2020-02-23 - Grouchy Bro Cuddles

The text from Itzhak feels like a slap to the face. It's not so much a surprise as it is an unwelcome reality hitting home. De La Vega is free, and presumably not cured of whatever has gone wrong. Easton's tending the bar when he gets the news and immediately he's texting back to offer support and booze and whatever else Itzhak needs. The hours to close seem to crawl by until finally he makes his way home. It's pretty late, unless you're a bartender or insomniac or both. Easton sets the pizza down on the island when he gets in and puts the beer in the fridge. The beer now being the only alcohol in the apartment. Shockingly.

Itzhak knocks just as Easton's squaring things away. You could accuse him of being a creeper and lurking around to wait until Easton's home, and you might be right. When the door opens, he looks like he hasn't slept much either, but at least someone has healed him so he no longer looks like he went ten rounds with a heavyweight (or de la Vega). He just looks at Easton, silent, eyebrows up in that way that gives him a yearning, desperate expression.

Easton looks up from the fridge and nods up at Itzhak when he enters. He doesn't say anything right away, but does take in the fact that he's obviously been healed. He takes in the expression, nearly all eyebrows and his own raise in kind. He blows out a breath of 'what-a-mess' and without a word walks over and grabs Itzhak into a hug. Not like a polite bro-hug, but a big, expressive and slightly painful bear hug. He manages to mutter out something about ".. fucking ... sorry .. dammit" but it's mostly just a hug with frustrated would be words of comfort sprinkled in.

Itzhak wraps Easton in those long arms and clings to him. Just outright clinging, no other way to describe it. He rocks back and forth, rhythmically in short little jolts. "I tried," he mumbles, mashing his face into Easton's hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't no good at it, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His clothes are freezing; it's cold and wet out there.

In the embrace Itzhak can't see Easton's face that scrunches in a wince when Itzhak blames himself. Easton may have told him he was useless, so he's just a touch guilty. He doesn't pull away though, just lets the tall lanky Jew stand there hugging him for as long as he needs. He shakes his head, "It's okay. We'll figure this out." He wishes he had those other gifts that could help with like emotional shit, or give people warm fuzzy sensations. He could smack Itzhak with something but it probably wouldn't help.

"You are freezing." Easton finally pulls back to say, "Let me get the fire going. Come on.." He gestures inside with a cant of his head.

Itzhak sniffles and wipes at his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He comes in, starts shedding his peacoat and outer layers so he can hang them up to dry. He's soaked, was he standing around in the rain? "He's such an asshole!" he complains suddenly, bitter and fierce.

Easton turns on the gas fireplace in the living room and laughs, a barking nearly forced laugh when Itzhak starts to insult him. "Seriously." He agrees easily and then tosses Itzhak his smoking hoodie from a hook by the door. Once two beers have been pulled back out from the fridge he joins him on the couch. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to keep an eye on him. I knew he was fuckin' squirrelly, I'm surprised we were able to sit on him as long as we did." He tries not to chug the beer for once. He's mildly successful.

Catching the hoodie, Itzhak pulls it on. He's magnetically attracted to the fireplace, and huddles as close to it as he can while still being on the couch. Shakes his damp head. "''Marines make do', am I right," he mutters. "He got Iris to bring him the key. But he didn't hurt her. Thank God for small favors." Iris is Itzhak's pet skink, a big, fat, exceptionally lazy lizard. Accepting the beer, he mumbles some kind of thanks and opens it to drink.

"Hoorah." Easton can't help but answer, with a wry smile, when Itzhak makes the comment about Marines. It's wholly the wrong time to show any pride in the Corps, but he can't help himself. It's a little funny. He gives a half shrug at the escape method. "It's not bad. I mean I woulda just broke the shit out of everything. I mean I nearly took out Aidan and Baylee when they had me locked up during the Gohl thing. And that was only so I could go murder someone else.." He trails off a little. "I mean at least he didn't take you out in the process." It's not exactly the brightest of silver linings.

"He can't do any moving. That's the only reason we held on to him long as we did." Itzhak takes a long swig of beer, shakes his head. "I was in a Dream," he murmurs. "He was in it. When I came back, he was gone. ...But he chewed the shit out of my arm while we were in it." He rolls his eyes, then scoots back to lean against Easton. "Man, you had it rough with Gohl, Easy. That fuckin' sucks."

Easton 'ohs' softly at the explanation that Ruiz can't just break things. That explains why he didn't get smacked upside the head with anything. He winces at the dream, "He bit.. you?" The fact that he was a wolf in said Dream is kind of glossed over, leaving Easton a bit more confused than usual. He blows off any concern about the Gohl thing, "Nah, it's fine. I mean.. it worked out." He sounds less sure about that second part than he means to, but he refocuses, "Do you know where he went? Has he been to work? Do you.. not want me to talk about it? We don't have to."

"Uh, he was a wolf." Itzhak clears that up. "A witch turned him into one. I think. Maybe. Then she sicced him on someone but it was my fault, I made a dumb wish. So I hadda get in his way and fight him." Okay, maybe he didn't clear it up that much. He shakes his head, almost laughing in despair. "I don't--I don't know a single thing. Let's talk about something else. Anything else. Like how fuckin' tired I am, holy shit."

Easton tries to follow but with the ridiculousness that is Dreams and the fact that he really doesn't want to press Itzhak for details he mostly just ends up nodding. "Of course." He agrees, only half-joking that of course that happened, because it's Gray Harbor and there is very little that can be called out of the usual at this point. He sighs and shakes his head, "I swear, I used to be able to talk football or hockey for hours. And now? I don't even know who's playing this week?" He laughs and gives a shrug, "Roen patch you up? You look better than last time at least."

