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 Posted: Fri May 02, 2014 10:04 pm
A single text message would pop up on a certain cowboy's phone late one evening, close enough that it was almost the next day:Face your demons Text to Harland Belle:Meet me outside the dorms in five minutes.
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2014 5:40 am
kuroopu Text to ???: On it. Might have to slide down some railings to get there on time, though.
He would become clear, surely. Harland did love the details.
He stirred from his work to check his text, and by the time he did he only had three minutes from the text's arrival to go. He admittedly wasn't sure who had texted him, as his phone didn't seem to have the contact saved. He wasn't concerned.
Harland, at near speed of light for a man so used to having difficulty changing gears, put on one of his dress shirts (that was nearly all he owned), and not even the one with the cigarette burns. He put on a vest over it, buttoned it up, and made sure the jeans he was wearing were clean. They were. Socks and red cowboy boots were all that was left; he never kept his socks on in his room, they made him uncomfortable.
He still had his bandanna on around his neck, and as a last thought he grabbed his hat off the hook by the door and set it down on his sunny hair, heading down to the outdoors briskly.
Hopefully he wouldn't be too late. He didn't exactly want to jog to get there.
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2014 9:23 pm
It hadn't occurred to Alistaire that Harland wouldn't have known who was texting him so late at night. He'd gotten the man's phone number off of Ian's phone (without telling him, of course), and had only assumed (wrongly) that Harland would understand and come to meet him.
It was humiliating, really, to have to resort to this. He was simultaneously resentful and angry about it. But the combined instances of his fight with Maebe, as well as the thing with his brother made it an unpleasant priority; not to mention that Alistaire's last encounter with the man known as Harland Leander Belle had gone entirely unexpectedly, a fact that annoyed Alistaire.
He could not put it off any longer, and there were precious few people to talk to on the island. Ian could not be trusted, not that Alistaire would have asked him anyway; and Maebe was too emotional, too much of a ticking time bomb to even consider properly. That, and the fact that she was a woman made all the difference and narrowed his choices down considerably to all of one person who just might work.
He loathed having to ask.
It was a relatively cool night, a light breeze tousling Alistaire's hair as he stood outside of the dorms, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. When Harland arrived, he would find the other man half doused in the shadows of the dormitory building, not leaning against a wall, but standing near enough one to obscure him from the view of those walking past (though it was doubtful anyone would be awake at this hour).
Alistaire did not seem surprised at Harland's arrival, but he said coolly, "You're up late, Mr. Belle."
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Posted: Sat May 03, 2014 10:50 pm
At least he'd have a new phone contact. Score. Try getting your number back now, Alistaire. If only Harland knew that Alistaire felt both resentful and angry; surely he would have hurried to meet the man even more efficiently. He may even have forgone socks altogether. The sheer anticipation!
In actuality, Harland was his usual self, and that usual self meant that Alistaire didn't even get a cursory recoil when Harland saw who it was. And heard his voice. In fact, Harland tipped his hat to the man, and then slung it off and let the cord hold it around his neck. He ran a hand through his wavy hair, and smiled. He didn't hold out a hand to greet Alistaire; Harland didn't forget things like that.
"I was workin' on somethin'," he said, "but it looks like providence led to my wakefulness." His smile widened. He hooked his thumbs through his beltloops. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Alistaire, brother of Ian?" Harland asked, warmly.
He didn't take it lightly that Alistaire had apparently summoned him. Alistaire didn't seem like the type to ask for something without gravity to the situation. Harland would always do his best, and he'd always be there. That was his nature.
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Posted: Sun May 04, 2014 9:12 am
Harland seemed exactly the same as he had the first time Alistaire had met him: the same cheerful (and grating) positivity, the same casual nonchalance even when talking about supposed lost love, the same ridiculous cowboy getup, as though he'd stepped straight out of a western. It was amazing how someone could manage to be so naive about the world and still be someone recruited to fight monsters on a place like Deus Ex Machina; a place that Alistaire saw as a militaristic institution, a place with order and orders.
Harland was like a puzzle piece that did not quite fit in, at least in Alistaire's mind; which unfortunately made him the prime candidate for his request.
Ignoring the question, Alistaire said, "I don't particularly like being recognized as primarily Ian's older brother. He is his own person, as am I, and you would do well to remember that."
It was just a stall tactic, of course, Alistaire not wanting to actually say what he was going to say. His fingers felt itchy inside of his gloves, as though they needed to be washed yet again; he longed to run back inside and shower, or to just get away from the all the scents invading his senses.
He forced himself to stand still.
"I request," he said flatly, quickly, trying to get it over with. "I request your assistance with a little...matter at hand."
