[ooc log post] Squalo + Xanxus.
Who: Squalo and Xanxus
When: After the Interesting Truths on Xanxus came out here.
Where: In Venice. Varia headquarters. Xanxus' room, and a private hospital, then back to Xanxus' room.
What: Squalo's reaction to Xanxus' secrets. And some Mafia moments, ie guns and blood. And even more blood and Xanxus being all Xanxus with his killing desire and weird manly Mafia stuff. ~*EPIC*~
Why: Because the ITs for Xanxus were too awesome and we needed to do this. And HOLY SHIT WE DIDN'T KNOW THIS WILL BE SO AWESOME. IT IS EPIC.~*EPICCCC*~
Note: Go HERE for information on Squalo's condition during the log. It is a perfectly acceptable behaviour for him to do in that situation and he will tolerate no comments otherwise. Not that your characters would know anything about what happened. So NONE OF YOU REALLY SAW THIS HAPPENING.
Xanxus pushed himself away from his desk and stalked into the main area of his bedroom, away from his study, and immediately went for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. One glass then another was downed quickly and he turned around to lean back against the wall, glowering at nothing. A reputation carefully built was destroyed in a matter of seconds by a stupid fucking fish. Xanxus gripped his glass tightly and reached beside him to grab the bottle in order to pour himself another drink.
Squalo didn't bother knocking on the door this time, leaving his room almost as soon as the conversation died down, and making his way across the house towards Xanxus' rooms, kicking the door open so hard that the doorframe rattled at the impact. "XANXUS!"
His reflexes immediately wanted to have him send the glass in his hand flying across the room, but instead Xanxus kept a firm hold on it and he knocked back a fourth refill. "What the fuck do you want, shark." he snarled before he turned to gaze purposefully out the window. "Make it quick."
The swordsman stalked forward over to the other, taking a clean glass and filling about half of it with whiskey, not even bothering with the ice. The pale eyes flickered over to glance at Xanxus's face once, a quick glance that lasted for a fraction of a second, before he was muttering a sharp swear and gulping the liquor down, ignoring the sharp sting down his throat and at the corners of his eyes.
Xanxus turned his head and watched Squalo in silence as the swordsman downed the drink he detested so much. What the hell was this supposed to be? Some sort of sign of support or some shit? Xanxus raised an eyebrow before he removed the bottle from Squalo's possession and poured himself another glass, which he sipped at instead of completely downing. "The fuck was that all about?"
Squalo didn't enjoy the drink, the burning trail it left in his throat too much normally - and some rather unfortunate incidences back when they were still at school left him with a penchance for the sweeter taste of wine - but right now, tonight at least, he almost welcomed the burning heat, the stinging pain that almost made tears form at the corners of his eyes. "I have no fucking idea, Boss." The term sounded slightly odd on his tongue, and Squalo lapsed back into uncharacteristic silence, absently swirling what little liquor that was left in the glass.
"Right." Xanxus put his glass down on the small table that held his many bottles and he moved away, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He was less than thrilled with the way this month had thus far been going, which really pissed him off since it had been his god damn birthday. Never a fucking break. Finally he leaned against the window divider and glanced back toward Squalo. "You still haven't told me what the fuck you wanted."
"I don't know," the swordsman leant back against the desk, absently pulling his hair away before he settled down, and emptied his glass after a moment of silence, a sharp intake of breath that he couldn't quite mask following it. "We could get Marmon to find out where the fuck it is?" Squalo said, just wanting to do something, say something, anything, really.
"I don't fucking care right now." Mostly, Xanxus just didn't want to deal with it. With anything. In fact, he wanted to forget any of it had happened, though it didn't look like that was going to be a viable option at all. His eyes remained on Squalo for a brief moment more before he looked away again. "If you don't have anything useful to say, leave."
Squalo merely made a noncommittal noise, his eyes fixed on the barely moving drapery of the curtain. His eyes narrowed at the other's words, however, his grip tightening around the heavy glass that he held in one hand, and the next moment he was throwing it across the room, hitting the portrait of the Ninth that hung on the opposite side of the wall to him and leaving bits of broken glass and droplets of whiskey on the painted surface.