Itzhak grins lopsidedly, rolling his head back to look at Easton like 'I know right?'. He's brittle in some undefinable way. Staving off a meltdown, which Easton might or might not be able to tell. "Yeah. He did. Before that, Sparrow did, you know her? Drummer? Reads Tarot cards, has bright frikkin' cherry red hair? Man," he adds, wry, letting his eyes close, "I take a lot of healing. I like to think I'm a tank and not just a shit DPS who can't get out of the fire, though."

Easton can tell. He can see the jittery nerves of someone who's trying to keep it together in a shitty situation, who has had there life up-ended in various shitty ways recently. He takes a sip of beer and watches him, but tries to keep things light if possible. "Sparrow. Flirty little drummer girl. I met her at an ill advised halloween shindig. Me and a bunch of college kids. I think I literally could hear myself aging." Yes, he's younger than Itzhak, but boy is there nothing like a college party to make a thirty-ish something feel old. "Seriously. Leave the tanking to me, I'm much smaller and harder to hit. You stick up like a frickin' target."

"Yeah." Itzhak laughs airlessly. "Flirty as hell. Got half the guys in town eatin' out of her hand, way I hear it. God they're young, ain't they? So young and...young." He waves the beer can, indicating soooo young. "It's depressing. That's how I know I'm old now. Was my birthday earlier in the month. I'm thirty-seven now. Fuckin' whoop de doo."

Easton chuckles at talk of Sparrow's fan club. "So fahckin' young." His faint Boston-ish accent slips in sometimes on the f bombs. He shakes his head and says, "It's not depressing. It's a little weird that college girls seem too young for me now, but we all gotta grow up sometime." College boys, it should be stated were not explicitly called out one way or the other. His eyebrows lift and he raises a beer, "Yea? Well mazel tov, you're alive." It's a bit sad as far as accomplishments go, but it's a meaningful one to those who've lost so many.

"Honestly though, you need anything else? A stiffer drink? A little weed? A hot shower? It's a lot." After taking another large gulp of beer, he half shrugs, "But whatever you need."

Itzhak misses a lot of subtext but he didn't miss that one. "College boys still on the menu, huh?" he murmurs, cracking an eye open to smirk at Easton. He clunks his beer can to Easy's. "Mazel fuckin' tov. Oh God, all of the above sounds amazing, man. ...Except maybe we can skip the stiffer drink, avoid temptation. But weed, shower, hell yes."

Easton gives a short laugh and says, "When Bennie and I were broken up there might have been some making out in a bar with a kid who looked .. " Like Tom. Easton almost says it, but instead opts for, "A freshman." He gives a half-shrug and says, "But I wouldn't say on the menu. No." He nods and grins, showing absolutely no sign that he's disappointed. "Great." He doesn't mean great. He stands up and retrieves a joint from a box in a drawer. He opens the door out to the balcony, despite the cold and place it in his lips to light up. He takes a puff before holding it out to Itzhak, "I'll get the shower going.." It's one of the fancy ones with multiple heads and like seven knobs, it's a process.

That's the kind of friend Itzhak is. Enough of an asshole to hold you to this 'no hard liquor' thing. Is it a fine line to draw when there's beer and pot? Yes. Yes it is. Does it stop him? No. No it does not. He pries himself off the couch, follows Easton over to the balcony. Taking the joint, he inhales hesitantly at first, coughs, then draws in a deeeep breath. And holds it. And sways against the wall before letting it out. "Aw, fuck," he mumbles. "Needed that." Needed it so much he takes another hit, just as deep as the first.

Easton returns and takes the joint back. He's well past his first beer now and takes a deep pull that he holds, closing his eyes and finally slowly releasing. He hands it back and says, "I will say, I've come to appreciate weed a little more." Since he stopped drinking so much. Yay? He indicates over his shoulder and says, "Anway, that's all set. I'm gonna turn in." He finishes off this latest beer before taking out another. Yes, he's taking a beer to bed. No, he's not talking about that. "Guest room should be all set.." Easton puts away a few more things before heading for his bedroom.

Itzhak surrenders the joint, finishes the beer. "Yeah. Okay," he mutters. He's moving slow when he schleps himself to the bathroom. He strips down, also slow, and once in the shower he just stands there with his forehead against the tile, letting the hot water beat him into putty. Eventually he drags himself out, reddened up.

That's when he shows up at Easton's bedroom door, high and drunk and only wearing snug gray boxer briefs. And apparently intending on crawling right into bed with him like Easton had during their previous sleepover.

He's trying to be good. Honestly.

But even retreating to his bedroom he can envision himself doing something stupid and so he sits on the edge of the bed, in the dark drinking instead. One more beer and then he should be just about the right level to get some sleep. Maybe.

And he can hear the shower shutting off. The opening of his door finds him still sitting on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand. He looks up at Itzhak and a smile creases his cheek. He motions the man in with a movement of his head. He puts down the beer bottle and says, "Wasn't sure..." But he doesn't finish that sentence.

Itzhak smiles back, a little, crookedly. And, perhaps unavoidably, blushes. He is a lanky guy, all sinewy and gangly as fuck when he's not wearing any clothes. Nothing like Easton or Ruiz for that matter. He sways his way into the bedroom and tips over on the bed with a thump.

"Shut up, Marshall. C'mere. Fuckin' snuggle me already." He holds his arms out, drunkenly inviting.

Easton is definitely not those things. He's muscle and hair and scars in a compact package.

"Oh shut up yerself." Easton laughs back, but does as he's asked.

And for the first time in a long time, he actually gets some sleep.