the city's beeest diners, drive-ins, and dives

[unrequite]

WHO: midnight (unreserving) & netzach (unsafety) (ft. kaveh (fussiest) from devil may cry)
WHAT: This is the worst mukbang ever!
WHERE: january diner (from the tdm prompt)
WHEN: january tdm prompt (diner) (like around the 9th i think)
WARNINGS: uh deeefinitely emetophobia and forced eating! midnight's ptsd flares up! there will be fighting and technical cannibalism! it's pretty bad! sorry!




it's gonna be a bad time bromeos and brodettes

Comments

PRE-KAVEH'S ARRIVAL

[unrequite]

cw: emeto mention

[unrequite]

[ The medical staff of Rhodes Island had to excise certain parts of Midnight's stomach to save the rest of him a year and a half ago. This is the first time Midnight's begrudged them that choice. Even if it had shortened his prognosis by a year or so, it would have saved him from faltering. Because he can do this. He can. He's gotten through two plates so far, with an intermission for some of the dinner coming back up (but it's fine, it's fine, Netzach shouldn't have had to see that, he just swallowed it back down)—

But he simply can't eat any more. He puts his fork down and puts his face in his hands and breathes. Two thirds of the liver remain on the plate, dark red streaked through with black, and he keeps dry-heaving and it just won't fit anymore. But if eating the first two went from mild annoyance to his responsibility, this last plate is a holy mission. There is poison in this last dish. Midnight is immune, in his own way. He has to...

He reaches down, grips Netzach's hand, head still lowered. He squeezes. He's still here, breathing long, slow breaths, willing the nausea back down. He just... needs a moment. ]

[abstractart]

[he's been dealing with his own, after experiencing the same compulsion on coming in here. he can take it, bad as it is; after all, he keeps telling himself, he's had worse in his life. he's gone through worse. if a horrific meal were the worst thing to happen to him then that'd be good, wouldn't it? but it's not, and if he puts it into perspective in that way, then he can choke anything down.

midnight, though--

netzach had tried to offer at the beginning of this plate. he'd had to try. of course he can recognize what that is, he used to know this kind of thing, he's been reading up on it a little bit again since they finally got books. of course he'd been refused, because of the nature of it, because he knows the substance streaking it is something midnight never wants him to touch.

he grips netzach's hand, and netzach holds it tight. reassuring as he can be under the circumstances, his other hand resting on midnight's back. this is, he thinks, the point where he has to do something about this, because midnight's problems eating at him was never supposed to be this literal and he can't keep watching him suffer his way through this. he can't.]

... Midnight. Stop for now, alright, just... breathe for a minute.

[that comes first. he comes first.]

[unrequite]

[ Midnight does exactly as asked, panting a little in the effort of keeping it all down. (It does not hurt. There has been worse, and even if he's nauseous and his sweat is ice cold, he is still alive and has been through worse and he has survived. So of course it doesn't hurt.) He puts his head against Netzach's shoulder, eyes still closed. ]

I'm fine... Just need to rest. Just a moment.

[ Because he needs to be fine, because he needs to finish this. It's what he started. He finishes what he starts. ]

[abstractart]

[between the harshness of his breath, the cold sweat against netzach's skin-- he obviously isn't fine. netzach knows he isn't. at least he's resting, but that alone won't solve the issue in front of them.

for a minute, he's quiet, letting midnight try to catch his breath and to steady himself.]

... you don't have to keep doing this to yourself.

KAVEH'S ARRIVAL

[unrequite]

[abstractart]

[when kaveh arrives, it's to this: midnight unconscious on netzach's shoulder, a sheen of sweat still on his skin despite netzach's efforts to tend to him. it's to a plate on the table that he keeps looking at but, somehow, has refrained from touching alone.

netzach's phone sits next to him, just in case, though it's remained silent since kaveh said he would be on his way; when he hears the door open, he doesn't look up. doesn't have to, is more like it, after acclimating enough to spending time around kaveh that he's certain it's him.]

...he's still out. Think it all hit him pretty hard.

