on. Laughing, he claps his hands.] You're right! You're pink!
[Continuing to laugh, he cups Oren's cheeks.] Look at these rosy cheeks!
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Oh, hush! You look like some sort of bug in those, I'll have you know.
[As if his are any better. He reaches up, leaning on his tiptoes to take the shades, and hands them back to the alien that is getting increasingly impatient with the both of them. Oren doesn't seem to care, pulling a plastic pair from the shelf and moving to place them on Mattias.]
Try this one, this one.
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Still, he drops the subject once he sees the color.] You're green!
[He peers closer, clearly squinting beneath the glasses.] Though they dim your eyes. A pity.
[He had always found them beautiful in their vibrancy.]
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Don't they all? [Curiously, he grabs one of the pamphlets from the section, half-eyeing it as he reaches up to grab another pair of glasses for Mattias to try on. He urges it at him as his eyes flick down, running over the bold words on the front.
"Protect your eyes from harmful UV rays! Shield them from the sun!"]
Wait, Mattias, look here. [He lightly bats the side of his shoulder, gesturing at him with the advertisement.]
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I'm cracking up at this he's gonna get like beat up by burning aliens
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i can't fucking deal with this
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