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The walk home was a long one. He was exhausted, for one, both physically and mentally, and for another, they'd managed to make it quite a ways in silence before Jude had stormed off in a temper. By the time Grayson made it back to his house, he'd gone through the evening a hundred times in his head, coming to the same dire conclusion each time: he'd screwed up, really screwed up. His feelings for Jude were still very new and confusing, and he hadn't even sorted through what they meant to him exactly, or what Jude meant to him, exactly.

Damn him for getting caught in the moment, for acting before he thought. Damn him for letting his heart run away with him again and leaving his head to pick up the pieces, try to decide how he was going to try to fix what he had undoubtedly ruined beyond reasonable repair. He had kissed Jude. It had been a chaste kiss, barely a kiss, really, but it had been a kiss.

And it had been Jude, the second man who had openly admitted he would never be interested in him. Who would never hit on him, never even think to consider him to replace the true love of his life. What kind of idiot was he to gamble what he barely had with Jude, all because he'd been drawn in by a moment, a look on his face, the tears on his cheeks?

It wasn't like him. Grayson played it safe, always had. He slouched into his house, pulled his sweatshirt off and dragged his feet the entire way up the stairs. He was too tired to even properly berate himself for what had happened; that would surely begin in the morning, after he'd slept -- if he slept -- while he was trying to decide how easy it would be to avoid Jude.

Pitifully easy, he thought, running a hand along the back of his neck. That was probably for the best, all things considered. He turned into his room before he remembered that Ignacio was there, was halfway to the bed by the time he thought of it, but it didn't seem to matter. There was no one tucked under the blankets.

So even Ignacio had gone.

Undone, he sat on the edge of his bed, cupped his face in his hands, and wondered if he was too tired to cry.

It seemed so.

Grayson had been prepared to just sit like that until he fell asleep, or fell over. He was someone who was exceptionally poor at handling his own problems, which led to them overwhelming him easily and unexpectedly. He was, however, surprised to hear his door open, and he nearly jumped. His first thought was that it was one of his parents checking in to see if Ignacio was well, and he dreaded having to have that conversation.

He was surprised, then, to look up and see that it was neither Dad nor Pop, but Ignacio himself. Ignacio with wet hair, who had apparently... been showering?

There were some very definite downsides to the fact that he was staring at Ignacio in a startled manner. One, it lent the impression that he hadn't expected to see his classmate, which undermined the entire point of hauling him home. Two, he was very obviously exhausted, and three, he had the beginnings of a bruise shadowing his face in a very unattractive manner.

"Ignacio. I thought... you left." He blinked, rubbed a hand along his jaw. After a moment, he shrugged, sighed. "I'm all right. I'm just really tired."

Grayson didn't look at Ignacio and see a concerned boyfriend, or even someone who wanted to be a concerned boyfriend. He was tired, too tired, to see that, so he only saw what he wanted to see -- a friend, something he desperately needed. He didn't hesitate to slip his arms around Ignacio's ribs, lean his head against his shoulder.

It felt good to just lean against a friend.

"I'm glad you didn't go." He sighed, sounding as tired as he looked. After a few moments, he sighed again. "I got into another fight."

Had he offered the information because Ignacio hadn't pushed? Perhaps. But that seemed to be all he wanted to offer, aside from, "I'm fine, though."

He clearly wasn't, but that was beside the point.

Nestled against Ignacio's side, Grayson felt secure and comfortable. It was true that he wasn't the type to seek a fight, or at least, he wasn't in the context Ignacio knew him. Even as Sailor Leo he didn't actively look for trouble; he responded to it when it reared its head, but he wasn't reckless, not usually.

There was something about Jude that seemed to attract youma, though. And there was something about Grayson that made them fight.

He sighed again.

"I haven't been sleeping well. I probably just need rest." Rest, and a new name, new address. He'd already decided to avoid Jude until he couldn't, and Dani as well. He didn't like it, but he couldn't see many other options.

He was also finding it hard to focus on finding a solution just then, though.

Grayson was grateful for the concern, but he wasn't at a point where he could share his troubles with anyone, much less Ignacio. It might be easier to talk about the things he could with someone who didn't know the other key players in his life just then, but he was just too tired, heart-weary, too everything.

"I've had some nightmares," he said finally, eyes drifting closed. "About.. things." Barren Pines. The cold, dark dreams that he didn't understand. Being locked in a room with a gun, only when he tried to turn it on himself, his body wouldn't respond and he shot Benny.

Horrifying.

He shifted again, turning his head into the crook of Ignacio's shoulder, getting comfortable. "Nothing to worry about."

Grayson was bringing his legs up, slowly, not caring that he was still in jeans and a tee shirt as he crawled more fully on the bed. For a moment, he turned his face fully into Ignacio's shoulder, breathing in a familiar scent, one not his friend's. Pop's. It was Pop's shirt. He was oddly comforted by that, and he smiled, grip tightening around Ignacio for a moment.

"Don't talk," he murmured, losing track of some of the words along the way. He meant to say he didn't want to talk about them, didn't want to think about them, didn't want to deal with them at all. That was all much too much effort to say, though.

He kicked his legs a bit, nudging them around the blankets at the foot on the bed. He yawned, big and wide enough that his jaw ached a little. "Thanks."

Grayson was pleased by the new arrangements, and he let it be known with a deep, low sound of satisfaction. He shifted, arm coming out from under Ignacio, and reached above his head, looking for a pillow. His other arm remained loosely over his friends' ribs, fingers curled lightly against his side. He shifted his legs again, socked feet seeking the edge of a blanket to slip under, and only succeeded in tangling them with Ignacio's.

He didn't seem to mind, though. For all he was aware, Ignacio was a body pillow. He'd draped himself over the other boy casually, familiarly, in a pose that he remembered from childhood when Tristan had been plagued by bad dreams and Grayson had slipped in bed with him to help ease the terror of the dark.

Idly, he patted Ignacio's ribs, lips moving sluggishly over a word. "G'night."