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"…I do try to do all things with class, always. Even self-pity."
* OOC Time: Sat Mar 16 18:50:55 2019 *
* * *
- * *
* * *
Royal > Fancy a drink?
* * *
Winter > I might. Where?
* * *
Royal > Your choice. I've been drinking home alone.
* * *
Winter > That won't do. Are you feeling more 'distract me with spectacle' or 'lick my wounds peacefully'?
* * *
Royal > You should know me well enough by now which of those two I would prefer.
* * *
Winter > Club Charon, then. One hour.
* * *
Royal > Plenty of time for me to polish off this bottle. See you then.
* * *
Club Charon
Charon is literally underground. White neon signs point down black
stairs threaded with red light. It used to be an entrance to the subway
system until public transit ended up far above ground. The bass can be felt
before moving past the brick archway. The club itself fills up the entire
decommissioned subway platform, with the main dance floor down curved stairs
and on the four-wide track itself. A glass floor hovers a few feet over the
track itself, which is left to crumble and decay.
The style of the place is a mixture of goth edginess, hacker chic and very
short togas and towering hairstyles on the staff. Booths ring the outside
and are in the shape of ancient boats that rock slightly when people get in
and out of them. That gets quite entertaining as the night goes on.
- * *
Club Charon is pretty much everything that Winter's simulation of Rome was not. It's what happens when someone says 'let's make our decor theme ancient Greece' and someone else says 'Should we do some research' and the first person says 'Nah, I watched Gladiator last night, same difference'. To be fair, at least half of the anachronism is intentional. And the rest of it doesn't much matter, since the goal is to get everyone within the club drunk and dancing. The booths that are also boats are fun. Especially as they move a little. Especially if one is a bit drunk while climbing in and out.
It's been an hour since Royal messaged Winter, but the psychosurgeon doesn't seem to have arrived yet. The club is thumping though, bodies on the dance floor and at the bar. Lots of legs, lots of skin, lots of fiber optics. Certainly a place that offers distraction.
* * *
Royal has been here before. Granted, that night was a tense cat-and-moush game of distraction as the various parties tried to learn more about DJ Shatterstack. That night, he dressed for the occasion. Tonight, he's just in a black suit with a salmon-coloured pocket square. It's the kind of suit that fits in everywhere. Not overdressed for day to day life, not underdressed for a club or a martini bar. Still, most of the other people are dressed in edgy quasi-punk fashion. Even if he had dressed for the occasion, for once, he wouldn't be the flashiest one in the room.
He didn't wait to leave. He tossed back what was in his cup at home, then took an aircab to the club. He's currently sitting in one of the boat-booths, slouched quite a bit, a bottle of vodka in the middle of the table and a glass in his hand with ice. He's watching the crowd, but he's not working the room or grinding on the dance floor like he might on another night.
* * *
Winter's taken the promise of distraction seriously. Or, they just wanted to dress for the space. The doctor arrives at the club, making their way through the crowd once they spot Royal at one of the booths. They're in a shimmering chromatic gown that seems to change color from greeny-blue to violet depending on the angle of the light that hits it. Thin straps hold it up, and it hugs what curves Winter has. It's a full-length dress, but both sides have slits that don't stop until mid-thigh. In a nod towards the decor, they're wearing silver, high-heeled sandals of a gladiator style, with thin straps that wrap back and forth up to Winter's calves. Streaks of blue and purple have been added to their blonde bob with has been styled in an 'intentionally mussed' aesthetic. Their makeup is subtle, save for the dusting of glitter on cheekbones and collarbones.
They arrive at Royal's table with a smile that fades rather rapidly as they take in the Duke's understated suit, slouched posture and vodka. Winter has a quick glance at Royal's pocket square and then tilts enough to get a peek down at his shoes. The soles, specifically.
* * *
They don't match. Which is perhaps a nod towards Royal's state of mind. This was an outfit that is the bare minimum of put together for him, but for once it seemed like he didn't find joy in putting his ensemble together.
He watches Winter approach, distracted by dress and legs and… "…doctor? Is that you?" He smiles, but it's a drowsy, sloppy kind. His eyes are glassy. "Did you get all dressed up for me? You look smashing. And for once I feel underdressed."