"LEAVE?" Squalo stood up and turned at Xanxus next, pale greyblue eyes narrowed, almost snarling in the other's face as he stepped closer. "You want me to fucking leave, AFTER ALL THAT SHIT?"
Xanxus gazed coolly back at Squalo, his eyes hard and rimmed with the fire of his barely contained rage. He wanted to go shoot up the fucking ocean and all other bodies of water, lot of good it would do him. Something finally broke, and he reached up with a snarl to tangle his fingers into Squalo's hair. "What else do you want me to fucking say, huh? Do you want me to boohoo and sob about how fucking important you are? Get the fuck out if you don't have any god damn useful thing to say to me right now."
That hurt, stinging his scalp a little with the force of the grip, but Squalo was far more preoccupied in other matters than that and he reached up, rolling back his sleeve with a gloved hand, eyes never leaving Xanxus'. "And FUCKLOAD of help would it do to you for me to leave you with all the fucking booze!" A hollow thud of metal hitting wood and Squalo's steel hand dropped onto the floor, the sound no less muffled by the carpet.
"Xanxus. Boss." Squalo looked back up at the other, the bandaged stark stump of a limb held out like the blade of his sword against the other's throat, his other hand gripping down on Xanxus' shoulder so hard it would have hurt anyone else. "What else do you want me to do." The tone was questioning, words hissed out through gritted teeth. "What can I do, Boss."
The sound of a gun being unholstered almost echoed in Xanxus's ears after Squalo finally stopped talking, and he lifted one of his guns, pressing it against Squalo's left shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, sharp and focused and completely without hesitation, before he snarled back at the swordsman. "I want you to remember just one god damn thing." A click, and the gun was cocked and ready, "You fucking belong to me. You always have, and you always fucking will." Xanxus shifted the gun, just a little, just enough that nothing vital would be hit, before he finally pulled the trigger.
What pain there would have been were mostly drowned out by the deafening noise of the gun still ringing in his ear (too fucking close, too fucking--) and Squalo stared at Xanxus, the feel of blood soaking warm through his shirt almost foreign. And. That's when the pain hit, his good hand clutching at the other's shirt collar as Squalo leant close, the surprised eyes narrowing once more into a mix of pain and anger. "--YOU- WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?! WHAT THE FUUUCK, XANXUS, YOU DIDNT HAVE TO FUCKING SHOOT ME!"
Xanxus lifted a hand and put it over top of the bullet wound before he pressed down on it, the shrieking in his face not fazing him at all. "That pain? You better do fucking well to remember it. And to remember it every time you see the scar it's going to leave when you look in the mirror. Because it's my fucking mark. Mine. Just like you." His lips twitched upward in a smirk as he moved his hand away, absently wiping the blood off on Squalo's shirt.
Squalo winced slightly at the harsh press of hand against the wound, which somehow burned and stung even more at the contact, and clutched at the front of the other's shirt even harder, leaning his weight on that hand as he stumbled slightly. "You- fucking- asshole!" The swordsman hissed out through tightly clenched teeth, digging his elbow hard into the other's side as he managed to somehow push himself up into a standing position, though his vision decidedly wavered at that exertion. "I... don't need- ANOTHER reminder- for that-"
His words trailed off, the grip around Xanxus' shirt slackening as the blood loss and the shock from the wound proved too much even for him. Squalo gave a barely-heard pained noise, his legs giving out from underneath him as he collapsed onto the floor.
He had been prepared to laugh, to tell Squalo that the mark was more for his sake than the swordsman's, when he felt Squalo go lax against him. Xanxus crouched and caught Squalo before he could hit the floor, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with a snort. Fainting from a little gunshot wound, how absolutely ridiculous. He shifted his arm and let it rest behind Squalo's shoulders before the other went under the man's knees and he lifted, carrying Squalo like a princess who had just fainted from the heat.
