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 Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2017 9:29 am
Thanksgiving had come and gone and the holiday season was upon them.
Or him. The holiday season was upon him and what better way to bring in a season of overspending and family bullshittery than to drink himself into a stupor nearly every single night?
Rob had quickly become friends with the neighboring liquor store's owner over the past month. Or was it two months, at this point? It didn't matter - the last two winters had sucked and this year, he'd decided to go whole hog and enjoy himself the best way he knew how to - with his best friend, Jack Daniel.
Jose Cuervo came in a close second, with Jim Bean following up the friend chain for the finale. It didn't matter who paid him a visit each night, as long as he wasn't alone he was fine.
He. Was. Fine.
He was smart enough to know a good hangover remedy or two. Managed to stay on top of work. Didn't bother drinking until he'd gotten home. This meant he wasn't an alcoholic, right?
Right?
He was completely and totally in control. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that he could stop at any time he chose to. He just simply didn't choose to do so at this time. Easy. Peasy. He'd get through this hell of a holiday season and go back to life as normal. In the meantime, hell, he'd just enjoy what he could and that enjoyment came from a variety of drinks that burned all the way down.
So it was appropriate, during his path to self-destruction, that he would send out several text messages to the only few names left on his personal cell phone contact list. Each person meant something to him, so he made a point to send them each heartfelt, warm messages in return.
[To Kavinsky: you're an a*****e, you know that? ]
[To Kavinsky: hye ]
[To Kavinsky: hey ]
[To Kavinsky: I've got money if you've got a job ]
[To Kavinsky: the other way around ]
[To Kavinsky: you mean what I know ]
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2017 2:53 pm
Ellis and Kavinsky didn't exactly celebrate Thanksgiving. No, both boys took advantage of the holiday pay and the eagerly sacrificed shifts from co-workers that didn't want to work. At best, they'd had an hour where they could tear into some cheap, on sale rotisserie chicken K had managed to snag from Wal-Mart the night before. Ellie snagged mashed potatoes from his restaurant gig and the teen had managed to warm up some canned corn before his best friend made it through the front door.
It'd been a meager, pathetic thing of a meal for the holiday, but they did what they could with what they had. Of course, the days following were ******** hell for both of them and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the redhead for more than a few minutes. Or, he came home and Ellis was asleep on the couch, having attempted to wait up for him.
Everyone wanted their holiday decorations put up, but few people wanted to do it themselves and that meant that Kavinsky's work schedule was busy. People were swapping their regular tires for winter ones, getting oil changed and windshield wiper blades replaced so his time in the shop was packed too.
The work was good, as was the money, but he had even less time to do anything but work. So, when Banks's text came over on his one afternoon off he was irritated. Especially when he could tell that the man was under the influence of something. Probably liquor considering he liked keeping a glass in his hand at all times whenever Kavinsky went over to do a job.
[Text to Banks: I do, in fact, know I'm an a*****e. Are you ******** drunk? ] The message was sent without much fanfare, the phone shoved into the pocket of his jean jacket as he debated whether or not he wanted to see what bullshit job Banks had for him this time.
[Text to Banks: Be there in fifteen. Make sure you have ******** pants on. ] Against his better judgement he started to head over to the lawyer's house.
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Posted: Wed Nov 29, 2017 6:03 pm
He was crunching on the ice lingering in his glass by the time he received a response. Fragments of cold tossed themselves around in his mouth as his tongue slicked over his teeth, letting out a soft sucking sound as he idly flicked his phone screen on.
HA. Of all people to answer the call. This was fantastic.
[To Kavinsky: What? It's not like you haven't seen me in my shorts ]
[To Kavinsky: Hell Kavinsky, don't be a prude. You slept with me for money, didn't you? ]
He paused, straightening himself from his otherwise slumped position on the couch. There was a little bit of dizziness but nothing unmanageable. He at least had enough sense to realize that his previous, off-the-top-of-his-head comments probably didn't settle well with the oh so serious Russian, so he was quick to follow-up:
[To Kavinsky: That was a joke ]
[To Kavinsky: just to clarifiy ]
[To Kavinsky: I'm not as think as you drunk I am. Got an important job. Big $$$. ]
Clicking the phone off, he estimated on the top of his alcohol-inebriated brain that he probably had fifteen... twenty minutes before the angry young man showed up on his doorstep.