* * *
"Oh, dear," Winter murmurs under their breath as they get a proper glimpse of Royal's shoes. They straighten and offer the Duke a smile before climbing into the boat booth. They manage not to break their neck or look too terribly awkward, even in the heels. "In the flesh," Winter assures as they reach for a glass and pour themself a little of the vodka. "This is the part where I say 'this old thing' isn't it?" They smirk briefly. "And I'm sure you know by now you look fantastic in anything, subtle suits included. So." They lift the vodka to their lips, taking a swallow, "Why are we drinking?"
* * *
"I love the shoes in particular. And I'm a sucker for anything colour shifting." Royal grins sloppily as he raises the glass to his lips and tips a little right over his tongue and down his gullet. Iced vodka isn't a thing you sit and sip, it's a thing you toss back until you can't see straight.
"Well, apparently I've completely shattered a friendship because I attempted to break things off in a way that didn't do exactly that. So, cheers!" He reaches out to tap his glass against Winter's.
* * *
"Ah," Winter says as the glasses clink. "You spoke to your friend? The one who waited for you on the stoop?"
* * *
"Yes," says Royal as he coughs a little after drinking some of the vodka. "Turns out he's your patient. Small world, yes? Kagami. Though I suppose you had already figured that out and were just observing doctor-patient confidentiality." He is distracted for a moment as someone with a light-up jacket walks past. "Oh I should get me one of those…" Though hard to tell if he means the jacket or the person in it.
* * *
There's a small nod, either for Kagami being their patient or for the fact that they were already aware of who said friend was. Winter has another sip of vodka as the light up jacket moves past with someone pretty poured into it. "Would that help?" they ask with a faint smile.
* * *
"Would what help?" Royal's easily distracted tonight, it seems. The dark of the club, the pulsing music, and the occasional shimmer of light-up outfits provides lots of things to draw his attention. "I don't understand what I did wrong. I was trying to be honest." He exhales. "I've lost a friend by trying to protect a friend from me."
* * *
"He cares for you very much," Winter says, "and I'd wager this conversation happened fairly recently? Perhaps he just needs some time to be sad before he's ready to continue with that friendship."
* * *
"I don't understand," Royal repeats. Hard to say what he doesn't understand in particular. He presses a finger to his lips and draws in a breath. "I'm sorry. I feel as if you were expecting a delightful evening and here I am drunk off my ass and feeling sorry for myself." He tries to smile, but it's forced. "You do look lovely. I don't think I've seen you in anything close-fitting."
* * *
"Nah," Winter assures with a wrinkle of their nose and a faint smile, "I was just expecting an excuse to wear this dress. I'm pretty sure 'great, an hour will give me plenty of time to finish this bottle' is universal for 'I'm sad and would prefer to be numb'. What don't you understand?"
* * *
"Why he cares for me. To the point of making compromises. He accused me of thinking poorly of him, which I don't understand how he came to that point. When I had just said he deserves someone who is both willing and able to care for him in the way he deserves." Royal rubs his face and musses up his usually neatly-coiffed hair. He didn't even fix himself up before coming, which means the humidity in the club is making a few curls poke out around his temples. "I met his father. I nearly punched him. I don't think he's ever had someone truly take care of him and tend to his needs. And I know…" he stops, shakes his head. "…I know for a fact I can't be that. And he could waste years with me, then end up resenting me because I couldn't…"
* * *
Winter lets out a soft breath. "You can see that, but perhaps he can't. He… I think he might idolize you a little bit. He looks at you and sees what he wants to be there, maybe more than what is. An ideal rather than a complex person. I don't think it's intentional. I don't think he fully realizes how complicated he is, either."
* * *
"You may be right. But that's another thing I don't understand." Royal swallows what's left in his glass. The ice cube hits him in the face and dribbles a little down his chin. He wipes a hand across his face, the bit of lemon and vodka stinging his lips. "The Platonic ideal of Dante Taylor," he drawls, then chuckles humourlessly. "Maybe that's what I'm pushing back against. I don't want to be on any kind of pedestal."
* * *
Winter huffs a soft laugh, finishing off their own glass and refilling it. They gesture with the bottle towards Dante's glass as well. Another? "No, I think you have enough things that slightly remove you from everyone else, and you work very hard to minimize most of them."
* * *
Royal leans forward and drops a few ice cubes and a squirt of lemon from little buckets in the middle of the table. Then he fills Winter's glass with a healthy dose of vodka. "I should have never let things get as far as they did in the first place. But it's difficult to resist when someone seems to want you that much."
