Log Title: History Repeating
Summary: Once again, Royal finds himself hungover with a guest on the couch.
IC Date: Sun Mar 17 15:10, 2381
OOC Date: Sun Mar 17 15:10, 2019
Related Logs: Rocking the Boat
winterroyal

 

 

"Turns out all I need to do to look cozy is get completely drunk off my arse on vodka and get incredibly hungover."

* OOC Time: Sun Mar 17 13:10:12 2019 *

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* * *

The night is quiet. Winter sleeps on the couch, Royal (presumably) sleeps in his bed. The city lights flick off as sunrise approaches, and daylight brings new activity and business in the city below. Winter wakes around seven in the morning, sitting up quietly and looking around the space in momentary confusion until their groggy brain pieces together where they are and why. They climb quietly to their feet and with a glance to make sure Royal's still asleep, head into the bathroom to see about a shower to wash make up, glitter, and hair color away. They're still in the white, button down shirt they "borrowed" from Royal's closet, now a bit rumpled for having been slept in.

* * *

Royal is still quite asleep, face down on his bed. At some point in the night, he woke up enough to kick pants off and wriggle out of shirt. He's still sleeping on top of the covers, one leg sticking out. Just enough of him is out of the blanket to reveal he's wearing bright red boxer briefs. Because of course, his underwear wouldn't be ordinary.

The bathroom is large rainfall shower that turns on at the perfect temperature from the moment it clicks on. There's an array of masculine-smelling high-end soaps behind yet another small panel. He really does like to have everything hidden away.

* * *

Winter smirks faintly for that brief flash of red underpants because, yes, of course. Their head cants as they wonder, briefly, if the boxers usually match the shoes match the pocket square. The idea makes them snicker, so they slip quietly into the bathroom before they risk waking Royal. The space is considered and Winter peels out of the shirt and their underthings before stepping into the shower and clicking it on. And it's like perfectly heated rain because of course it is. They tip their head back, enjoying the sensation, or trying to. Twenty four hours inside their skin, with no visits to VR, is a little much. So, the sensations are nice, but also a constant reminder of the skin they wear, the shape they hold. They locate the panel with the assortment of fancy soaps behind it, picking a sandalwood one to use as well as some sort of shampoo that smells like "amber musk".

* * *

There's a soft groan from the bed, then a fumbling sound, and a shake of the pill bottle. Whenever Winter emerges, Royal can be found burritoed in that loose blanket. His ONI shimmers and the light outside is dimmed again, plunging the room into semidarkness even though the sun is almost fully up.

* * *

Winter slips back out into the main room with wet hair, washed clean of blue and purple streaks, back in their underthings and Royal's shirt. They consider the darkened room and, rather than speaking, just lift their hand in a silent wave good morning.

* * *

"Mrphngnh," groans Royal. Then he disappears into the burrito. Feet protrude from the bottom of the blanket, but the rest of him disappears.

The kitchen features a very fancy coffeemaker with dozens of settings. It makes everything from lattes to coffee slushes. It's fairly intuitive. If anything is not clear, it has an ONI link with further instructions. His fridge is bachelor-bare, containing just a handful of ready-to-eat meals for a diet that helps with lean muscle. There's a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter.

Eventually, he slides out of his bed in his skivvies, and there's the sound of the rainfall shower going. It goes quite a long time.

* * *

Winter is merciful, and also drowsy, so they drift into the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on. Just the plain, basic sort, though possibly using beans that cost more than most coffeemakers. As the pot percolates, they peek in the fridge and then consider the fresh fruit. An orange gets selected, and they sit on one of the bar stools to begin peeling it.

* * *

If Winter is watching, they might get a glance of Royal moving into his closet after the shower. He's more built than his suits might suggest, but not overworked. If he did, his suits wouldn't lie quite as nicely, and that's obviously a priority for him. It's a little over thirty minutes between shower and when he emerges from the closet. He's wearing a brown cashmere turtleneck and black pants that may be workout pants, may be casual pants. It's hard to tell. His hair is an absolute mess of frizz and curls, which is a little less artful than how his hair appeared in Virtual. He's still squinting a lot and looks a bit pale, and a little green in the gills as well. He doesn't say anything, instead he just sits on the stool at the counter and leans forward to lay his face on the cool granite.