Time to... think of an actual job for him.
s**t. Why had this seemed like such a good idea, five minutes ago?
Hazel eyes glanced around, almost panicked as he tried to focus on tasks. If Kavinsky showed up and there was nothing to do, he was going to be pissed - and it wasn't going to be the funny, poke fun of a person kind of pissed.
s**t. s**t. s**t.
Turning towards the door, he scanned around the area and his gaze settled on the nearby window. It always got a little stuck anyhow, not that he ever had any reason to open the one at the front of the house... yeah, yeah, that would do just fine.
Wobbling forward like a child learning how to walk, he ambled his way towards the front of the house while his normally intelligent brain tried to process the situation. He needed... he needed protection. Fabric. Yeah, okay, that'd work.
Popping the remaining buttons still attached, the lawyer peeled off his dress shirt and proceeded to wrap the clothing around his left hand - left was important, he wrote with his right - and stared at the mummified limb. Without giving it a second thought, he then smashed said fist into the window, shattering it into splinters.
Glass flew everywhere and as he drew his hand back and unraveled the cut up shirt, he frowned when spots of red began to blossom on his skin.
Well... at least the window was broken, right?
Sauntering back towards the kitchen, he ignored the chilly wind that blew in from the newly made hole as he went to look for paper towels. Or something.
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Posted: Tue Dec 05, 2017 10:29 am
His phone buzzed once, twice, then three more times in the time span of a minute. Grinding his teeth, Kavinsky reluctantly pulled the device from his pocket and scrolled through the previews of Banks's texts. Selecting one, he shot back a response.
[Text to Banks: Stop typing and shut up. I'm on my way.]
Even in digital form, the man didn't know how to shut the ******** up. It was exasperating and he should have taken that as a sign that he shouldn't go over. Clearly whatever Banks was up to involved him drinking and that likely meant that he drank too much.
It was probably what the hotshot wannabe lawyer wanted, being drunk off his a** to excuse whatever the ******** he'd done.
Everything about this screamed bad idea but he'd already committed and he was going to show up and see it through.
By the time he'd arrived, he could see what this 'important job' was, a shattered window that looked, suspiciously, like someone had punch a hole through it. Silver eyes narrowed when he started pounding on the side of the door to announce that he was here. There was a perfectly functional doorbell that he ignored, finding them to be a waste of resources. "Banks, open the ******** door."
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2017 1:42 am
It took approximately fifteen minutes and forty seconds for his door to start pounding, echoing the pounding currently going on in his skull. That was a bad sign - head throbbing meant things were wearing off, that the inevitable nausea was en route to occur.
He'd wrapped his hand in a dishrag, the paper towels he initially used to clean himself up with having bled through the material. The rag wasn't looking much better, but with a final shot of rum (or rather, the last two ounces in the bottle), he was able to shrug off the pain as he ambled his way over towards the front door.
“Jesus, Kavinsky, you're going to wake the entire neighborhood with that banging.”
His voice was grouchy but his face was grinning as he opened the front door, then the screen door. The Russian looked less than happy to see him but it didn't seem to bother the intoxicated lawyer.
With his wounded hand pressed against his back, he held the door open for the young man using his unscathed fingers. It was tempting him to take a jab at the denim jacket (who in the world still wore those?) or the stupid, permanent beanie that never left his head, but the opportunity for playful banter would come in due time.
After all, can't have him stomping off before he even made it into the house, right?
“Long time to see. Up for fixing a window, this evening?”
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2017 1:59 pm
Kavinsky was glowering by the time the door was opened and his silver-eyed gaze dropped to the poorly wrapped hand.
"If you gave me a key or left the door unlocked for me, that wouldn't be a concern," he snapped, clearly irritable as he pushed his way inside. With how often the lawyer had been calling him for his services, he was almost surprised he hadn't been given a key since he made some piss a** comment about his knocking every single time.
"Christ Banks, what the ******** did you do?" He asked before his brain put two and two together. "Did you ******** break the window to get me to come over?" Kavinsky shook his head, hand lifting to rub his face. His palm slid across mouth and he tugged at his bottom lip when he drew it away.
"You're ******** kidding me." He looked from the window to the hand that was still bleeding. "Sit your a** down, away from the broken glass," which should have been a given but he surmised that Banks was drunk and prone to making stupid-a** decisions. "I'm getting the first aid kit."