[fussiest]

[ kaveh enters the diner to the aftermath or the beginning of the apocalypse. a world could simultaneously be both. the quality of this simulation says so, the buttons they are liable to push at the science centre say so, the way don had driven her blade into her skin over and over again says so in terms that kaveh can translate into seven different languages: that reality becomes the rule of what you make of it. the fact that it's a diner is the first thing that has kaveh's heart sink to the soles of his shoes. the fact that it's midnight's head on netzach's shoulder, that sheen of sweat all sickly, impossible endeavors and rapt endurance, has kaveh pause on the threshold.

he sees the scene in gestalt: the liver, the silence, the agony. kaveh is the one who brings it, the fear. wordlessly, he makes his approach, low heels padding on cheap, tacky linoleum to bring himself to netzach and midnight's side. the first thing he does is place a hand on midnight's forehead. kaveh smooths back the hair there, checks for a breath response, frowns at the shallow cadence of it. then, he looks to netzach and does the same. the skim of his hands against netzach's forehead is cool, and sure, and achingly fond. kaveh's lashes dip. he leans in to press a hug to netzach in that booth in the gap of a slow, long breath. ]

It's alright, Netzach. [ his hand remains on the back of netzach's as he pulls away.

then, finally, kaveh's glance documents the plate and the liver there. one third consumed, bloodied and streaked in black. kaveh knows it, the pattern of sick there. there had once been an architect that danced with the sanguinach in the ribs of kazdel. kaveh has been brought low. ] Is this why?

[abstractart]

[he leans into kaveh, if only a little-- but the restraint is only so that he doesn't disturb midnight, still cautious with him as he nods.]

He was insisting on finishing it himself. Wouldn't let me touch it.

[with kaveh, he's aware he doesn't need to explain why.]

The best I could do was stall him until he was out, keep him from having any more of it, but... if it's actually something we have to worry about, that's probably not safe for anybody. Just worse for him than me.

[fussiest]

[ of course, kaveh thinks, that midnight would have insisted on finishing it on his own. there is a trail of blood on that plate. kaveh tries not to look at it as he looks back to netzach and the soft, bleak quiet of his explanation. stall him out, keep him from having more. netzach had fought hard before midnight was lost to him. kaveh's heart aches.

he carefully kneels on the linoleum, not bothering about the scrape of his pants. kaveh looks. ]

And he has to finish it?

LIVER FALLOUTS

[justscribing]

Alhaitham + Kaveh's apartment

[justscribing]

[Alhaitham ends the call while Kaveh continues to soak into a bath. He slips his phone away and circles into their kitchen to pull the two nice reds from the back of the darkest cabinet. He tucks them into one of Kaveh's totes and then sets the back under the sink cabinet. Then it's pouring through their hard liquor--mostly Kaveh's hard liquor. Half a bottle of whiskey, that awful flavored vodka he insisted he'd find something to do with, arak, and then an assortment of fruit liqueurs. Eh... maybe it's better to just ask Daan what he wants when he gets here.

So then the only thing to do from there is wait. Three hours, maybe a little more. Maybe a little less. Alhaitham doesn't really count the minutes, though he's also not completely focused on the book he grabs.

He tucks himself into the section of the couch nearest to their door, so when there's a knock he gets up with uncharacteristic speed to be the one to open the door.] Come in.

[Welcome to their apartment, since expanded into the next door one as well via the larger kitchen. It's slowly evolving into Kaveh's tastes of dark woods and bright colors with a recently built divan, paintings that color the walls, stained glass lamp shades, and tasteful baskets for storage. Books are starting to find their homes on various surfaces that are not the shelves.

The only thing that's truly out of place is the assortment of "boring to downright ugly" table décor around various surfaces. Lopsided pots, uncanny statues, the worst paint job on some abstract art piece possible.]

[limbical]

[It's funny to see the interior of the apartment, what parts are distinctly Kaveh's touches with his architectural flair and then what is clearly Alhaitham's. Not much changed to Daan's apartment when Vergilius moved in, the both of them struggling to have a sense of personal items.

He arrives, with a plastic shopping bag, because Vitruvia doesn't give a shit if the organs are fresh or not.]

Where's Kaveh? We should be able to make this quick.

