faithfulclublet | Philosophical Ponderings [For ofthecubs]

Entry tags:

rp,
with: edgar

Philosophical Ponderings [For ofthecubs]

It's midday, but Andrew is curled up in the corner of his couch with the lights in his room all off, hands pressed unconsciously against the sides of his head as though he's trying to squeeze the thoughts currently sending him into this moment of too-intense contemplation out of his brain.

Really, his mind is always running in a way that leads him to this sort of tailspin, but usually he's able to keep it at bay through work or distracting himself by spending time with Argine or training with Edgar or talking poetry with his cousin. Sometimes, though, there are flare-ups, and nothing's really able to stop him from falling into the trap that is his own head.

There are, however, certain things-- or people-- that are able to pull him out again.

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It's the lack of having a sense of where Andrew is that prompts him to wander up to the other young man's rooms. It's the shrug from Rachel and slight frown from Argine that prepare him for the inevitable.

It's not going to involve knocking when he lets himself in, doesn't bother with the lights, sighs only internally.

"Going t' miss lunch, you know."

He doesn't move when the door opens, knows in the back of his mind that if it's someone who doesn't bother to knock it must be one of the three that knows what's going on. The sound of his best friend's voice only confirms things for him, though he still doesn't turn to greet him.

"'m not hungry," comes the dull reply after a moment.

Edited (Andrew your face :|) 2013-06-11 04:24 (UTC)

"Yeah, but I am."

And there are hundreds of people he could go eat with. There are even two other people he might genuinely enjoy having lunch with. That doesn't mean he's remotely going to let Andrew stay here and feel overwhelmed by a number of thoughts he personally can't understand.

"C'mon. If you won't get up," and he drops down beside the couch, leaning comfortably against it with one hand reaching to squeeze his best friend's leg, "you have to tell me why we're sitting here in the dark."

At least his eyes open when his leg is squeezed, even if he can't quite pull his hands away from the side of his head. His gaze meets Edgar's with a muted sort of distress.

"'s too loud-- in my head."

A complaint the other young man has heard before, no doubt.

It's not perfect. But it's a step in the right direction. It's not a total lack of response.

His thumb rubs absently, affectionately, against the other boy's knee. "Any particular reason today? Or just-- life?"

Life did that, apparently, sometimes, to people who thought as deeply and hard as Eichelns felt.

This, in a way, is yet another curse of the Fioros. The Clubs intensity didn't always manifest in emotion expressed outward; often took the form of feeling tunneling inward. Rachel understands, Andrew knows, and they've tried to explain to other two in their Quartet, what it's like when thoughts make it so hard to breathe.

"--just life." It's enough of a reason, some days, "'s-- 'm-- thinking too much again."

It's the hardest reason for someone without the affliction to really understand. It's one of the reasons he has the hardest time reasoning with.

"You wanna tell me about it?" His fingers smooth absently at Andrew's knee before patting once. "Or you want me t' tell you about something that's not think-y?"

"Something-- not think-y. Please."

Some days, it's better to talk it out, free the thoughts from his mind and let someone not so caught up in them try to make sense of it. Today, he thinks it might be better if he just tries to let them be.

"I broke a guitar string today."

This is how Edgar lives. His mind isn't full of deep, pressing worries. They've grown, yes, and he's far more cognizant of political cares than he was before he could properly set his eyes King, but it turns off. He can just breathe.

He'd give anything to simply give Andrew the skill, but until then, he could babble. "Left a wicked welt mark. We're gonna have to make up a better story."

Babbling is probably the closest thing he can manage to giving his best friend the ability to just turn off the worries. Babbling about this, at least, gets Andrew's arms moving to rest his elbows against his knees, face still cupped in hands but closer now to Edgar. A little bit less screwed up in agonizing thought.

"--yeah? Thought 'f-- anything good yet?"

It's a start. It's his friend not giving up, beginning to move closer to the world again, coming from being lost in himself. That's got Edgar smiling, hopefully in an encouraging manner, as he rolls up his sleeve a little--not an easy task while maintaining important physical contact.

"'m thinking pirates. Pirates sound flashy, right?"

