In hindsight, Priam really should have known that he was on track for a day like this. He'd kept himself busy, stretched himself too thin, for a while now, and yet he kept adding things to his plate. Being a doctor was stressful enough, even if he was predominantly working at a small clinic. He still accepted calls from the larger hospital a bit further away when they needed him.

But he couldn't just do that. He had to agree for guest lectures at Destiny City University, too. He had to go be social, to attend dinners, meetings, discussions.

Had to accidentally join a cosmic war that no one had prepared him for.

Priam had been a dreamer since a young age; being in poor health meant that he'd spent a lot of time doing things that were gentle on his body. Books, naturally, had been his go-to and he had devoured them in his childhood. Less so, now, but only for a lack of free time. He knew the difference between fantasy and reality--or, at least, he thought he did. It was hard to feel like you were in your right mind when you were laying down at night, thinking about powering up, about fighting monsters, about travelling to space. About talking cats and magical disguises. The logical part of his mind, even now, told him that a screw must be loose. That this couldn't be real.

He'd spent countless nights just thinking about how this made no sense--and yet, his body had suffered the damage. It wasn't like he was just stumbling around and hurting himself, like he was in a bad situation and his mind was projecting some other reality to protect him. If it were, someone else would have been cast as a hero, not him.

A pain throbbed in his leg and absentmindedly he reached his fingers down to brush over the bandage on his leg. Sterling had left a while ago and Priam was holding out to see how long it was going to take him to crumble. Months of resolve and he knew he was going to give in tonight. He didn't need to check that his leg was actually injured; as soon as his fingers touched the bandages, he felt a fresh surge of warm pain.

He needed more medicine already. Wiggling his toes, he could feel the uncomfortable shift of skin that gave him a brief understanding that the fight from last night was real.

It wasn't even like it was a supernatural injury. He'd never seen magic--never seen anything 'otherworldly', unless you counted the talking cat--who had a tendency to text him, and who sent him pictures every now and then, so he knew he wasn't just hallucinating their meeting. And the youma, of course. He didn't have a picture of them, but he'd seen enough to know that you might have a bad night and imagine something once, but more than that?

No, this was real.

His stomach twisted, and he caved.

This was real, and this was wrong, and he didn't belong in this story.

He pushed himself up, eyes downcast and brows knit. He was already guilty but he didn't make any effort to stop himself. With no one to see, he hobbled around the house to make sure that everything was locked up. The dogs had been outside just a little while ago, and they were so worn out that he wasn't afraid of them waking up in the middle of the night to beg to be led out. They were so tired right now that they hadn't even jumped up to follow him.

The windows were locked. The front and back door. The garage. He turned out most of the lights as he walked, leaving only the light over the hood of the stove and his bathroom light on. The television was on in the living room but the volume was down. He wasn't watching. The faces on the television made him feel a little less alone.

His thoughts blurred and congealed as he pulled the wine out from the cabinet, purposefully kept just out of reach and tucked away. He brought down two bottles, and then the third. Just in case two weren't enough. He didn't want to be walking on this leg if he managed to make it through two bottles.

Ordinarily, losing a fight wouldn't bother him. He'd lost plenty of fights. In fact, he'd never actually won a fight. Arguably, he'd never been in a real fight, he was sort of just a punching bag. You couldn't win a fight if you never really hit someone, and Priam was just not a violent person. He didn't know how to be. He didn't understand violence, didn't understand the deep seeded anger that could blossom in the pit of someone's stomach, that could make them so mad they forgot common courtesy. Forgot promises of love, promises of safety, forgot years of relationship.

He was back on the couch with the bottle to his lips before he realized where his mind had wandered, and at that point there really wasn't any reason not to drink.

He didn't want to think about it.

The past was the past, and this was the present, and it was better, but now he was in a war. Somehow.

Or, so they said, at least.

Soldiers fought in a war. Priam was just barely not a civilian, and the only reason he managed to be what he was just so happened to be because some cosmic fluke decided to give him a magical artifact, and a magical wonder (apparently, he'd never seen it to verify), and a magical uniform.

He didn't spill a single drop of wine and drank it like it was water. It didn't taste like how he remembered it, which was either a good thing or a bad thing. He hadn't decided yet. A quarter of the bottle was gone in a matter of seconds and he leaned back into the couch, holding it between both hands.

A classy person would have had one glass before bed, and maybe would have just taken some sleeping pills to doze off.

Priam wasn't feeling very classy. Or very responsible. He knew what sort of drunk he was--a pathetic one. A sleepy one. One who would forget what it was like to be angry and lonely, and who might be able to just lay on the couch and actually laugh at some silly movie. One who might even appreciate everything he had instead of just questioning everything, doubting everything.