[He's tired. He just wants to be done with this, honestly, but he is willing to sacrifice himself and time both for Kaveh's health.]

sorry for the late, my depresso era got me... cw: mild emetophobia

[fussiest]

[ in the intervening three hours, kaveh all but loses his mind. he purges himself, takes a bath, and then spends a long and terrible time staring into the void that is self-reflection done by means of bathroom mirror as the weight of his decisions mount somewhere between his shoulder blades. kaveh does not regret his decision. there cannot exist a kaveh that would have made any other decisions than the one he had made today. but there also exists the consequences that this kaveh has to live out, and it still sits uneasily in him as the potential of something untenable and untapped.

the trembling of his mother's hands. the trembling of his own. the sanguinarch dances with the architect in the ribcage of kazdel, and somewhere, somewhen, kaveh still thinks back to it, what that could have been like.

when he emerges from the bathroom, enough time has passed that he only manages to grill alhaitham mildly for the details of his consultation with daan before the knock on the door greets them. kaveh brightens at the sight of daan, and that expression dims progressively as he first looks to the exhaustion on daan's countenance, etched there like smeared charcoal, and then to the plastic bag in his hands. ]

There's you. [ kaveh says, knowing that he likely doesn't look much better - his hair is unbound and still damp from his bath, he is swaddled in loose inner-wear drawn around taut tension brimming exhaustion. but it's the lines of daan's fatigue palpable enough for kaveh to feel that causes kaveh to wince as he looks over, first to daan, then to the plastic bag in his hands. ] Alhaitham said you were on your way. ... this is no consult, is it?

Grips u never too late

[justscribing]

[Kaveh, of course, announces himself. Alhaitham closes the door behind Daan. He manages to keep his gaze to only a single once-over of Kaveh's dressed-down form.] The phone call was the consultation. There's something Daan is able to do for your Oripathy risk and he's offered his assistance.

[Which gets zero explanation otherwise. Instead, he turns back to Daan.] I didn't know what you prefer to drink, but I'll make something while you're taking care of Kaveh. There's some whiskey, vodka, fruit liqueurs, and plenty of wine.

library frathouse, netzach + kaveh

[abstractart]

[it's just the two of them, for now. perhaps yesod is out, or simply giving them space in the bedroom where netzach has been resting; either way, their bed contains only netzach for now, his face flushed with fever, a cool cloth draped over his forehead.

he peers up at kaveh when he comes close, eyes still a bit bleary after waking, and for a moment he thinks-- he wishes kaveh hadn't come. that he hadn't known of this, that he didn't have to be faced with it when it looks like kaveh himself is, thankfully, just fine. he should've stayed that way.

...but he knows kaveh well enough to know it isn't what he would want, nor would it be possible to avoid it in the first place.]

...hey, [he manages, after a moment.] Still feeling all right?

[fussiest]

[ netzach burns.

this is a burn that kaveh is familiar with. the first time he held midnight in the mall, he had felt the sear of it along his fingertips as he laid in kaveh's lap with delirium upon the tip of his tongue. he had felt the same in the storybook, oripathy carving its way down his spine, the heat of a stone that empowers lives as much as it takes. netzach is laying in bed. he is pale, and quiet, and he asks after kaveh with the cavalier grace of a man who isn't on the cusp of a disease that changes the trajectory of lives.

kaveh reaches to hold netzach. he is a burning weight pressed between the callused planes of his palm. kaveh lowers his head, and he thinks - he failed him after all. ]

I'm alright. [ kaveh says, and he pulls the smile from where he once pulled out smiles for his mother. her hands had been thin. kaveh sudden thinks of netzach's fingers being so thin, and the grief settles in him like a tide. ] Look at you, asking after the person here without a fever. [ kaveh's eyes curve. with forced levity: ] Have you been giving Yesod and Midnight trouble, hm? Not that they don't deserve a little trouble here and there, but I'm going to be on their side for the foreseeable future, you know?

[abstractart]

C'mon, I'm already outnumbered....

[and for good reason, but he sighs anyway, leaning into kaveh's touch. a reassurance: he's still well enough for this much.

it isn't hard to tell that levity is forced, though, and netzach is quiet for a few moments. kaveh hasn't yet acknowledged the obvious, but:]

-there was more on those plates that nobody should really be eating, you know. There's not only one thing that could've made me sick when half of it was spoiled at best.