A pause as a dull red flush spread across Alistaire's cheeks. He pressed his lips together in annoyance and said, "It has come to my attention that certain...certain aspects of my being are...at odds with the goals I am trying to achieve, which is problematic. Therefore, I require your assistance in..."
He hated this. Humiliation and anger were warring within him, clearly evident on his face.
"You will teach me how to interact with people," Alistaire ground out, and the phrase sounded utterly ludicrous put into words, soundly ridiculous, but there it was, in plain sight; the most embarrassing stain on his being, terribly obvious.
Alistaire hated himself.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 11:33 am
Harland nodded, still smiling, and filed the information into his memory. He'd never say that again. It wasn't because he viewed Alistaire through Ian, it was because the idea of family was precious to him. Besides, Alistaire'd told Ian how he felt. He always figured Ian knew, but it was different to know that Alistaire'd told him.
"Sure, I'll do my best," he said, punctuating it again with one of his sunny smiles. Like it was the most normal request in the world. Like Alistaire had asked him to pass the salt, or get him a coffee. "When do ye aim to start? And's there an approach ye'd prefer, or am I to figure this out?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.
Like water off a duck. Nothing Alistaire did or said seemed to concern Harland, though in reality Harland would love nothing more than to fold Alistaire up in a hug and hold him there. Not because he was particularly attracted to him, but because pain seemed to roll off him in waves. The most unhappy person he'd ever met, and that included himself.
He didn't want Alistaire to hurt like that.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 3:37 pm
The easy agreement was too fast. Alistaire's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but Harland's expression revealed nothing except a casual curiosity and his usual relaxed demeanor. It was terribly irritating not to understand such a person, but at the same time, it was the whole reason why Alistaire had chosen him for this particular task in the first place.
"Now," he said flatly. "We start now."
He took a deep breath and tried to figure out the answer to the question that he wasn't quite sure of himself anyway, Alistaire's annoyance growing; though it was less for Harland and more at the whole encounter in the first place. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Finally, after waging an internal war with himself, Alistaire lifted a hand and stripped off one of his gloves, clenching the fabric between his other fingers. He stretched out his now bare hand towards Harland, his fingers shaking, and the expression on his face was mingled anger and humiliation.
"Take it," he snarled, clearly unhappy. "My hand."
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 5:24 pm
Harland nodded, when Alistaire said they'd start now. He really had no idea what this proposition would entail, but he didn't mind so much either way. He was fairly confident it wouldn't end in anything weird, since previously Alistaire barely seemed willing to occupy the same general space as he did.
Harland didn't laugh, or smile in any outwardly obvious way. He clearly wasn't interested in making fun of Alistaire. Harland had a sunny disposition, sure, but he took Alistaire's mental wellbeing seriously. He reached out one hand, and placed it underneath Alistaire's, threading his tanned fingers up gently through Alistaire's where they met air, but applying no pressure. It was as if he was cradling his hand. Harland looked at Alistaire, gunmetal green eyes searching for Alistaire's gaze.
"Taken," he said, quietly. He was breathing slowly, evenly, as if hoping that would calm Alistaire down, too.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 6:14 pm
He stood there with his hand outstretched and it was the first time in a very, very long time that he had ever felt so exposed. Alistaire's chest felt tight, his arm stiffly out, as straight as a board, and yet his fingers were shaking almost as much as they had the day he'd first realized that he couldn't touch anyone without getting sick.
With each step that Harland took closer to him, Alistaire could feel the panic rising in his throat, the terrible lack of control. He forced himself to stand still, to not back away or step away, and then Harland was right in front of him and Alistaire felt as though the world was collapsing in on him, the walls closing in.
A brush of warm, slightly rough fingers against his palm and Alistaire let out an involuntary gasp that was bitten off as he clenched his teeth together. Harland didn't grab his hand hard, or force a handshake. Instead, the fingers that slid through his were gentle, giving no pressure but instead just simply touching them.
He managed to hold steady for approximately three seconds before he jerked his hand away, Alistaire heaving in a sharp breath. His face was pale, a few beads of sweat sliding down his neck, and then he had exhaled, a look of anger and determination in his eyes.
"Again," he said forcefully, and stretched out his hand again, lips pressed together.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 8:13 pm
It wouldn't help to tell him that he believed in him, would it. Wouldn't help to have some sort of disney-esque speech about how Alistaire could go the distance, and show who he truly was or something. Harland didn't know what to say.
As vulnerable as Alistaire looked and probably felt, Harland matched and met it as much as he could. It wasn't nearly equivalent, but the cowboy's expression was open and unguarded. He couldn't find his voice, but he looked down at Alistaire's shaking hand and smiled, nodding his head. He tucked some stray waves of hair behind one ear with his other hand, and reached that original extended hand out again.
