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He had not yet slept.
The night had ended not long before dawn, and he'd claimed his companion in his ring of arms, between his legs, propped back against the headboard and looking out at the silver and violets of predawn. Alois slept soundly against his shoulder, unconcerned or disturbed at the light fingers that massaged the scalp he'd so recently abused more roughly with nails and pulling. Both of their bodies sported unusual blush in streaks, raised and irritated, across shoulders, ribs and down the lengths of their backs. Quenton's own shoulders stung, throbbed in ache at places where the others teeth had broken skin enough to bleed in addition to bruise. The sculptor had no complaints.

He moved carefully once the sun was up and throwing cold light over them both, white limbs made marble in sleep instead of living. Faust complained loudly from the kitchenette, finally having given up his camp by the heat register. Quenton pulled one of the blankets over his companion's waist and kissed over the scabbed-blood on a shoulder as he laid the darker-hued youth to a pillow. He sleeps deeply, once he does. Pain and care eased away, if only during the dreamless hours. Lover. Pale, painted with blue veins and gold highlight in the cold light of morning.

It was a simple series of morning tasks all made pleasant by pain- brushing teeth, medications, and watering plants, opening the window to a breeze to banish the heady scent of sweat and sex, making chai. Faust needed to be fed, so he looked up tips on homemade recipes. Ground chicken thigh (skin, meat and bones), ground with water and Parmesan cheese added to give it more scent. Even though Alois seemed more like a tomb effigy than a sleeping being, he took the processor to the hall to limit the noise. The results were dished and served, the left over put in a covered dish in the refrigerator for the evening. "If you want out for the restroom, you'll have to use the window and navigate down, or learn to use the toilet."

He didn't expect an answer from the massive feline, but left him to it. Requisites complete, Quenton settled to one of the chairs, facing the bed with a sketchpad and set to capturing the likeness a modern, fallen Eros on his bed. The nights violence was fetching on Alois' form, and the tangle of thin limbs against folds of fabric lent classical interest to a body decidedly not grecian-ideal.

His erstwhile model shifted, and Quenton set to finishing the last blends of the graphite with his fingers. He didn't get far though, eyes pulled consistently upwards in the simple enjoyment of the vulnerability of sleep and waking. Quiet limbs lifted. Being still apparently worked well as camouflage- Alois looked around and did not settle gaze towards the chairs at first or even second. When he did, seeming caught out, Quenton's expression softened from concentration on the sketch to one that hopefully conveyed a gentle and heartfelt 'good morning'.

The return and gesture of closeness, singled-out spot and instigated touch, drew a wordless but pleased noise even as Quenton set aside his lead holder aside. "No, not yet. I couldn't feel the want of it, hardly can now."

"Do you like it?" The drawing was not idealized, a study whose lines and strokes nonetheless were eroticized as any odalisque. It did not shy from angles of bone unsoftened from wasting, nor the marks of payment to the night of company- even celebrated them. Ruin'd Eros, when he is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

He did not know enough French to follow, barely more as it was than what one needed to order at a restaurant or get around on the Parisian train system. It was of interest, nonetheless, how the mind tried to assign meaning to what it interpreted as meaningful cadence, words, language. What part of Germany is he from? I suppose it could be Austria, Liechtenstein...others. The accent is thick enough it was well beyond 4 years of age that he came to America. Maybe even more recent- within the last five of his life.

"I do." Not likely to be able to contribute to the rent, but that wasn't the reason for having the other on anyway by any shade of consideration. "And Faust, too, if he chooses to stay. Did he agree to come along from your studio, or did you strong paw him into the bag?"

Quenton set the sketchpad aside, vertical and standing on its own against the side of the chair on the floor and then lifted a hand to hover fingers barely across Alois' lips. "For the first time, that does not cut."

Whether he was talking about the designation of non-human or alois' mouth and words was left vague. "Will you? "

"You're welcome to use what I have here, but I imagine you'd want things from Alex's. I can help with carrying today. I've missed classes, such as they were, already." The latter was a point with some guilt- he should have gone to the classes he was paying so much to gain credit from, but the complete lack of focus he could have offered to the tasks and teachers would have been insulting. The myriad love bites visible might have explained something of it to onlookers, something the sculptor wasn't ashamed of, but it still wouldn't have excused the general stupidity he found himself afflicted with as an imminently no-longer-unicorn-bait.

Quenton carefully stood as the other departed, gathering pants from a shelf to pull on while he watched the ritual of removal and replacement. Nicotine patch? A sucker...he is trying to quit smoking? Why else would anyone both with such things, unless under Stroud's definition of 'good times' trying to explode their heart. Why quit now? Its certainly too expensive. Smells like awful and tastes worse.

