[ david follows suit, puts his empty glass down and slips off his jacket, sets it down on the counter. he pauses, seemingly in thought for a moment, and then unbuttons the shirt he's wearing just enough he can pull it over his head and set it down on top of his jacket. his body is a mess of scars and tattoos, he assumes evan's is similar. not... that he's ever thought about it. ]
Would've dressed differently if I'd known this was how the night's gonna go.
[ it's slightly self-effacing, even with the laugh in his voice as he says it, but he's ruined a lot of clothes this way and it might not seem like a big deal but that doesn't mean david's happy about it. it's not his fault evan probably only has like two nice shirts in his wardrobe so he can afford to get just about everything he owns bloody and torn without a care. ]
[ he also tops up his glass, just a shot's worth of vodka to throw back. ]
[ the problem starts when david takes off his shirt.
evan wasn't expecting that. he took off his own jacket because it restricts his movement, but the shirt wasn't coming off. david, apparently, didn't have the same idea. there's scars, some evan's fairly certain are his fault, and there's tattoos. not a lot, but enough to draw the eye.
so do the lines of his muscles. the way he looks taking his shirt off in the first place. the way he throws back one more shot. evan knows he's staring, and it takes him several long seconds to finally stop doing that, instead fixing david's face with a glare. ]
What, you're suddenly too good to get blood on your shirt?
[ he wants the shirt back on because if they get into a real fight, he's not totally sure he'll be focused. maybe if he just keeps his hands curled into fists, so that only his knuckles come in contact with david's skin. ]
[ listen, the jacket was for the same reason, but he doesn't want to ruin his shirt if he can avoid it. he catches the tail end of evan's staring, and assumes it's pretty much for the reason he vocalised, deciding to be pissed off for the most minute, inoffensive reason he can find. ]
Like you don't have a hundred more at home. Like you can't buy a hundred more.
[ which evan also could, but it's not his thing - frivolous spending isn't in the family rulebook, except where it counts as according to his father. it's why his jacket is so battered. it was incredibly expensive, but it's lasted him a decade. provided he doesn't get in any other serious fights with it on, it'll last him another. if he lives that long. ]
Like all those girls you bring home don't rip them off you.
[ where the hell did that come from? even evan looks a little surprised by it, but that vanishes quickly, his hands already curling into fists, his attention on david's face, not anywhere else. ]
[ the look david gives him is mostly one of extreme confusion. why is evan so mad about his shirt? what do the women he fucks have to do with any of this? there's something there — an insult, some nugget of understanding — but david can't focus in on it enough through the haze of alcohol that's settled on his mind. ]
The fuck kind of thing is this to get pissed about?
[ david pushes away from the counter, still confused, but also annoyed. a little pissed, because he can't understand what evan's problem is but he's certain it's stupid. ]
What, you wanna rip it off yourself or something? What's your problem?
[ evan can't think of a way to answer that. any of those questions, really, but daivd's comment about ripping it off himself hits on an awkward, uncomfortable, infuriating point in his brain, and for a few seconds he struggles for a response before giving up and going for the answer he always does when he falls into real, choking uncertainty: violence.
he lunges at david. not quite with the ferocity he did on the street, because he doesn't want anyone to call the cops even if they're not that likely to show up here, but there's clear rage in his eyes. and maybe a little bit of panic. he tries to land a punch on his jaw, partly to start the fight for real and partly to shut him up. ]
[ if he were sober, maybe david could put some pieces together here, but right now he's still wondering why the fuck evan's so angry he took off his shirt when evan clocks him in the jaw. ]
[ he neither cares enough about evan's neighbours nor has the presence of mind to hold himself back any, throwing himself at evan in return with full force. swinging to try and get him in the stomach, the sides. ]
[ the blow hits, but so do david's. they rain down on him. his gut and sides. what he's wearing doesn't offer much protection. maybe he should have kept the jacket on.