Slowly. Carefully. He cradled Alistaire's hand the same way he had before, waiting to see how long Alistaire could stomach it this time before he tried anything more. If Alistaire could handle it, he would gently slide one fingertip against Alistaire's hand. Tenderly. But only if it seemed like he could maybe handle the change.
If he had to, Harland would be completely happy to simply brush Alistaire's hand all night. Just in the hopes that it might help acclimate him at all.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 8:21 pm
He was ready this time; at least, that's what he told himself. He was prepared for the sensation of another person's hand against his own - and yet it was still a terribly strange feeling, not unfamiliar, but starkly unusual for Alistaire. Harland's fingers were barely brushing against his, and yet it was taking all of Alistaire's concentration to not jerk immediately away.
He forced himself to stand still, swaying slightly, and though the nausea was there, thick in his throat, he pushed it back, grounded himself to something, anything at all that he could possibly do to make himself stay exactly where he was and not to panic.
The gentle gesture of a finger brushing over his bare skin made him flinch, and about a second later, Alistaire had wrenched his hand free with a gasp, his face flooding with color.
"How," he said, and his voice was slightly hoarse. "How does anyone..."
He seemed, for the first time in a long time, unable to actually finish the sentence, one hand pressing against his stomach, flattening as though to suppress the desire to throw up.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 8:40 pm
Harland was watching him carefully. He seemed to be making so much progress already; whatever'd made him work up the courage to ask for help, and to suffer through this... that something must be incredibly important to him. Harland smiled, for a moment, thinking that Alistaire had motivation so precious somewhere in his life.
He hoped Alistaire knew just what it was worth to care that much about anything, and still have a chance to change your fate. Even if it did mean suffering.
As Alistaire jerked away and pressed a hand against his own stomach, Harland sat down cross-legged on the ground and regarded the man. He ran a hand through his wavy hair.
"For most of us, I suspect it's comforting... or arousing, or warming, or even necessary. Not just a whim kinda thing, either; it's chemical, biological. We need it," he said, his voice warm like it always was.
"Do ye ever drink?" Harland asked, curious. Did he always have all these worries swirling around in him? There must be no rest at all.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 8:48 pm
He felt lightheaded, but Harland sitting on the ground made it so there was a certain amount of space between them, more than before, and the air around Alistaire contracted a little and then expanded to include more. He exhaled a breath through still-gritted teeth, but at least he wasn't feeling quite so claustrophobic anymore.
His eyes flickered down to where the other man sat.
"Arousing," Alistaire said flatly, as though the word was distasteful to him. "There's nothing arousing about this. Or comforting, or warming. It's merely an obstacle I'm attempting to overcome in my attempts at achieving my goals."
Alistaire shook his head, closing his eyes and taking deep steadying breaths.
"I don't - I don't need it - " he hissed, but it sounded less like a denial and more like an attempt at convincing himself. "I don't need anything."
Harland's question floated into his mind and Alistaire opened his eyes again, passing a look over to Harland's face, which was relaxed and calm and benign. Infuriating too, if Alistaire was being completely honest with himself. The scowl on his face deepened a little.
"Yes," he said. "I drink."
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 9:00 pm
"Yeah, there's nothin' arousing about this," he agreed, nodding. He tongued his labret, serious. "It's different when someone wants you to touch 'em, like gettin' close to the fire when it's cold at night," he tried to explain.
The more the scowl deepened, the more Harland's smile looked idyllic. Human beings didn't do well without physical affection. It was like trying to grow plants in the dark: didn't matter how resilient the plant, it needed photosynthesis. Except for some kinds of moss or lichen that needed a lot less, he supposed. Maybe Alistaire was the lichen of humans.
He didn't say that aloud.
"Does that not help with your inhibitions, at all?" Harland asked, curious.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2014 9:28 pm
He had gotten most of his breath back now, Alistaire eyeing Harland with less annoyance than he had a second before and more a wary curiosity, his dark eyes glittering in the shadows that draped over the both of them, outside of the dormitory building.
"Is that what you feel about my little brother?" he asked, and it wasn't really a mocking tone, more quiet and flat, a muscle in his jaw tensing. "A desire to be warm?"
He had never felt the sort of sensations that Ian felt, that Harland felt; that anyone with a significant interest in someone else had felt. It was completely foreign, his mind working to comprehend such a simple, everyday idea.
"...I haven't tried," he muttered, surprisingly truthful. "Ian is a drunkard when he gets emotional, and I have yet to test the theory on myself."
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