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Horace startled at the knock on his door, shooting off a final message to Lawrence. It was weird, he thought, how Lawrence seemed to feel the need to reassure Horace he was the supposedly most important. Now, after everything. Horace shivered. He wasn't sure how he felt about that - not happy, that was for certain. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was the one whose feelings were ******** up and stupid and everything. He really should get ready to go meet him, get his curtain, come back, and brood. The usual.

But first, he'd have to deal with whomever was at the door. Unfolding himself from his cross-legged place on the bed, he got up slowly, feeling cricks in his legs that only reared their ugly heads since he'd been so tense. Maybe he wouldn't give an arm for a massage, but Horace definitely would give something. Grimacing, he warily opened the door, and then blinked, several times. When he spoke, his voice was tired and more than a little strained.

"Melvin, why are you here?" He leaned against the doorway.

"I, uh-" He ran a hand down his face, knocking his glasses slightly askew. "I didn't think you meant now, Melvin." Horace had figured that Melvin needed to get his thoughts in order and would enjoy spending time with Lawrence, doing what the ******** they did aside from ********. He wasn't prepared for this and honestly he was tired and emotionally drained.

"Isn't he coming back tonight, anyway? Like... don't you need to be there." It was all he could think of to get Melvin to leave. He couldn't very well tell Melvin he needed to go meet up with Lawrence.

'this was more important.'

What was it with today and people telling him he was more important when it no longer actually mattered? His mouth twisted bitterly for a second. "I just... I've got somewhere to be, too." He ran a hand over his face again.

"If you think... you can make it quick and I gotta get dressed while we talk."

Horace sighed and the sigh almost turned into a groan. "Ok, come in. Sit." He pointed to the lone chair in the room.

"Not even sure where to ******** begin, to be honest."

He moved around the room, picking up pieces of clothing and dropping them on the bed. All clean, more or less, but Horace wasn't as much of a neat freak as Melvin was. Irritably, he stripped off his old shirt before hunting around for a new one. As he poked through clothing - he was never usually so picky about what he wore - he spoke.

"I guess I just... I wanna know from you, first, why you think my anger is unreasonable." He shot Melvin a glance, quick, and turned away again. Horace just wanted to curl up and sleep for ninety years.

He knew there was a danger of falling into the same rut they had over twitter. "I can't be held accountable for the things other people say, still." Yanking the shirt halfway on, he turned briefly to look at Melvin. "You could have, you know. Talked about me - I'm sure you do, offline, with Lawrence maybe. Doesn't matter. I don't care." Horace truly didn't understand. If Melvin had gone on twitter and tweeted about him calling Melvin awful or a shithead, well, those were things Horace had already said, so he could never feel justified in being angry about it. Maybe if it were personal details shared during the time when Melvin was still his friend (if such a time existed), he'd have been upset. He shrugged.

"I guess you can think of it this way - I had an ex, once, named Darren. I can say Darren slammed me headfirst into the lockers, called me a dirty whore, laughed when his friends pushed cigarettes into my skin... I can say these things even where he could hear them, and not ever want to talk to him again. I can talk about things that hurt me without wanting to be involved with the ones who did the hurting." He flopped down on the bed and began to sort through pants. "Does that make sense?"

"It's an extreme example, but..." He shrugged. Obviously, Melvin wasn't on the same level as Darren. Even talking about his ex made his heart beat a little nervously faster, made him feel like he could smell cigarette smoke. He could maybe admit now how un-ideal it was and he didn't know what that said about himself. Maybe that was good? He startled up at Melvin's next question.

"No! I don't hate anyone like that, Melvin. For..." He dropped the pants he was holding and dragged a hand through his hair. "For what it's worth, I miss you." He sighed, looking almost if he regretted saying that. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been used all along, or simply hadn't been important enough, or anything number of other negative things. It made his skin itch, like a thick film clung to him.

"Our friendship, what I thought there was of it."