With that, the bulky form of the Russian teenager disappeared up the stairs with the heavy footfalls of his stomps echoing through the house.
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2017 11:48 pm
He didn't seem phased by the immediate pissy attitude he received, as if it was a common reaction to expect from the white haired teenager.
“If you want a key, all you have to do is ask.”
Rob grinned, knowing he was goading the other man with making him be the one to initiate the request. The guy wasn't wrong - it did make complete sense, especially if K were in need to stop by during hours when Rob was at the office. He'd have to see to finding the spare, or at least getting a new one cut.
The smile wavered when the accusations began to fly, however. Unfocused pupils dodged meeting those of the silver gaze staring him down, guilt practically dripping off of his expression. Still, Rob resisted being straightforward. “What? That's absurd.”
Shaking his head, he played it off with a laugh. “Don't flatter yourself, kid. And I'm fine, stop fussing.”
Chuckling faded as the teen seemed insistent on patching the older man up. Rob rolled his eyes, calling out after him, “Hey - that ain't fixing the window!” despite the Russian already out of sight, no doubt rummaging through the upstair’s bathroom.
A quick glance at his hand had the lawyer frowning. The blood was seeping through the cotton and making a mess.
Hm.
Moving to sit down on the couch (because he wanted to not because he'd been told to), he made quick work of unraveling the towel in an attempts to get a better look at his roughed up hand. Immediately, fingers of his untouched hand moved out, clumsily attempting to pull out obvious fragments of glass jutting out from his knuckles.
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Posted: Thu Dec 07, 2017 2:49 pm
They spent enough time around each other that Kavinsky was capable of ignoring more of the stupid s**t Banks had to say. It allowed him to carry on, up the stairs and into the bathroom where the medkit sat under the fridge, hopefully restocked. He hadn't used much of the existing supplies after that ******** obstacle course in hellspace, but who knew what Banks got up to on the night he drank too much and didn't try to get someone to come over.
He didn't know why it irked him, this concept of Banks likely drinking himself into alcoholism if he wasn't already there, but it did.
It showed on the heavy stomping as he tromped back down the stares and right over to the man who had thankfully sat his a** down. Only, dumbass Banks was trying to pick out shards of glass (he ******** knew the a*****e broke his own window) himself. "Knock it off," he snarled, yanking the hands away from each other somehow without making the wounds worse when he sat down beside him.
Silver eyes studied the way the glass fragments set in his skin and he sighed. "You did a ******** number on yourself." He clucked his tongue before he was gingerly removing glass from the man's knuckles until he'd gotten them all onto a towel he fished out from under the sink. "The ******** were you thinking Banks?"
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2017 12:23 am
The stomping did nothing but make Robert’s eyes roll more, his head shaking as he struggled with a particularly nasty looking piece of glass between his first and second knuckle bump. When the burly man forcefully knocked one hand from the other, the lawyer let out a low scoff as his middle finger extended itself out in the Russian’s direction.
Calloused fingers were far more quick and nimble when it came to picking and peeling glass from within his skin, hazel eyes watching as he wrinkled his nose with disdain. A wince and a frown later and the older man even dared to whine, “Don't be so rough.”
Knees anxiously knocked together as he waited impatiently for Kavinsky to finish his tending. Every once in awhile the leg closest to the boy’s would bump into him, Rob not seeming to care whether or not it jostled the impromptu nurse from his duties. If anything, he seemed more intrigued by glancing over Kavinsky himself….that is, until he started asking questions.
It was difficult to come up with clever answers that dodged the truth while inebriated, so Rob didn't bother, choosing to shrug instead.
“What can I say - it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Pausing, he grinned. It was as if the figurative lightbulb had sparked above his head, giving him a grand idea.
"Hey - you want a drink?"
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Posted: Fri Dec 08, 2017 1:33 pm
The middle finger was noted and then very pointedly ignored. If the grown a** man wanted to act like a middle schooler, then he'd leave him to it. Instead, he focused his attention on taking care of the busted hand and once he thought he'd picked out all of the glass, he rummaged for an antiseptic wipe.
"Stop being a baby," he barked, silver eyes glancing up to meet hazel ones for a moment before they flicked back down. "S'gonna hurt like last time." Last time meaning when he cleaned the man's feet before ultimately storming out of his abode after an argument.