evan backs up a step, tries to block, realizes they're still in the goddamned kitchen and then throws himself back at david to try and get hold of an arm and jerk him off balance. toward evan, and then toward the ground. he's a good enough fighter but his worst - best - work is when someone else is on the ground, prone, barely able to protect themselves. unable to stop the endless punches to anything he can reach.
of course, it doesn't work like that with david. still. he's going to try. they're both drunk enough that it might work. ]
[ it's not hard to pull david off balance, not with the amount he's had to drink. he falls at an awkward angle, reaching out to try and grab evan and pull him down too. get him on the ground where he doesn't have the immediate advantage, so it's a scramble to see who comes out on top instead of immediately having a rain of punches come down on his face. ]
[ landing on a tile floor is less painful than being thrown down on the street at least. that's something. ]
[ evan goes down, because even if the alcohol isn't reaching his face, it's submerged his brain at this point.
they hit the floor together and immediately it's a fight to not end up on the bottom. on his back. vulnerable to the same flurry of rage and punching he wants to dole out. he tries to get david pinned, but drunk as he is, the best he can do is try and kick out, grab at him, grip hard, and try to hit his head with his own. but it goes badly, because, again, he's drunk. he can't maintain enough focus to use only the crown of his skull.
if it hits, it'll stun him as much as it does david. and hurt just as much, too. ]
[ the headbutt has david reeling, cursing at the impact and the way it blurs his vision for a second. for a moment he can't even do anything, but when that initial stun starts to wear off, he's grabbing at evan again. shoving and punching, unable to make a decision on whether he wants to try and push evan onto his back or pull him in to punch him in the face, so david ends up split between the two. ]
[ he's blinded by his own stupid actions just long enough for david to land a hit square in the face and then stumble as he's shoved, finally landing on the floor fully, managing to avoid being flat on his back just by right of how small the room is.
he snarls something unintelligible and snatches at what should be david's shirt, but there's no shirt. fingers claw at david's skin, across the scars, and then his hand recoils like it's been burned and he grabs for david's head instead. at his hair, maybe. something to drag him down. try to bash his face against the wall, the floor. anything.
now's the time the drunkenness settles in, and he can feel it dragging him down. he's better than this. he has to be. has to be. evan tries to lunge off the floor to tackle david one more time. ]
[ david's halfway up when evan lunges him and sends him back to the floor, just barely managing to avoid smashing his head into a cabinet on the way down. it knocks the breath out of him, but he doesn't have time to waste on that. ]
[ both hands shoot out to grab at evan, one for his throat, the other aiming for his face — ideally to shove his thumb into his eye, but he'll push against his face with his palm if that's all he can do. trying to hurt him, push him away. get him on his back if he can. ]
[ between the alcohol, neither of them gets exactly what they want. evan gets david down, but david's smashing a hand into his face, the other wrapped around his throat, and now evan's realizing that unless he tries to do the same and let david claw at his face and throat even more in the process, his only other option is to get his hands on david's bare chest.
no. he thought about this. if he just punches him -
but trying to avoid getting his eyes gouged out makes that a problem. he claws at david's arms instead, trying to force them away, get him back. it probably looks pathetic. it feels pathetic. he's drunk and fighting like an idiot. with a person he hates, who's shirtless, who he kissed before, who he's alone in an apartment with.
[ there's a brief look of confusion that flits across david's face at the way evan claws at his arms. this isn't how evan fights. this feels like someone who doesn't know what they're doing, who got in over their head. none of the ferocity and brutality he's used to from evan. ]
[ the confusion makes his grip slip, enough for evan to push back the hand david had at his face. ]
Fuck is this?
[ david snarls, shoves against evan angrily, trying to get a rise out of him. he's fought drunk off his ass too many times to think that's all this is, but he can't figure out what it could be. all david knows is it's only making him angrier. ]
[ evan falls back, catches himself, stays half-crouched on the floor as the alcohol and confusion and anger roil in him like they're about to make him sick. why did he bring david back here to fight? why not just go out back behind the bar and throw down?
even if he was capable of verbalizing the problem, he wouldn't. instead: ]
No fucking room.