* * *
Winter gives a small nod and has another swallow of vodka. They lick their lips thoughtfully. "Oh, I like the lemon." Another small sip before the glass is set down. "You were honest about your expectations. I think what he thought he could accept and what he truly wanted were just… different."
* * *
"And yet he insists they aren't different, and that I'm projecting or assuming things that aren't true, or telling him what he wants. But I would argue…" says Royal as he gestures a bit sloppily with the hand holding his glass. Fortunately, it's not very full. "…that if we are miscommunicating that fundamentally, we're a bad match on that point as well."
* * *
"Perhaps so," Winter agrees, "but none of that changes what he wants. Hence, the sticking point."
* * *
"I was bound to disappoint him. Better now than later, ay?" Royal chuckles darkly, then reaches for the ice and lemon and bottle to make his own 'cocktail.' He puts a lot in.
* * *
"Ouch," Winter replies, "you're a bit brutal, aren't you."
* * *
"I'm having a brutal night." Royal swallows a mouthful of vodka and coughs as it burns in the bad way. "He told me the reason I don't have many friends is that I think poorly of people."
* * *
Winter gives a small wince for that. "You seem to be taking all this very much to heart. His friendship means a lot to you, doesn't it."
* * *
Royal slouches back in the booth. The boat-shape means it's just the perfect angle for his tall frame to do that without slipping under the table. But that might yet still happen. "I haven't had many friends who didn't want something by associating with me."
* * *
"I'm going to just edit that into 'I haven't had many friends'," Winter replies. "But, Kagami is one. And he fussed over you which was uncomfortable, but maybe also felt a little nice? A little like someone was thinking of you… just because?"
* * *
"I've had people fuss over me my entire life," says Royal. "I left home because of it. It makes me feel guilty when someone does it when they don't have to, because I don't like fussing over others." He might have stated that with more nuance were he sober, but he's decidedly not.
* * *
"Okay," Winter replies with a cant of their head. "Fair enough. Then, what will you miss? What hurts enough that you're trying to drown it in vodka?"
* * *
"That despite my best efforts, I ended up hurting someone who has had a very hard time and really didn't need it." Which isn't really the answer. Royal is quickly losing focus. Everything he's had to drink this evening is catching up with him. "That maybe if I had tried harder to break down this image of who he thought I was, then this would have been less devastating for him. Or maybe if I actually was the person he thought I am. Was." He smirks and thumps his head back against the boat.
* * *
"You weren't trying to be anyone but yourself. It's not on you, if that gets built up into someone else in another person's mind. Expectations like that can be very hard to change," Winter offers gently.
* * *
"Well, the spell has been broken. And now he's still wrong about me, but instead of the hero, I'm the villain." Royal closes his eyes and cradles the glass of vodka over his stomach. It makes a damp circular mark on his button-up. "At least villain is closer to the truth than Prince Charming?"
* * *
"Oh, come now," Winter chides, "I know you're on the edge of one spectrum, but it's not that one. You may not be an angel, but you're not a monster, either. You're just a person." A smile quirks. "Who has been in more tabloids than most."
* * *
"My point still stands. Mathematically speaking, I'm more a villain than an angel," says Royal as he leans forward with a toothy grin. "I've learned my lesson, though. Back to anonymous sex for me."
* * *
"Mathematically speaking, we're all more villain than angel," Winter replies with a soft laugh. Their smile fades and they have a generous swallow of vodka. "I guess nihilistic sex is still sex."
* * *
"Yes but it's me specifically who is wallowing in guilt and vodka this evening. I do try and not make things all about me, but in this case…" Royal sips his drink again, pinky pointed.
* * *
Winter huffs a soft chuckle, "Well, at least you wallow with class." They finish off their glass and consider the vodka remaining in the bottle. "Huh. My fingers are a bit numb. Interesting."
* * *
"Go a bit slower on the hard stuff if you're not used to it. Or rather, if you don't know whether or not your sleeve is used to it." Royal reaches out for the bucket in the middle of the table and crunches on a piece of ice. "And I do try to do all things with class, always. Even self-pity."
* * *
"No, I think I like it," Winter muses, wiggling their fingers again. They add a little more ice to the glass and then a little more vodka. "So, what now? Dance? Another bottle? Change of scenery?"
* * *
"Well, another bottle might give us alcohol poisoning," says Royal. Then a beat, as he corrects, "Might give me alcohol poisoning. And I am ashamed to admit that my many talents do not extend to the dance floor. I am far too English and have precisely no sense of rhythm." His unfocused eyes sweep up to the floor, but they're only so many glowing blobs to him right now.