If entirely illogical.

There's something almost like a snort of laughter, faint and shaky though it is.

"'re not even... near an ocean, Ed."

"Which is how I got so blindsided."

Clearly, Andrew. Clearly. There's absolutely a spark of something like laughter in his words, his eyes, as he leans more comfortably on the other boy's leg. It's less to do with his brilliant pirate scheme and more to do with the fact they're actually talking.

"If we were on the high seas, I'd never have let them nick me this good-- 'cause I'd have been prepared, right?"

He shakes his head slightly, a hand finally dropping from the side of his face to catch at one of his best friend's and lift it so he can press his forehead against it. There's a faint hint at a smile that's touching his lips.

"Rach's right. You're ridiculous."

That's good. That means he can scramble just a little closer, press his own forehead against Andrew's closer arm.

"Yeah, but you guys love me. So you're sorta ridiculous too."

"'s 'cause we like t'adopt lost causes," Andrew murmurs, before adding after a moment, "An' 'cause you're such a good friend."

The sort that will talk about things to get him distracted from his thoughts instead of going to get lunch.

"Nah. I just do okay."

Now, hopefully, is the time to squirm his way up onto the couch, reach over and give Andrew's knees a proper hug, if not the young man himself.

"You guys are the good ones."

"Y'do great, Ed."

It'll be a proper hug. He'll need it, to banish the last of the heaviness of his thoughts from his mind. Burying his face against his best friend's shoulder helps him to breathe.

"An' we try."

And there's real success. There's the mutual comfort of being clung to in a hug and being able to cling back to the oldest, best friend he knows. That takes a minute of just breathing before he bumps his head against Andrew's slightly, squeezes a little tighter.

"Love you."

He's smiling again at that. Really, properly smiling, and it's nice to be able to do after so many hours of being overwrought with distress over his general state of being.

"Love y'too, Ed."

Unmitigated victory. There's nothing better.

"Don't-- forget that, nn? You're always acting like you're forgetting that."

Or, rather, often getting lost in himself, where people who loved him couldn't follow. What good is that?

"I don't," he murmurs with a huff of a sigh and an even tighter snuggle, "Promise. 't just gets-- buried under everythin' else, sometimes."

"I know, Drew." Which is why they need moments like this. Pirate stories. Moments flopped together on the couch.

Important.

Incredibly so. He doesn't question that, even when he gets to the point of questioning everything else.

If there's one certainty in his life, it's that this bond is important. That without the other young man beside him, he'd be rudderless. That this is something to cling to when everything else is drowning him because this is what's going to be able to bring him back up into the air again.

He doesn't forget that.

They need each other. That's the beauty of it. That's what's so perfect about these sort of moments, even though they come on the end of confusion and pain.

"Breathing?"

"Yeah," comes the mumble, half-muffled against Edgar's shoulder, "'m breathing."

It's a good feeling.

"There's my guy." Breathing is such a good thing. Breathing doesn't always come natural, and then it's even more important, really. "Think maybe outside soon, or we need t' stick here for a bit?"

"Just... just a minute, mm?"

He won't need much more than that to finally get himself entirely sorted, finally lift his head from where it's been buried.

And then he can start to be coerced to go outside and actually eat something.

"Many minutes as you want. Always."

So long as the minutes could involve Edgar's forehead pressed to Andrew's shoulder. So long as they were breathing in time.

"You're the best, Ed."

And he will, after only a few more minutes, straighten a little more properly so he can bump noses with his best friend.

"S'let's go eat, mm?"

"'f you want."

So long as they went together. So long as, at least for a while, Edgar was allowed to keep an arm slung just a little tight around Andrew's shoulder, to keep babbling about pirates.

So long as they got to keep breathing the same breath.

"Mmhm. Better'n you complaining later on, mm?"

Because of course they're going to go together. Of course they're allowed to keep clinging, keep talking about things that don't mean much in the grand scheme of things but are still absolutely enjoyable now.

Of course they're allowed to breathe in tandem, keep relying on each other the same way the always have and always will.

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Philosophical Ponderings [For ofthecubs]

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