[ his own stupid decision. and it's a good justification. they're both going to get their skulls cracked open fighting in a space like this. right? ]
[ david doesn't buy it, it's obvious in the look he gives evan, but if there's something else going on, david has no idea what it is. and it's true, there's not enough room in here to properly throw down. ]
[ once again, david finds himself wondering why he did this. why he did any of what he's done today. he stays where he is on the floor, looking up at evan with a frown on his face. ]
That's not it.
[ he speaks before he even manages to spare a thought for whether it's worth pushing evan, for whether or not he's even right. ]
[ david's not gonna argue with him, not when he has no idea what the fuck is going on. he pushes himself up enough to sit too instead, back against a cabinet, rubs his face with both hands and drags one up through his hair. ]
Well, cheers for the blue balls then.
[ mm. not his greatest choice of words, but whatever. he's busy reaching up to see if he can snag one of those bottles off the counter. ]
[ david's comment really doesn't help as evan puts his palms against his forehead, fingers curled tight in his hair, trying to sober himself up by force so he can fix whatever the hell he just started. he could have fought david if he just kept his fucking shirt on, but here he is, shirtless, sitting sprawled in the kitchen, reaching up to grab a bottle. pissed off and still smug, or maybe evan's just reading into things badly.
he doesn't know what to say. if only he could go back and delete that stupid text before he ever sent it. prevent this all.
but he can't. not after what happened the last time he was here. ]
Shoulda kept your fucking shirt on.
[ it's mumbled, only half-audible, but spoken nonetheless. drunk and thoughtless. he doesn't even regret saying it, at least not right away. ]
[ that little comment makes david stop reaching for a bottle and look at evan with a new frown. ]
This again?
[ he pulls a face, drags a hand through his hair. there's something there that would make it make sense, he's sure. just at the edge of his mind, a kind of niggling discomfort that he's becoming frustratingly familiar with yet can't pinpoint the source of. ]
[ evan can't remember if he's fought david shirtless before. he doubts it. their fights are spontaneous. abrupt. no time to get ready, just a rabid attack like the dogs they are. would he have gotten this upset about it before they'd -
he stares at the cabinets, not looking at david, not looking at anything at all, really. trying to think and not think through the haze of alcohol. ]
Just ... stupid. Never done it before. Never cared if I fucked up your shit before.
[ unfortunately, the phrase you wanna rip it off yourself or something? is echoing through his skull. ]
Never exactly had a moment to think about it before either.
[ he looks evan's way and huffs a tired laugh. ]
Ruined a lot of shit I would've liked to keep.
[ a lot of bloody and torn clothes courtesy of evan, and david wears nice clothes. it's always a shame to say goodbye to one of those shirts or jackets or whatever, but what's he gonna do? only wear durable clothes just in case he bumps into evan? ]
[ david doesn't question it, but that doesn't make evan feel any better. he keeps staring at nothing, wanting to kick david out but knowing it'll just make him look even stupider. even less like the man he's supposed to be. but letting him stay is almost as bad. every passing second makes him angrier, and he doesn't want to realize why.
he tries to focus on the basic shit. ruined clothes. because of him. fuck. ]
Don't spend so much cash on that shit if it's so important. Not like you can't buy more.
[ he's already said that. but it's true, isn't it? both of them have more money than they know what to do with. evan just doesn't spend his often, because he has no life outside what his father wants.
[ david rolls his eyes, reaches for the edge of the counter to pull himself up onto his feet with a quiet noise of complaint. the adrenaline's wearing off, the tiredness (and alcohol) is catching up. but he's putting pieces together, slowly. things about the way he's been acting that have been off and poorly explained. ]
[ he stares down at a bottle of vodka, wondering if more booze is a good idea. ]
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hardlydead) wrote2024-05-20 10:36 pm
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[ david follows suit, puts his empty glass down and slips off his jacket, sets it down on the counter. he pauses, seemingly in thought for a moment, and then unbuttons the shirt he's wearing just enough he can pull it over his head and set it down on top of his jacket. his body is a mess of scars and tattoos, he assumes evan's is similar. not... that he's ever thought about it. ]
Would've dressed differently if I'd known this was how the night's gonna go.