* * *
"I think having one's stomach pumped is a dismal end to an evening, so let's avoid that," Winter agrees. They don't argue about the dancing. Considering the amount of alcohol Royal has imbibed, tonight wouldn't be the night to try. "Head out, then?"
* * *
"I should…" Royal pushes himself forward and feels his head swim, "…probably make my way towards my flat. But I would not be at all upset if you chose to stay. You spent time getting dressed up, and I've been terrible company."
* * *
"If you don't mind, I'll walk you back," Winter replies. "I think you're mourning the poor use of this dress far more than I am."
* * *
"I appreciate the peacock nature, and it seems out of your comfort zone. Normally I'd be the wingman to that dress, but alas." Royal sits up more fully and then crunches another ice cube. "So if you really are going to make sure I don't pass out and get mugged, promise me you'll wear it again sometime, mhmm?" He smiles sloppily.
* * *
"Another time, I might've let you," Winter replies for Royal being their wingman. As for wearing the gown again, they quirk a faint smile. "We'll see. Come on, you. 'Passed out in the street' isn't really your look. Let's get you home."
* * *
Royal's ONI flickers as he orders an aircab. He goes with one particular company that costs considerably more than a regular cab. But the drivers are vetted very closely and the vehicles meet stricter safety standards. It makes sense. You step into a cab and you're at the mercy of the driver, and that's a pretty big no-no for a member of the royal family. "I've ordered a ride. It should be outside in a few minutes." He hoists himself up awkwardly, long limbs baby colting. He nearly stumbles into a woman with spikes all over her outfit, but stops short and gives her a charming smile. It's a smile that lets him get away with a lot, but he's a bit too drunk for it to be in full effect tonight.
* * *
Winter climbs out of the booth with a little more wobbling than when they climbed in. Still, they don't fall on their face or anyone's shoulder spikes. They give Royal a moment to untangle himself from the woman he almost fell onto before taking up a spot beside him and heading for the door.
* * *
Through the magic of modern technology, Royal's tab is closed and paid off as he steps out of the door - with a pre-set generous tip, as he's apt to do. It's fairly obvious which car is there for them. The other aircabs are blue or yellow, while his is sleek and black with 'TAYLOR' in lights projected on the window. He stumbles over and tugs open the door for Winter. He can still be a gentleman, even when drunk off his ass.
* * *
Winter's brows lift for the labeling in lights. "Wow," they murmur before climbing into the cab and shifting over so there's room for Royal to get in as well.
* * *
Royal flops in after and almost ends up in Winter's lap before he straightens himself. The seats are plush and wide, and everything is immaculately clean. "Ah yes. Car service. Mandated by the embassy for safety reasons." There's glass dividing the front from the back, and there's no interaction with the person in the front. Once the door is closed, the cab starts to rise through the air, hitting the airlane.
* * *
"Wouldn't it be a little safer if it didn't advertise in lights who it was transporting?" Winter asks, leaning back a little into the comfy seats and stretching out their legs. The high heels are starting to become uncomfortable.
* * *
"Oh, my name disappeared after we got in. That was just to make sure no one else tried to hop in." Royal reaches for a small compartment and pulls out a glass bottle of water. He hands one to Winter and uncaps his own, taking several big swallows. This all seems to be perfectly normal to him. "Thank you. For coming out. I'm sorry it wasn't much of an evening."
* * *
"That's okay. I didn't come out for the evening," Winter replies. They take the water, opening it and taking a few long swallows.
* * *
"One of these days I'll give you a truly fun evening with no drama or great revelations, or you helping me work through my myriad issues." Royal sighs as he looks out at the city and its shining lights. Like most cities these days, it's beautiful by night and drab by day.
* * *
"Royal, it's fine. Truly," Winter assures. They have another swallow of water, considering the way the levels of the city rise until they're obscured by the clouds. "Everything looks so much better from far up," they muse softly.
* * *
"It can," Royal replies in a distant tone. "But it can be very easy to lose perspective."
The car climbs to one of the airlanes that divides the ground from the mid-uppers. The private car company's license allows it to climb higher than the ground cabs, whose licenses restricts it to the lower levels. It means a smoother, more scenic ride, and a faster one as well. The bay can be seen off in the distance, the lights abruptly stopping as the ocean darkens out ahead. After a few minutes of cruising along the high airlane, the car starts to descend back towards the ground, but to the upper levels of what's considered the ground, to a highrise with various platforms every fifty storeys or so.