* * *

Winter watches, of course. Human choices and human behavior are kind've their jam. So, they take note of Royal's physique for virtuous reasons (and possibly some less virtuous ones), finish peeling the orange, and then finish eating it. By the time Royal rests his cheek on his countertop, the coffee is made and the orange peel has been thrown away. Winter pulls down two coffee cups, filling both and setting one down near Royal. "When you invited me to see you fresh out of a shower, I have a feeling this wasn't what you meant," they muse, keeping their voice soft out of respect for the wallop of a headache the GPPI most likely has.

* * *

"Keep vodka away from me at all costs. Drink you stop tasting is very dangerous." Royal's words are muffled into the counter. When he lifts his head, there's a slight red mark on his forehead that starts to fade. "Not quite," he says with a crooked smile, then pulls the mug towards him. He takes a big gulp without adding anything to it, and seems a little revived by the mouthful. "Did you get any rest?" he asks hoarsely.

* * *

"Mmm," Winter says with a small nod. "It's a very comfortable couch." They blow over the top of their coffee and have a sip.

* * *

Minus the squinty hangover and the pale pallor to his face, Royal looks more like he did in Virtual than his usual self. Even though the sweater is very fitted and made of fine material. He looks softer around the edges than he normally does. He's also not shaved for a few days, so it's more real stubble than the artful stubble he usually sports. He sips the coffee again. "You obviously drank far less than I did." He nods down at the end of the counter where there's a bottle of whiskey that's clearly had more than a few drams taken out of it. There's a glass sitting beside it, which suggests he was drinking that before the call.

* * *

"I think you got a head start on me," Winter agrees, glancing over at the bottle and perhaps recalling the amount already gone from the vodka bottle at their table. "Had the talk with Kagami and then went straight for the whiskey?"

* * *

"Mhmm," which is neither confirmation, nor denial. Royal sips his coffee, then reaches for a banana to peel and eat. He chews slowly, cautiously, and stops about halfway through. He moves for the fridge to pull out a glass bottle of water. He holds one up to Winter questioningly.

* * *

Winter gives a small shake of their head and has another sip of coffee. "I'm all right, thank you. So. What's your plan for today?"

* * *

Royal's ONI flickers, and his frown deepends. He grits his jaw and sips coffee again. "Probably going back to bed. I have meetings this afternoon, technically, but those can be rescheduled."

* * *

Winter gives a small nod and turns the coffee mug slowly in their hands. "…All right?"

* * *

Royal points to his ONI. "A message. I sent him one before I started drinking, trying to explain myself. It hasn't gone over very well."

* * *

"Mmm," Winter murmurs with a small nod. "I'm sorry. I suppose the ball's in his court, now, then, but he might need a little time before he's ready."

* * *

"Yes. I'm wondering if sending a response would help or hurt. He's upset that I assumed what he wanted and what he's feeling. That seems to be the sticking point. But I've inferred that from his actions. Am I supposed to ignore what he does and listen just to what he says?" He sips coffee again. "And…he's upset that I insulted his family. Which, fair play. But his father's callousness bothered me. I should have been more sensitive to the complexity there."

* * *

"Well, have you asked him?" Winter asks with a slow blink. "'What did you want? How did you feel?' If he thinks he's not being heard or understood, you could give him the opportunity to voice those things. As for his family… or any family… it's always complicated, isn't it?"

* * *

"I did, and he agreed and said he was fine with everything. But then…" Royal rubs his neck. "He shows up on my doorstep and looks after me when I'm drunk." He slides down to flatten against the granite again. "Ngh."