"You're at the least that much, among other things." But it is something I'll have to work on. Pain of wound, illness, exhaustion...they're all somehow easier to rally from, comparatively to this haze. Truly madness is taking lover at all, listening to the wills of the body. It will take a great deal more to overcome internal, chemical effect. It must grow easier and wear more casually, that so many do so often through their early years. "We should both eat. Do you like English pancakes? They're like thick crepes- served with lemon juice and sugar. "

Hopefully enough sweet to interest you as well as put some calories on you and some vitamins in you. The last thing you need is scurvy on top of all the rest. Quenton grabbed an errant button down as well, shrugging it on (even if it wasn't fastened), before gathering out the sealed containers with the necessities for the suggested brunch to the table. "You want to buy a harmonica, or want to retrieve it? The Volkwein's storefront near the symphony should have them-"

The mental triangulation of Alex's prospective house and the store was difficult without the final location, "Which post were you using? One local to the studio, or to Alex's? It is project day, isn't it..."

Quenton considered his own pants and then Alois', judging what either of them could hope for in support and muscle compression. Walking was going to be a chore after one errand, let alone three. Riding a bike would just be masochism...or something. I've not tested my preferences for self-reminding of carnal enjoyment. I have made a deal alongside Faust, indeed.

Faust's interest drew Quenton's attention- he'd not had much opportunity to get to watch a cat hunt anything other than a laser pointer. He had an idea of just what was interesting the feline. The building was old, and some of the tenants elsewhere on the floor belonged more in a dorm and with the same expectations of cleanliness that required an RA than on their own in an apartment. His own place never had a problem, but he kept foodstuffs sealed in tins and ceramics just in case.

One of the genus Mus must be making its way down to the corner apartment with those three Dragons players. The sculptor came back to the conversation however, amused at Alois' proclamations of preference on food. "I doubt you often want to eat."

English Pancakes it is.

"I don't resent you, Alois. I'm actually intrigued at this...how it has altered things." He looked over at the kiss, far from nay-saying the motion. It was a surprisingly tender gesture. "If it will come out the better or worse. I was thinking to myself how much easier it is to ignore what one has not had. Easier is not always better. I was considering which is the hotter forge- alone or with a lover- to doctor steel. I think I may have been wrong to hold the solitary as wholly superior. A companion makes many lessons keener. "

Curious, Quenton followed to look in the bathroom from the other side of the doorjamb. "I hope he doesn't open the wall."

"There are metaphors and sayings for nigh all aspects of learning. I wouldn't apply the parable of the cave to sex, personally, or the state of virginity to one of pure ignorance. Caution has place, as long as it not paralyze action forever- some gates are only one way. Choices I make may have an impact of months or years added or removed. "

Watching Alois panic not too many moments layer was a riot. "Going to shiv the rodent?..."

"Its a city, Alois. Mice and Rats outnumber the people in just the sewer population alone. The building is old, but isn't infested. They have an inspection every six months. Mice do occasionally get attracted to other floors and other apartments, and traverse these walls on their way to shack up there. They've never stayed in mine because I keep it empty of trash, empty of places to hide, and empty of unprotected food. "

"For someone who picked up roadkill week by week, " Quenton half-smiled, "I never would have expected the fireworks on the occasion of a mouse. Besides, Faust has it handled. A cat is the best preventative medicine."

Quenton chortled unfeelingly at the protestation that there should have been a mouse disclaimer, "Ah. Well then. Before you come to this apartment complex, to Destiny City, to America, to Earth....by the way, Alois, there are sometimes mice. Sometimes there are spiders, too. Much like roadkill that is sometimes on the side of the road."

Alois' readying was enough of a social cue that Quenton to then get the food underway. Thankfully they were not a long time investment, taking no more that two minutes to the pan and a breath for lemon and sugar, "Nothing is going to crawl up your leg."

He held out the plate to the other, English Pancake well prepared thereon, "Eat."

The edge of Quenton's left eyebrow hitched up increment by increment over the passage of silent seconds. You have an issue with eating. Well, anyone with eye's in their head can tell that its either a wasting disease, a drug addiction or an eating disorder. I'd been hoping it was just the drug addiction. So much for petty hope.

He hadn't had a lot of experience dealing with that sort of affliction, but he appreciated the reality of them- and they were fairly common in one for or another in the arts disciplines. That Alois was readily willing and able to come out and say as much was a note of faith and trust. One that I couldn't be less suited to uphold. Damn it, Alois. Can I wear kid gloves to handle this? Should I? Preceding that admission with that sort of idiot demand makes this a game, and likely one he's played before. Playing along is enabling and asinine. He must know by now how severe I tend to be. That doesn't excuse it, Quenton...it isn't a strong point for personal relations. There must be some haven of heart, some gentleness offered to a lover. Proof of willingness to be succor at their most vulnerable.

'Don't act twelve, and I'm your parent having to convince you to eat.' No. That isn't constructive. That is too much like a direct insult of 'childishness'. He's acting on a habit...he's won this with others. He's asked be to catalyze change. This is something that needs to change, at least on a serious level. We can play lovers games, but not about survival-consumption.

His eyebrow dropped, expression shifted from mild surprise to a concentration, "Don't deflect the onus whether you eat or not to a bribe. You understand calories-in-calories-out. You understand that you have a problem. That game is a crutch that excuses you from eating, and I won't play it. "

"Choose. Eat or don't eat. " Survive, or don't survive. And I will help you all that I can. Quenton put the plate on the table. "You can do every bit all that I am doing, and bend your body to the will or your mind. It will take practice, and patience, but you can."