* * *
"Yes," Winter murmurs with a soft laugh, "the higher you go." Still, they watch the view with interest as the cab climbs higher, moves faster and then begins to descend down towards a ground-but-not-ground building that seems exactly like the sort of place royalty 'roughing it' in Bay City might choose to live.
* * *
They do actually descend lower than Winter might be imagining, though the building looks quite a bit nicer and less generic than the ones that stand around it. The car lands on a platform and the lights turn up slightly in the car. "Ah, here we are. Would you like to come in, or shall we say our goodnights here?" says Royal. "The car can take you wherever you'd like to go."
* * *
Winter considers a moment and finishes off the water. "I'll come in, if you don't mind. I understand, though, if you'd rather not have company."
* * *
"You're very welcome," says Royal with a smile that is more genuine with a hint of his usual warmth instead of the pained smiles of earlier in the evening. He gets out of the car and waits for Winter, offering a wobbly arm down if needed. It's breezy on the platform, but not too bad.
It might seem confusing that he's leading the way towards what appears to be his office, and not his flat. If the ONI-projected sign is to be believed. He presses his hand against a panel by the door, which unlocks. He steps inside, and the lights come up in the small office space. He doesn't linger long however, before he moves to the far wall and places his hand on another hidden panel.
* * *
Winter makes their way out of the cab and avoids using Royal's arm for fear they both might end up on their asses if they tried. Anyhow, they've been climbing in and out of boats all evening, so this is fairly easy. They tuck a lock of hair behind their ear as the wind gently tugs it about and follows the Duke into his office, making note of its lack of decor or decorations. No patterns to disrupt or distract. A corner of their mouth quirks as Royal opens a second panel, which presumably leads to his flat proper. "You live in your office. Or… behind it?"
* * *
"The office is actually the entryway to the flat. But it seemed the ideal size, and well-located for an office." Royal moves inside, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over his arm.
It's dark beyond the sliding panel, but lights start to flicker on overhead with a soft electronic hum that settles into silence. The space beyond is cavernous. It's one massive room with glass windows three storeys high. Everything is industrial in design, from the polished concrete floor, to the sleek, industrial kitchen. There is no bedroom, but there is a high platform on which sets a king bed draped in designer sheets. There is a sofa which looks somewhat out of place, like it was set where it is because there's nowhere else it looks like it would fit. A staircase leads up into a suspended loft that contains what appears to be a full gym. The only thing in a separate room is a bathroom, which is to the left of the sliding panel.
There is hardly any decoration, and hardly any personal touches at all. It looks like someone started to move in but gave up after getting the bed sorted.
The view is certainly spectacular. All the glory of the night city and the radiant glow of the Neon District below bathes the room in an atmosphere not present in the space itself.
* * *
Winter follows Royal in, the sound of each step echoing loudly as it bounces off the ceiling and windows. They've seen the space in virtual, but they pay more attention, now they're physically present. "Quite the view," they muse, stepping over to one of the many windows.
* * *
"That's what sold me on it. My family would prefer I were higher up, but I was never going to get anywhere being a PI if I was." Royal flops onto the couch more inelegantly than he normally moves. He closes his eyes to try and stop the room from spinning, but that only makes it worse.
* * *
"No, I imagine most of your clients live below you, not above," Winter agrees. They head into the kitchen, poking through to find a pair of empty glasses and a bottle of water. They pour one glass for themself and carry the other over to Royal. "Keep hydrating," they urge gently before taking a seat on the couch as well.
* * *
"Mhmmghm, deja vu," murmurs Royal. He sits up and takes the glass. "This is what Kagami did the other night. Kept me hydrated after I foolishly drank too much." He chuckles darkly. "Maybe I do need someone to take care of me." Just that one bit of flopping mussed his hair considerably. It's as unruly as he's ever looked.
* * *
"I think everyone does, from time to time," Winter replies, turning their own glass slowly in their hands. They consider Royal's wayward hair, those carefully hidden curls starting to declare themselves, and glance back towards the city view as they take a few swallows from their water.
* * *
"I'm sure it says something about me psychologically that I bristle when someone tries to look after me." Royal swallows the water and slouches back. "I'm sorry. Have I said that already?" More than once, but he did drink a lot of vodka. He presses the heel of his palm against his eye and rubs.