* * *

"Indeed," Winter agrees for that 'ngh'. "But, that was before everything went sideways. Perhaps he feels differently now. Or perhaps he doesn't. Or perhaps voicing his own feelings might make him think about them and his subsequent actions." Their shoulders lift and fall. "Or, you could just tell him you understand he's hurt, but you'd like to remain friends when or if he ever feels the same. Or, you could not respond at all, give him some space and see what he does with it."

* * *

"I did tell him I wanted to remain friends. But apparently it's all or nothing." Royal inhales slowly and lifts his head again, but remains leaned on the counter. "I really, really should just stick to transactional relationships. I can't cut even a friends with benefits situation."

* * *

"Well, I suppose that's up to him," Winter allows. They finish their coffee, setting the mug in the sink. "Come, though, Royal. One try and now you're swearing it off forever? That sounds a little 'all or nothing', too, don't you think?"

* * *

"This goes back to our other conversation about the way people are built. I tried to push things out of my comfort zone and I ended up hurting someone who very much did not need to be hurt." Royal sips his coffee. He's drinking it more slowly. "I'm not good for anyone, not long-term." Which is a self-pitying statement, but he says it matter-of-factly.

* * *

"Pfft," Winter replies, reaching over and flicking one of Royal's curls. "That's not the choice you get to make."

* * *

"How is that not my choice? I can just choose to not get into these situations to begin with. To make it even clearer from the start that I don't want anything long-term." He's looking a bit better, which suggests the miracle pills he took are doing their job of filing off the edges of his hangover.

* * *

"Yes, you can pick the types of relationships you're in, the encounters you have," Winter agrees, "But, you should make those decisions based on what you want, not what you're afraid might happen."

* * *

Royal chuckles humourlessly. "Unless I'm also wired to be a coward." He takes another bite of banana. "I'm worried about him. He's determined to work on the case alone, but that's dangerous. I can understand him not wanting to work with me, but he should work with someone."

* * *

"Yes, he should," Winter muses, "and he will. He's working for a second GPPI, isn't he? Someone more closely tied to the police?"

* * *

"I don't know. His last message said he was going to work on it alone. No one can work on this case alone. It's too big, and there are too many elements." Royal takes a breath. "This is all too much for my poor, hungover brain. I hope I'm not keeping you from anything."

* * *

"No clients until this afternoon," Winter says. They rest their hand against their opposite shoulder, fingers tapping. "I'm his psychosurgeon, it's not really my place to get involved in his work or private life except for what we discuss in sessions. But, he's working on a very dangerous virus, and for the sake of the whole city, he needs to be willing to collaborate. And I did, I suppose, act more like a friend on at least one occasion. Perhaps I should try to speak with him."

* * *

"Be aware that he might drop you as a psychosurgeon if he finds out we're friends," Royal pinches his nose and chuckles roughly. "I'm clearly persona non grata at the moment and I doubt he'd appreciate talking to someone considered an ally of mine." He side-eyes the bottle at the end of the counter, like he's considering hair of the dog.

* * *

"I suppose that's his choice," Winter says with a soft breath out, hand dropping, "but I'm not sure lying about it is the solution."

* * *

"Just…don't try to defend him for me? Perhaps stick to the topic of the investigation. Otherwise I doubt he'll hear you." Royal slips off the stool and moves to refill his coffee.

* * *

"I don't intend to play mediator," Winter says, arms crossing loosely. "You're both adults. You can work through this yourselves. I just don't think hurt feelings should interfere with a case this important."

* * *

"No, they shouldn't. And I'm perfectly willing to engage in a professional capacity. I'll even hand over what I know about the toxin to another investigator. But flying solo isn't an option for anyone." Royal takes the glass water bottle and holds it against the crook of his neck to cool down.

* * *

"Agreed," Winter replies with a small nod. "So, I'll have a word, in case it might help."

* * *

"Now that I'm not so afraid of VR, I should crawl into it to escape this hangover. Though that seems like it could be easily habit-forming." He closes his eyes and reaches up to push back his hair. "I must look a state."

* * *

"You look…" Winter's lips quirk, "…cozy. Turns out you can pull it off after all."