For someone so gruff, he was surprisingly gentle as he wiped at the cuts still trickling blood to clean the wounds.
Once he finished that, he reached for one of the gauze pads to set over the worst of the bleeding before plucking the disposable wraps up to bandage Banks's hand with.
"Why'd you ask me to come over when you didn't even have a job for me?" Kavinsky asked in a quiet voice, silver gaze cast down and brow furrowed as he focused on sliding the wrap around the man's hand with a careful precision. His gaze, however, lifted sharply at the suggestion.
"You're already drunk. No."
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Posted: Sun Dec 10, 2017 6:42 am
There was another wince but he didn't make a comment. Truthfully, the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it probably should have been - no, thanks to the haze that fell over him like a thick blanket addling both his thoughts and his feelings, Rob saw the blood, he knew the pain should be there but...
He shrugged again, the pained expression smoothing out as he watched the last glass piece leave his red-smeared paleness. The tan hands that tended to his made a stark difference in color, their weathered tips and palms revealing a much more difficult upbringing than his own. How different their lives were - the foster system K'd come from hadn't been nearly as kind as the stay-at-home mother Robert had known, or even the distant and disapproving father that wanted the very best for the child who carried his last name. Did K even get a chance to disappoint his Baba, as Rob had?
The question the younger man posed gave him pause, eyes shifting to meet the gaze of the other. There was a quietness to his voice that was unusual for the typically blunt Russian. Was he hoping for an answer, perhaps? Or was he confused? Maybe even expressing pity for the lonely older man who didn't seem to give two craps about his liver to--
Eh. Too much deep thinking for a drunk. Instead, diverting the conversation came naturally for the lawyer.
"You're underage, I'm inebriated. Neither of us should drink, but that doesn't mean the law can't turn a blind eye to us, behind closed doors."
He offered a wink to go along with his justification, hiding the almost desperate feeling clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach. Too much was making sense, his brain was trying to overthink things. He wanted to question why Kavinsky even bothered to respond to his texts, knowing he was probably shitfaced. He wanted to focus on the question asked of him - why had he been so insistent on getting the younger man to his house?
No, he needed another drink, something that would mask a peaceful, happy layer of bliss and ignorance over his habit of reasoning and reality.
"Nah, s'just a drink. C'mon K, loosen up. Don't tell me you haven't drank before."
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Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 9:28 am
As expected, Banks didn't answer his question. It shouldn't have bothered Kavinsky, as it was clear that the lawyer was drunk off his a**, but he was filled with a hot flash of irritation at the lack of a response. Teeth grit together and nostrils flared but he did his best to set aside the feeling and focus on finishing the task at hand.
Once it was properly bandaged Kavinsky let the hand drop and he stood from the couch so that he could examine the shattered window properly. Glass littered the floor and he could see the specks of Banks's blood on the shards left intact.
What a ******** mess.
He was about to gather his stuff so he could do a temporary patch job, as he wouldn't be able to properly replace the window without first getting supplies and all the quality places were closed at this hour, when the push to drink came again. "Neither of us are drinking anything, except water. For you." He replied firmly, sharp silver eyes flicking over to glare in the direction of hazel ones.
"Whether I've drank in the past or not is irrelevant," he snapped, making a point to stand directly in front of the inebriated man so that if he tried to get up, he could be stopped. "You've had enough. You're cut off."
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Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 1:39 pm
Thick legs and broad, powerful shoulders took their place right in front of him, intentionally positioning themselves to block him from getting up. Rob might have been drunk but he wasn't stupid - he knew what the kid was up to.
"Yeah?" Both hands planted themselves on either side of him, a grimace flashing across his face as he realized his error of trying to press any amount of weight on his wounded hand. Shrugging it off as best he could, he tried to rise anyways, leaner form pushing against the unfairly well-built one of the Russian's. "Since when did you give a s**t how much I drank?"
One hand moved to grip the shoulder in front of him, the lawyer refusing to find himself toppling backwards. He used Kavinsky as an anchor as he stared into the silver eyes, hazel ones daring him to argue back.
"You just came over for the money anyways, so what does it matter to you? It's not like we're friends, as you're so quick to remind me."