[ it's slightly self-effacing, even with the laugh in his voice as he says it, but he's ruined a lot of clothes this way and it might not seem like a big deal but that doesn't mean david's happy about it. it's not his fault evan probably only has like two nice shirts in his wardrobe so he can afford to get just about everything he owns bloody and torn without a care. ]
[ he also tops up his glass, just a shot's worth of vodka to throw back. ]
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evan wasn't expecting that. he took off his own jacket because it restricts his movement, but the shirt wasn't coming off. david, apparently, didn't have the same idea. there's scars, some evan's fairly certain are his fault, and there's tattoos. not a lot, but enough to draw the eye.
so do the lines of his muscles. the way he looks taking his shirt off in the first place. the way he throws back one more shot. evan knows he's staring, and it takes him several long seconds to finally stop doing that, instead fixing david's face with a glare. ]
What, you're suddenly too good to get blood on your shirt?
[ he wants the shirt back on because if they get into a real fight, he's not totally sure he'll be focused. maybe if he just keeps his hands curled into fists, so that only his knuckles come in contact with david's skin. ]
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Don't love ruining my clothes if I can avoid it.
[ he glances aside at his shirt and frowns. ]
It's a nice shirt.
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[ which evan also could, but it's not his thing - frivolous spending isn't in the family rulebook, except where it counts as according to his father. it's why his jacket is so battered. it was incredibly expensive, but it's lasted him a decade. provided he doesn't get in any other serious fights with it on, it'll last him another. if he lives that long. ]
Like all those girls you bring home don't rip them off you.
[ where the hell did that come from? even evan looks a little surprised by it, but that vanishes quickly, his hands already curling into fists, his attention on david's face, not anywhere else. ]
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The fuck kind of thing is this to get pissed about?
[ david pushes away from the counter, still confused, but also annoyed. a little pissed, because he can't understand what evan's problem is but he's certain it's stupid. ]
What, you wanna rip it off yourself or something? What's your problem?
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he lunges at david. not quite with the ferocity he did on the street, because he doesn't want anyone to call the cops even if they're not that likely to show up here, but there's clear rage in his eyes. and maybe a little bit of panic. he tries to land a punch on his jaw, partly to start the fight for real and partly to shut him up. ]
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[ he neither cares enough about evan's neighbours nor has the presence of mind to hold himself back any, throwing himself at evan in return with full force. swinging to try and get him in the stomach, the sides. ]
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evan backs up a step, tries to block, realizes they're still in the goddamned kitchen and then throws himself back at david to try and get hold of an arm and jerk him off balance. toward evan, and then toward the ground. he's a good enough fighter but his worst - best - work is when someone else is on the ground, prone, barely able to protect themselves. unable to stop the endless punches to anything he can reach.
of course, it doesn't work like that with david. still. he's going to try. they're both drunk enough that it might work. ]
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[ landing on a tile floor is less painful than being thrown down on the street at least. that's something. ]
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they hit the floor together and immediately it's a fight to not end up on the bottom. on his back. vulnerable to the same flurry of rage and punching he wants to dole out. he tries to get david pinned, but drunk as he is, the best he can do is try and kick out, grab at him, grip hard, and try to hit his head with his own. but it goes badly, because, again, he's drunk. he can't maintain enough focus to use only the crown of his skull.
if it hits, it'll stun him as much as it does david. and hurt just as much, too. ]
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he snarls something unintelligible and snatches at what should be david's shirt, but there's no shirt. fingers claw at david's skin, across the scars, and then his hand recoils like it's been burned and he grabs for david's head instead. at his hair, maybe. something to drag him down. try to bash his face against the wall, the floor. anything.
