Welcome to Gaia! ::

He hadn't forgotten about their promise. So, one day when he could see that Jordan was in his own room (that watch was far too handy at times), Horace had set one beer - chilled nicely by simply being in the coldest corner of Horace's room - outside the sun hunter's door and then gone up. Prep time. It was nice, to busy himself with things for a while that needed his utter attention. After a bit, Jordan would receive a text.



Horace sat on the roof, a beer in one hand and a merrily burning fire in front of him. It was contained in some sort of metal can that looked like a sawed-off barrel and was partly random sticks, broken pieces of wood, and a book. Or two. It had taken a while to start and he wished he had a fiery weapon instead of a doctor. But beggars could never be choosers. Eventually, it blazed. Beer bottles poked out of the snowdrift nearby and he tucked around himself as protection against the cold. Another lay nearby, for Jordan, if he wanted. There was no sense in being both cold and miserable, he thought.

"The surrealism of it all turned out to be a little too jarring for my tastes," he said dryly. "I used to like it." Horace shrugged and took a drink, feeling the cold of the beer travel down into his gut.

"Putting fantasy aside for a bit - you know how it is."

"No, I... still like romance. Just culling the collection a bit, trying to find ones a little more believable." There weren't many, but he couldn't very well throw away his entire collection. "Non-fiction until I get bored, maybe things with just a little less romance." Drastic changes were always the flavor of the day when feeling miserable, he thought, eyeing Jordan's hair.

"It looks good." He gestured to it. "Does it feel very different?"

"I'm feeling a bit cynic too, so I guess we're good company. Makes you wonder if it's even real at all." He huffed and stretched out one leg to poke at some snow.

He looked critically at Jordan's hair again. "I like the best of both worlds in my hair, both long and short." He reached up to rub the fuzzy portion of his head, smiling. The smiled turned a little thoughtful. "Did you like it long?"

"And maybe it's only meant for certain people." He shrugged and shot Jordan a half-smile. "You're right, bit too early for such philosophical nonsense."

He ran his fingers through his own hair, letting it hang in front of his face for a moment before tucking it behind one ear. "Mine's too much upkeep, I guess." Horace paused, wondering if lighter meant physically or otherwise. "You still gonna do the house?" Subtlety was not Horace's strong point tonight. Maybe it was the odd weather that dulled his words in a blunter delivery than normal. Maybe it was nothing more than the loudness of his own thoughts rattling in his head.

"Philosophical nonsense isn't all bad. Maybe add in a bit of mysticism, too. Ia, ia, Cthulhu fthagn or something." He smiled, clearly amused by the idea of discussing and possibly summoning Elder Gods by the light of a shitty barrel fire on the roof of a dorm. It wasn't mysticism, technically, but who was going to stand for technicalities in this weather? "Do we get worker's comp for the hazard of philosophical thinkin'?" He waved his beer bottle around as if the movement could help illustrate his words.

Horace shrugged. "About once a month, maybe. I get lazy, though." He chewed his lip. "It's good to make your own space - like something that's truly you." He did not offer to help design, even though he was interested in the realization of the house. This place had to be Jordan's, especially if it couldn't be Jordan, Harrison, and Rep's. He remembered how much he had wanted a nice house, something simply built, for him and Lawrence. A pipe dream, of course, idealized ramblings of the child he still was.

"When you need help, come grab me. I doubt it's a one person job." He noticed the hesitancy in Jordan's voice. "You gonna be alright?"

"Letting go isn't... easy," he said. "Sometimes people hold on for hope, or out of habit, or because they're scared. I think it might be a 'who am I without you' thing for some." He didn't speculate on what type Jordan was, or what type he was. "I think it takes more time than anyone wants to give it and sometimes people fall off the wagon." Horace popped open another beer, almost wishing he'd brought up mulled wine instead.

"Get so focused on being okay they forget how to hurt enough so it heals. Or something. I clearly don't know." Wriggling his toes under the blanket, Horace wondered how to let go when he wasn't sure he was capable.

The way Jordan said those words made him look sharply at the other man. Well, as sharply as he could manage given the beer. "Headache?" Was the only thing he said.

After a moment, he took another drink. "But you do think it's possible, yeah? Letting go or whatever?"