There was a soft shove on the shoulder, which was a terrible decision to make as without his support, Banks quickly found himself losing balance and forcing his good hand to now reach out and grab whatever part of Kavinsky that he could to stabilize himself between the Russian and the edge of the couch. His voice slurred, bitterness evident as feet moved to push against the larger ones cemented in front of him - goddamn, how much did this son of a b***h weigh, anyways? "S'fine, not even the damn cat cares these days. If I gotta pay for friends on top of everything else, I'll just ********' pay. S'fine, s'fine."
Lip curling, he moved his weight inwards, as opposed to simply letting the man continue to wall him towards the couch. "Move. I'll get my own damn drink."
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Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 2:04 pm
As expected, the stubborn ******** attempted to stand up and he looked at him with the most disapproving resting b***h face possible when he put weight on his wounded hand. Kavinsky remained and unmovable object regardless of the man that'd managed to stand before him, who even dared to try and shove his shoulder to no avail.
"Since you started doing stupid s**t because of it." It was one thing when Banks would drink as Kavinsky worked, mouth prattling on about whatever dumbass subject the man wanted to prattle about. It was another when he was putting his fist through things just to get someone to pay attention to him.
Banks might've been a thirty-something year old man, but he was displaying cries for help in the form of child like tantrums.
Kavinsky was not here for it.
"That's not why I came over," he said. There was no offered explanation to follow because K didn't think he needed to explain. His motivations were his own and it wasn't like Banks was going to be sober enough to remember even if he did.
Hands grabbed the front of his shirt in a poor attempt to stabilize himself and it was enough to throw the Russian off balance, feet stumbling forward until he ended up half crowding the lawyer back into his previous seat on the couch. Strong hands gripped the top of the couch of either side of Banks and his knee pressed into the cushion between the man's legs.
"You're not getting another drink." He insisted, voice quiet but stern.
He made no move to move.
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Posted: Tue Dec 12, 2017 2:50 pm
Eyes widened in an instant the moment Rob felt himself tumbling backwards, his a** and back both hitting the couch as the lawyer let out a soft oompth in response. Legs were splayed out, which worked out well for the knee that found its home between them, the weight of the Russian pressing into the cushion he sat on.
He had precisely enough time to wince over the pain that shot through his wounded fist before wide, dilated eyes looked up to see disapproving silver ones staring down directly at him, mere inches away from his face.
Oh, ******** layer of pink across the tops of his cheekbones from inebriation began to darken, the musky scent of the younger man evident from their nearness to one another. It took him a good minute before he realized he was still clutching tightly to the front of his shirt, fingers wrapped around the t-shirt's fabric that was keeping Kavinsky only a breath away from where he lay sprawled out on the couch below him.
Fingers released their hold of his shirt, as if the cotton fabric had burned their tips. He stared at them, then back up at the man hovering over him as eyes cautiously studied the firm, serious expression stretched across the tan face that confidently reassured him that no, he wouldn't be drinking again tonight. The closeness in general made him unusually uncomfortable, enough to where he found himself squirming to press against the back of the couch. The sudden warmth that overtook him was odd, one hand rising to tug at the already opened neck of his dress shirt, as if the pitiful attempt would allow him more breathing room.
The whole thing left him dumbfounded and confused, until realization managed to worm its way through the muddled haze that draped over Robert Bank's mind. He'd felt this way one or two times before and it... no. No, it couldn't be.
Right then and there, Rob knew he was in Really Big Trouble.
One thing still bugged him, however, the question gnawing at the back of his mind like a dog to a bone, festering in his thoughts, demanding a response. He wanted to know the answer but at the same time was terrified of what it could be. Disappointment was surely inevitable, but he still found himself prodding quietly, "So why did you come over?"
Almost immediately, he regretted letting it slip out. It was a stupid question, wasn't it obvious? Morbid curiosity, civic duty, money for rent - whatever the reason, it had to be sensible. K was an honest guy who simply sought out an honest day's worth of pay to go back to his honest way of living.
God, this alcohol was really ******** with his head tonight.
The argument over drinks was dropped, although his mouth suddenly felt as parched as the Sahara. Maybe that suggestion of water hadn't been such a terrible one after all - was it too late to take him up on that offer??
"God, you don't have to be an a** about it," he forced out, trying to shake off the quiet question from the conversation. "Fine. You can get me water, if you must."
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