[fussiest]

[ kaveh looks to netzach. even feverish and pale, swaddled in blankets, he is still trying to find ways to soothe the heart. what has kaveh been doing all this time? the guilt seeps. of course it does. ]

... I know. [ kaveh says, softly, though he does not believe it, ] You could be sick from all sorts of food, and it could be unrelated to this at all. But the likelihood... that's undeniable, Netzach. I've never been as much of an optimist, you know. And these odds are terrible ones.

THE LIBRARIAN BACHELOR PAD (netzach + midnight + yesod (if u wanna)); cw: emeto mention

[unrequite]

[ Midnight's fallen asleep sitting, arms under his head, on the comforter under which Netzach rests. He's already been awake for a day, purged himself of most of the food he's eaten, had a glass of water, and has been informed that he is insufficient as a lover and a person and probably has no business being in love with anyone at all. (The latter hasn't occurred; Yesod was kind enough to help him fill in the gaps of what literally happened and Midnight took the most logical route of thought from there.)

Comically dark thoughts. Midnight's dreaming clouded, hazy dreams, less nightmare and more a miasma of unpleasant emotion that leaves him waking every few minutes to reach over, feel Netzach's head, and freshen the towel on his head before he inevitably falls asleep again. This is how he's been sleeping for the past 24 hours, and Midnight's resigned himself to his new reality.

He opens his eyes again, looks at the lump on the bed, momentarily forgets why everything is so heavy. He wonders if Netzach is dead. He wonders if that means anything. ]

[abstractart]

[netzach sleeps fitfully, in his illness. he's too cold and too warm in turns, he sweats uncomfortably, he aches in the bone-deep way of fevers that nothing quite seems to fully eliminate.

even so, every time he wakes to another body in the bed, he curls closer. yesod's, midnight's-- it doesn't matter which of them it is, or how over-warm he feels.

that's exactly what happens this time. as midnight looks at him, netzach blinks open bleary eyes, stretches an arm out toward him as he shifts onto his side to try to get more comfortable.]

[unrequite]

[ The look Midnight sends Netzach in return is like looking at a column of black smoke rising from a distant forest. Altogether too serious, too pregnant with sorrow for a tragedy that hasn't occurred, as far as they know. They're waiting for the thunderhead to break or pass by, Midnight's aware of this. This is why, after a brief moment, Midnight tries and fails to smile. He looks at the bedspread instead, then takes Netzach's hand.

We shouldn't see each other anymore. I don't love you well enough. ]

Hello.

[ What Midnight says instead, soft and cracked, because he is a coward who cannot give Netzach the bare minimum in exchange for his love. ]

[abstractart]

...hey.

[he manages, his voice rasping slightly from both sleep and dryness. his fingers curl around midnight's, and gently tug.]

Caro. Come here.

[he just wants him closer. wants to see that he's still all right, after what happened; midnight had eaten from that plate too.]

the eggplant visit (also sorry to chesed while everything is Worry)

[wordchain]

[ There are gaps in Yesod's own understanding of this incident, and he has refrained from asking questions beyond what little was shared with him. His views on the matter are best placed aside, together with his unanswered questions — both Netzach and Midnight should rest. The mounting unease stretching on is an answer itself. There is nothing that Yesod can point to in a book that will dispel it. None of them can rewind time.

And so, for now, Yesod enters the bedroom with a fresh basin of water to set down beside the bed, another towel next to it. He returns to refill two glasses of water, one for Netzach and the second for Midnight. Finally, he pauses with a blanket in hand, regarding the scene: Netzach beneath the covers, Midnight slumped over. They are breathing.

Midnight stirs, and Yesod watches. There are questions that he wants to ask, but he holds out the blanket instead. ]

eggplant man, take my hand,

[unrequite]

[ Midnight watches Yesod, looks at the blanket in silence when it's offered to him a beat too long. It's for him. Oh. He'd thought for a moment that it was for Netzach. Preposterous. He already has a fever.

He takes the blanket, but holds it in his hands blankly, as though he's not only never seen a blanket, but has also lost track of whose hands are holding them, even though they're attached to his body. ]

Thank you.

[ Quiet, so as not to wake Netzach. Midnight knows he should probably follow it with a hook, make sure Yesod knows he's present and accounted for, but he opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Again. This city really has a way of taking his words from him... He just shuts his mouth again, tries to come up with something to say. Anything.

Do you hate me?

Maybe not that. ]