* * *
"Probably," Winter allows easily, "but I'm not your psychosurgeon, so I have no idea what." Sip. "You have." Said sorry. "Several times. And you can stop whenever you like. I don't regret coming out with you."
* * *
Royal chuckles. "No, you're not. Good job you're not. You'd have your hands full." He swallows more of the water, and stares out at the city. He goes quiet, face as tense as it can be with that much alcohol in his system. "Even when I try to do the right thing, I tend to cock it up."
* * *
"Royal…" Winter considers a moment before offering, instead, "Dante. That's okay. It's the trying that matters."
* * *
"Not to everybody," Royal murmurs in return. He undoes the top few buttons on his shirt, then drops his hand to rest on his leg. He looks over at Winter. "Thank you. I should…roll myself to bed lest I pass out on your lap."
* * *
"To me, then," Winter returns with a tiny shrug. They nod for Royal's heading for sleep. "Okay. Sleep well. I'm sorry for the way you'll feel, come morning. At least GPPI work allows for sleeping in."
* * *
"Maybe I'll roll myself into VR until my body stops being hung over," says Royal with a grin. "I've also some good drugs that should help." He tries to stand, drops back, then tries a second time, wobbling on his feet before straightening. "Can I call you a car? Or would you care to stay over? Nothing untoward. I can take the couch."
* * *
Winter considers. "You take the bed. I'm shorter, I'll take the couch." Then stand, bracing one arm against the couch and offering the other to help Dante up onto his drunk skunk legs.
* * *
"That's entirely ungentlemanly of me," says Royal. He stands, weaves, blinks. "There really is a lot of deja vu in this scenario. Please don't start bleeding from your nose tomorrow and need to be rushed out of here in an ambulance." He's warm in the way people who are very drunk can be.
* * *
"Good lord, I most certainly will not," Winter replies with a perplexed blink. They walk with Royal over to the bed, letting go once the only place (or most likely place) for him to fall is his mattress. "Is it too much deja vu? It's not such a trip back to mine." Just a bit of a pain to make in heels.
* * *
"Mhmmm," says Royal, or rather, that's a sound he makes after he flops heavily onto his bed. He kicks off his shoes without opening his eyes, and uses his toes to peel off his socks. He mumbles something that sounds like 'there's blankets in the closet' as he motions to the wall behind him. All of his closets are hidden with touch panels to reveal them, so it's more likely that's where the touch panel is rather than him forgetting where he is. Though the second is also entirely possible.
* * *
Winter sits down on the edge of the bed so they can unwind the wraps of their shoes from around their legs, slipping out of them with a sigh very similar to the one made in VR when they switched virtual sleeves. Then they stand, draping their shoes over one shoulder, to explore the various wall panels and find the one with the promised blankets.
* * *
It only takes a try or two to intuit where a wall panel activator might be. The back wall slides open into a space almost as large as his office. It's his closet. As expected, it's extensive, with rows of shoes and accessories, and an entire drawer for pocket squares. The suits are arrange by colour, which gives it an interesting rainbow effect. There's a full length mirror to the left. It takes a bit of searching to find a dresser that holds spare bedding. Like the rest of his flat, everything is incredibly neat and orderly, with very little decoration.
Meanwhile, out on the bed, if Royal isn't asleep he's very close to it.
* * *
Winter takes a second to consider the layout of clothing. They pick a white button-down shirt to pilfer for the night which is probably far too expensive and fine to be slept in, but it's going to get slept in anyway. The exploration continues until they find the dresser with bedding. Three blankets are pulled out, two dropped on the couch and one draped over Royal as the deja vu continues unabated. They watch Royal a moment and how asleep he looks before walking over to the couch and shucking out of the peacock gown, pulling the shirt on, instead.
* * *
If Royal has anything more casual than a white button-down, it's stowed somewhere not easily accessible. So Winter will certainly be forgiven for that choice.
He twitches slightly when the blanket is draped over him, but it's barely a stir. The lights can be accessed via ONI and dimmed down or turned off entirely. The large windows can also be tinted to mute the city lights beyond and bathe the flat into more appropriate darkness.
* * *
So, one couch blanket serves as a pillow, the other shaken out to be a proper blanket. The lights are dimmed, and if that doesn't seem to bother Royal, they're then turned off entirely. The windows are tinted halfway so there's a blur of soft light from behind them, but no distinct shapes. Cloth shushes softly as Winter climbs under the bedding and stretches out on the couch.