Instead of thinking of the way Qingcheng had looked at him. The way Sterling looked at him.

The way he didn't say it out loud but said it with his eyes.

Priam wasn't good enough.

They both knew it. Sterling was younger, with more life in him, with a healthier body and wider eyes. Priam was bitter and lonely and had barely been making things work before he ran into him and Soleiyu. It had felt like maybe he was on the right track--for a while.

But there was always going to be a brick wall to hit, sooner or later. Things couldn't just be easy. It couldn't be like in the storybooks, where things made sense. Where there was a group of friends who worked together to accomplish something. Who knew what they were doing, who supported each other, who thrived.

There was just Priam, and Sterling, who had his own life. And Yu.

Priam had no romantic feelings for Sterling, but he was, in his own way, a little jealous. To be young and so full of hope and love. To have such a drive, to make such a difference.

The bottle was at his lips again and he took a few quick sips.

Relationships didn't always work out, but there was something just so good in Sterling. He didn't want him to have to deal with losing someone he cared about. Yu seemed good for him, too, though he didn't know the man as well as he knew Sterling. He liked to listen to Sterling talk about him, though--in that way that only young love managed. Sterling wasn't a child, but it was endearing all the same. His eyes sparkled and his smile lit up his whole face. Before Sterling had confessed to Yu, Priam had known. Not because Sterling had told him, though the confirmation was helpful.

Priam knew because he remembered what it was like to be so in love with someone that you couldn't help but talk about them to your friends. To share pointless facts. To tell meaningless stories. To go through your day with them always on your mind. It had been a while, but he remembered.

And now, Sterling and Yu had been together for a while now, and nothing had changed.

But, when it did, it wasn't like it was fast.

When things started to go south, it was never just overnight. One small transgression. An apology. Happy memories. Another mistake. Another apology. Happy memories. More mistakes. Less apologies. The mistakes became habits, the apologies became excuses.

The bottle was half empty and Priam was nearly gasping for breath. It was unhealthy--and stupid, honestly--to drink a bottle of wine like water after a marathon. He was eyeing the second bottle, trying to figure out how long it would take him to finish the first and planning to figure if he could finish the second before the alcohol hit.

So stupid, repeated in the back of his head.

So stupid. Stop it.

It wasn't like it was a big bottle. It hardly counted. He drummed his fingers lightly on the glass. The alcohol content wasn't even that high. This wasn't that bad. People did worse things when they had a bad night.

So stupid.

People did better things, too.

Like actually talk about their problems. Like practice self care. He could be taking a bubble bath. He could be listening to an audio book. He could have called his brother. He could have asked Sterling to stay.

But, no. Here he was, alone.

Making things worse.

His fingers drummed on the side of the bottle again and he squinted at the television.

He wasn't feeling anything yet, but his head was hurting. Not as much as his knee. The light was too bright but it was unreasonable to turn it off; he didn't want to accidentally step on the dogs, either now or later. They were just dogs but he liked to think that they were more comfortable when they could see where they were going. Once they settled in for the night, they usually stayed where they had passed out, but in the early nights--when he was just getting used to new dogs, young dogs, he had heard the way their little paws hurriedly trotted from one place to another, like they were afraid of being alone with the dark.

He supposed he could related.

He didn't like the dark, either.

It was hard to put down the bottle; he wanted to just chug it, wanted to bury his face in the pillow, maybe he wanted to cry until he was too tired to think, to feel. He'd make himself sick enough to throw up if he did that, and if he was drunk he knew he'd wind up running right into the table on his way to the bathroom and just hurting himself.

So stupid.

Priam groaned, hating this go-to. He didn't feel better, it was taking too long.

A jingle at his side reminded him that he was not as alone as he thought; both dogs were looking at him from under the table. The larger one, Odysseus, had picked up his head. The smaller, Penelope, was watching him through sleepy eyes.

Priam sighed, guilty, and seemed like he was between a rock and a hard place. On one hand, he really wanted to get drunk and forget about everything. On the other hand, who could want to forget those precious little eyes? He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment and reluctantly corked the bottle. "Come here," he said softly. The dogs were still learning commands, but anyone looking at them and speaking to them was worth giving their attention to. They crawled from under the table, each pressing into his open hands. Odie was dangerously close to his injured leg, but he didn't brush against it once.

He sat, hunched over, on the couch and scratched at their ears. His eyes were sore--and then wet, but he made no move to brush at his tears. He was tired and frustrated and he hadn't felt this useless in a while.