* * *

"Turns out all I need to do to look cozy is get completely drunk off my arse on vodka and get incredibly hungover. So, hoorah?" Royal salutes with the bottle of water and swallows a mouthful.

* * *

"I've a feeling there might be other, less painful ways for you to manage it," Winter answers, resting their elbows on the countertop. "Though I'm sure the headache induced apathy does help."

* * *

"You obviously found my closet if you found that shirt," says Royal as he nods to Winter's attire. "So you know I don't own much that one would term…casual."

* * *

"No, and I did look. This didn't exactly strike me as 'sleep attire'." Winter lightly plucks the collar of said shirt. "I think you could do both casual and stylish if you wanted. But, maybe sharp and polished is what you prefer. Nothing wrong with that, either."

* * *

"I suppose it's my armor," says Royal. That's a fairly offhand comment for a potential breakthrough. "I tend to just sleep in my skivvies. Or sometimes my workout clothes if I'm feeling modest. Workout things are behind a different panel." Not mixed in with his suits, because of course not.

* * *

Winter smiles again, but if Royal's just had a self-revelation, they know better than to point it out. "A different panel," they muse. "Well, I'll know for next time. Sorry about the shirt."

* * *

"Why apologize? It's not like it made sense for you to sleep in an evening gown. And I wasn't very much help when you needed direction to comfortable clothes." Royal grins and tips his chin. "Keep it if you like. I could see you styling it with your wide-legged pants."

* * *

Winter glances down at the shirt, considering its cuffs. "A little touch of Royal in the night," they muse wryly. "I do choose soft, looser-fitted clothing most of the time. It's less, mmm, disruptive?"

* * *

"Feeling your body less, thus not feeling as trapped in it?" Royal asks, his tone light and questioning. His eyes are a little bloodshot, but he does try to make eye contact.

* * *

They smile faintly and tap the side of their nose. "You might not make a bad psychosurgeon, yourself."

* * *

Royal chuckles hoarsely. "I'd call that my observation of human nature that I'm trying to develop as a private investigator."

* * *

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Maybe I'd make a good GPPI," Winter teases, with a twitch of their brows upwards.

* * *

"Maybe you would indeed," says Royal. There's a bit more of his old self in those few words. "Similar skillsets, certainly. Understanding people and their motivations is paramount for both professions."

* * *

"It's the bit about shooting people and such I'd have to work on, so I'm probably better off in my current career," Winter replies. They straighten with a small stretch. "I should get back. And you should rest."

* * *

"Normally I'd say, no, don't be silly, stay awhile." Royal slow-blinks. "But honestly I think I'm going to go back to bed for a few more hours of rest. It should do me a world of good. Thank you again for the assist. Can I call you a car?"

* * *

"Sure, I'd appreciate the lift back," Winter admits, walking over to collect their dress and heels from where they rest near the couch. "And, thanks for the couch."

* * *

"Sorry for the couch," says Royal as he slides off the stool to see his guest out. His ONI flickers as he calls the car. As he stands there, barefoot and looking softer, it's sort of possible to picture him with a loose blazer, perhaps a pair of glasses, and a history text tucked under his arm. And perhaps that was actually him in another life.

* * *

"Nah, it was nice. Don't be sorry," Winter replies, regarding this softer, more academic iteration of Royal. "I haven't got many friends, and no one's ever wanted my company for support, before. It, um. Well, it felt good. So. I'm sorry things are difficult right now. But, I'm glad you messaged me."

* * *

"Thank you for coming," Royal says quietly. And then, he steps forward. If he's not stopped, he'll give Winter a hug. "It's recently occured to me that sometimes it's good not to be quite so far off in our own shells. Ah…your car is here."

* * *

He's not stopped, and Winter curls their arms around Royal's lower back in a reciprocal squeeze. "So it is," they murmur, hanging on a beat longer before letting go and taking a step back. They consider Royal a moment more before heading out in bare feet and a man's shirt, an evening gown and a pair of high heels dangling from their arm. At least the car has tinted windows.