now's the time the drunkenness settles in, and he can feel it dragging him down. he's better than this. he has to be. has to be. evan tries to lunge off the floor to tackle david one more time. ]
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[ both hands shoot out to grab at evan, one for his throat, the other aiming for his face — ideally to shove his thumb into his eye, but he'll push against his face with his palm if that's all he can do. trying to hurt him, push him away. get him on his back if he can. ]
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no. he thought about this. if he just punches him -
but trying to avoid getting his eyes gouged out makes that a problem. he claws at david's arms instead, trying to force them away, get him back. it probably looks pathetic. it feels pathetic. he's drunk and fighting like an idiot. with a person he hates, who's shirtless, who he kissed before, who he's alone in an apartment with.
that line of thinking isn't helping anything. ]
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[ the confusion makes his grip slip, enough for evan to push back the hand david had at his face. ]
Fuck is this?
[ david snarls, shoves against evan angrily, trying to get a rise out of him. he's fought drunk off his ass too many times to think that's all this is, but he can't figure out what it could be. all david knows is it's only making him angrier. ]
You gonna fight or what?
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even if he was capable of verbalizing the problem, he wouldn't. instead: ]
No fucking room.
[ his own stupid decision. and it's a good justification. they're both going to get their skulls cracked open fighting in a space like this. right? ]
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[ once again, david finds himself wondering why he did this. why he did any of what he's done today. he stays where he is on the floor, looking up at evan with a frown on his face. ]
That's not it.
[ he speaks before he even manages to spare a thought for whether it's worth pushing evan, for whether or not he's even right. ]
You weren't fightin' like you.
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[ counterpoint: how wouldn't he? david's the one person most likely to know exactly how evan fights. after all these years. ]
No space. Didn't think this through. [ because he's drunk. that makes sense. yes. ] Someone'll call the cops. Get us both arrested. Don't need that.
[ he sits back down on the floor, as if the weight of everything is crushing him. which, in a way, it is. ]
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[ david's not gonna argue with him, not when he has no idea what the fuck is going on. he pushes himself up enough to sit too instead, back against a cabinet, rubs his face with both hands and drags one up through his hair. ]
Well, cheers for the blue balls then.
[ mm. not his greatest choice of words, but whatever. he's busy reaching up to see if he can snag one of those bottles off the counter. ]
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he doesn't know what to say. if only he could go back and delete that stupid text before he ever sent it. prevent this all.
but he can't. not after what happened the last time he was here. ]
Shoulda kept your fucking shirt on.
[ it's mumbled, only half-audible, but spoken nonetheless. drunk and thoughtless. he doesn't even regret saying it, at least not right away. ]
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This again?
[ he pulls a face, drags a hand through his hair. there's something there that would make it make sense, he's sure. just at the edge of his mind, a kind of niggling discomfort that he's becoming frustratingly familiar with yet can't pinpoint the source of. ]
Why's it bother you so much all of a sudden?
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he stares at the cabinets, not looking at david, not looking at anything at all, really. trying to think and not think through the haze of alcohol. ]
Just ... stupid. Never done it before. Never cared if I fucked up your shit before.
[ unfortunately, the phrase you wanna rip it off yourself or something? is echoing through his skull. ]
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[ he looks evan's way and huffs a tired laugh. ]
Ruined a lot of shit I would've liked to keep.
[ a lot of bloody and torn clothes courtesy of evan, and david wears nice clothes. it's always a shame to say goodbye to one of those shirts or jackets or whatever, but what's he gonna do? only wear durable clothes just in case he bumps into evan? ]
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he tries to focus on the basic shit. ruined clothes. because of him. fuck. ]
Don't spend so much cash on that shit if it's so important. Not like you can't buy more.
[ he's already said that. but it's true, isn't it? both of them have more money than they know what to do with. evan just doesn't spend his often, because he has no life outside what his father wants.
well. not much of one, anyway. ]
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[ he stares down at a bottle of vodka, wondering if more booze is a good idea. ]
... Can you come here a sec?
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