If Qingcheng hadn't been there, he didn't know what would have happened. He didn't think the Negaverse Agent would have killed him, but that begged the question--what would have happened? Would he just have pummeled him half to death? Would he have had to drag himself to the hospital with some hastily spun lie about being mugged? Would he have been stuck in bed, alone, recuperating, lamenting about his lot in life?

Of all the things to dream about, this wasn't where Priam wanted his mind to go.

If he was going to dream of anything, he wanted to dream of happy times. Not of being hurt and alone and miserable.

Sort of like right now, but worse.

He wished his brother wasn't out of town. He wished, badly, that he could have just called him over. Jarvis did not give himself enough credit for all of the good he brought to the world, to his brother, and Priam wished he understood what a reassuring thought just having him there next to him was. But, Jarvis wouldn't be back for a while, and the thought pained his heart. It was too late to call.

It's not, Jarvis' voice said in his head. Because, he'd said, 'If you ever need anything, Priam, call me. For anything.' enough times that it had finally sunk in.

Priam chewed on his lip again; he didn't want to stop petting the dogs, each who had nuzzled their heads into his hands, but he had a free moment when Penny shifted positions to stretch and then leaned back to sit on the ground and scratch her foot under her collar. He reached for his phone and drew his brother from his contacts--an easy task, given that the friend list was small and sorted away from the business contacts.

They had just spoken earlier today; Priam had texted to make sure Jarvis remembered to eat something healthy for lunch. Jarvis had sent a picture of a plate of sushi and promised to call when he had a little more free time. For a few seconds, Priam just stared at his phone.

He could call. He couldn't tell if the alcohol was having any effect. He felt clear headed--clear headed enough to know that if Jarvis caught him slurring, he'd be worried. Priam didn't want him to worry. He just wanted him to be here. Instead, he texted, 'I love you..

It was late. Jarvis should have been asleep. Instead, he had texted back in less than thirty seconds, 'I love you too. Are you okay?'

It was enough to bring a little smile to his face. 'I had a long day. But I'm okay.'

'Was it work? Do you want to call?'

He would. Priam knew he would. Even if he had an early day tomorrow, Jarvis would call and listen to him about anything and everything. Priam hadn't told him about this whole Knight thing--and maybe that was part of why it was so hard to talk to Jarvis about anything else.

Sterling was the only person in his life who knew--and Soleiyu, but he wasn't really there like Sterling was. Sterling knew his present, but not his past. Jarvis knew his past, but not his present. There were too many secrets and it was draining all around. He couldn't take too long to respond to Jarvis or he knew his brother would call, so he texted back, 'It's okay. Work is work. I just miss you.'

'I know. I miss you too. We can face time?'

'I'm in bed, tomorrow?'

'Me too. Tomorrow for sure. I can't wait to meet your puppies. I love them.'

Priam laughed, because of course he did. Jarvis asked for pictures all the time--and Priam took a picture of the two right now for him and sent it before he could ask. They squinted into the flash, but Penny was too happy with her self-scratching and Odie was in the middle of a yawn. Jarvis sent a heart emoji before Priam had begun texting back, and another message, 'A three bottle night?'

It didn't make sense, at first, until Priam realized that the picture he'd sent showed the bottom of the three bottles of wine he'd left on the table.

He didn't understand how people thought Jarvis was dull, not when he was clever and observant like this. He texted back, 'I was ambitious when I started. I didn't make it through the first bottle. I'm not going to try.'

Jarvis was texting back quicker now, 'Okay. But if you change your mind, my phone is right next to me. I love you.'

So trusting. Priam had to move the bottles to see if he there was any way to tell if they were still empty or full, but Jarvis was just giving him blind trust on that. It made him smile and he adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable on the couch. He moved his leg carefully, resting it atop the back to make sure that no little paws accidentally dug into his injury. As soon as he moved and tried to settle in, both dogs were trying to get on the couch. He had to hurry to get settled in before they risked a night of discomfort, but the two of them curled up against his good leg; Odie rested his head on Priam's knee and Penny rested her head on Odie's flank. There was more than enough room for the three of them and he breathed a sigh of relief, lying back on the couch and fluffing the pillow that was leaning against the armrest. He drew the blanket up a little more, covering his chest, and then texted, 'I have to take off my glasses to try and sleep. If I can't, I'll call.'

Jarvis, immediately, 'Okay. Have good dreams. I can read to you until you fall asleep.'

It was funny enough to Priam that he did laugh--so maybe the alcohol was working. He didn't feel very sad right now, or mad. He wasn't frustrated that he was useless in battle, that he was letting Qingcheng and Soleiyu down. He wasn't annoyed that he was expected to fight and that it was hard, if only because he didn't want to hurt anyone. He texted back, 'I'm not a child anymore'. He wished Jarvis could hear how touched he was that he had offered.

Another immediate response. 'You're never too old for a good story'.

'I don't think you're allowed to use my words against me.'

'I'm not. Never against you. Just wanted to remind you.'

'I love you, Jarvis. I've got the television on. But I'll call if I can't sleep, I promise.'

'Okay. I believe you. Sending you good thoughts.'

'I know. Same. Thank you, Jarvis.'

Jarvis sent a picture of the sushi from lunch again. 'SORRY'

He sent a picture of himself, making a face as the flash blinded him; he was in his hotel room and Priam could make out the open balcony door and the lights of a bright city behind him. It was a nice room, but he'd already known that because Jarvis had gushed about it when he first arrived. The television was on, and he could make out what looked like a bathroom light. A second later, the right picture finally sent; Jarvis must have been too tired to realize that he had sent the wrong picture.

By his bedside, a fairytale book--old and worn, and one of Priam's favorites.

Jarvis didn't have the same love of literature as Priam, and while he was a bit nostalgic and almost certainly homesick, Priam knew that of all the things Jarvis could have taken to remind him of home, it didn't have to be that book. The same fairytale book he'd read to Priam when they were children, when Priam was too sick to read it himself. When he wasn't having a good night, when he was stressed, when he needed to be cheered up.

It was Priam's favorite book, and Jarvis had taken it with him, and slept with it by his bed.

Just in case.

Knowing that Jarvis had packed it, offered it, and was ready to read from it chased away whatever worries he'd had about bothering him. He blinked away warmth in his eyes but he wasn't upset anymore. It was hard to anguish about uselessness when you were surrounded by puppies, tucked in, and reminded of a brother who had his own life to lead but was still thinking about you.

He texted back, 'You're so silly. Go to bed, Jarvis. I feel better.'

'Good! Call me when you wake up.'

'I will. Sleep well'

A heart emoji, and two shrimp emojis. Priam didn't know what they meant, but with Jarvis, he wasn't even sure he'd meant to sent him. He held his phone for a few seconds and then rested it on his chest, breathing a little sigh and trying to force himself to relax.

He needed to find something positive to focus on.

Positive, like two puppies curled up at his foot.

Positive, like a friend that worried enough about him to walk him home. Even though he was pretty sure that he was letting Sterling down, and that he had been worried Sterling might try to encourage him not to power up again. Worried that he was going to get scolded for not taking the self defense seriously, worried that he was going to be chastised for being so reluctant to hurt someone, worried that Sterling was going to decide that it was too dangerous to go with him.

Ah--no. No, those weren't positive thoughts.

Positive thoughts like...

A brother who was ready to comfort you even while he was supposed to be focusing on work, while he was in a strange, foreign city--that he was afraid of traveling, afraid of being on his own, and through all of that he had still remembered to bring a book just in case Priam needed him.

That was nice.

Almost nice enough to make his leg hurt a little less. He glanced to the bottles sitting on the coffee table. He could almost reach from here, but getting drunk...

Was not a reasonable way to deal with anything of this.

He was better than that. He hadn't spent all this time developing healthy coping mechanisms just to get into a cosmic space fight, lose, and go back to them.

With a heavy sigh, Priam removed his glasses and pushed them onto the table, stretching his arm to reach. He barely made it without having to throw them, but he was so tired and worn out that he almost didn't even care if he'd had to.

He didn't need the wine. It hadn't even tasted that good.

He didn't need so many bottles in the house. A bottle of white, a bottle of red, and a bottle of...something special. For dinner. Not lamenting, or pouting.

A knot unclenched in his stomach and he sighed heavily, reaching up to rub at his tired, sore eyes.

So stupid, he heard again, and hated how easy it was to listen to that voice. He was better than that.

He'd been doing better for a long time.

He wasn't going to let one night drag him back.

Maybe he wasn't a good Knight.

But.

He'd been doing this for--wait.

It was three weeks? He was this upset for something he hadn't mastered in three weeks?

Maybe 'so stupid' was right. He hadn't graduated medical school overnight, why should he be a natural at this overnight?

He just needed to focus on self defense. Focus on de-escalation techniques. Learn more. Visit his wonder. Breathe. He had to massage his chest, as if that could ease the tension, the weight in his lungs.

Things were okay.

Not great--because he was frustrated and unhappy and hurting. But things were okay. And maybe, in the morning, they would be better. He could face time his brother, he could text Sterling, he could let his leg heal, and he could figure this out.

This was okay.

He was okay.