Xanxus made his way outside, ignoring the exclamations he heard from the wait staff for the mansion, and placed Squalo in the backseat of one of the cars before he hopped into the driver seat himself. And he was off to the private clinic the Vongola family used. The wound was cleaned and dressed, the procedure not taking very long at all with it being such a clean shot, and Xanxus waited rather impatiently in a private room for Squalo to get out of surgery, his shirt stained red with the other man's blood.
He didn't have to wait for very long, as Squalo was soon ushered out by a nurse, his left arm carefully bandaged and resting in a sling, the pale medicinal white of it almost blending in with the swordsman's hair and the still-sallow pallor of his skin. His eyes almost immediately landed on Xanxus, taking in the stark red stain on the other's shirt, and he waved the nurse off with an almost annoyed motion, and turned slowly to Xanxus. "Fuck you," he spat out, parts of his hair still stained with the blood, and glanced back down at his arm, the stump of his missing hand not so obvious through the opaque material of the sling.
"Is Princess feeling better?" Xanxus's lips twitched a little and he shook his head as he shifted in his seat to lean down and pick something up off the floor: Squalo's hand. "I had someone from the house bring this up while you were in surgery. Here," and he tossed it across the room toward Squalo. Silently he eyed the wrapped arm, still imagining the hole he had created just underneath all of the gauze. "How long did they say?"
"Don't fucking call me that!" Squalo snarled out but caught it deftly, the motion and the weight of it making him wince again a little, although it wasn't very noticeable. He stepped a little closer to the other in order to gingerly perch down on the hospital bed in the middle of the room, his good hand moving to fit his left hand into place, a process that only took a few seconds even in his condition. "Three weeks or so. Tch, it's not worth the fucking trouble." The last part of that was directed at Xanxus with a narrowed gaze, baring his teeth in a half-grimace.
"Oh, it'll be fucking worth it." Xanxus stood from his seat and moved toward Squalo once the hand was back in place. He lifted a hand of his own up and gingerly, with an odd sort of out of place tenderness, ran his fingers across the bandage where he knew the wound to be. "I know I can't wait to see the mark it left behind. It's going to be perfect." He glanced down at Squalo and tilted the other man's chin up before he bent down over him to crush their mouths together.
Squalo merely let out an annoyed, disdainful snort at the comment, although he didn't jerk away from the other's hand. Apart from the fact that it would have hurt too much to move the arm right now, the bandage seemed to burn curiously under Xanxus's fingers. "Take out my fucking eye next time, will you? Fucking asshole." Squalo tilted his head up and bit down hard on the other's lips, a decidedly poor retribution for the goddamned shoulder wound.
Xanxus snorted quietly and raised an eyebrow as he stood straight again. "You'd be useless to me if you only had one eye. Bad enough you only have one hand." He moved across the room and picked up his jacket to drape it over his arm, glancing only briefly over his shoulder toward Squalo. "Well, hurry the fuck up," Xanxus let his eyes wander around the room just for a second, "I hate hospitals."
"Why the fuck not? You seem fucking intent on tearing me to fucking pieces as it is." The swordsman grumbled as he stood back up, reaching up to gingerly adjust the knot of the sling. He glanced around the room also, taking in the sterile surroundings, the overwhelming smell of disinfectants and iodine, almost too evident even in the rather plush furniture. "God knows I've had my fucking share of it." He finally muttered, stepping away from the bed and waiting for Xanxus to move first. "Lets go, then."
With a nod, Xanxus turned and left the room, silence surrounding him as he moved down the hallway, not even caring enough to be amused by the way some of the nurses and even doctors flinched as he stalked by them. If only he weren't so preoccupied. He came to a stop outside and handed the valet the parking stub and watched as the kid scampered off before he looked back at Squalo. "As if I would tear you to pieces."
Squalo followed Xanxus at a short distance, not entirely trailing too far behind the other man but never getting too close either. He only moved to stop beside Xanxus as the car pulled up, giving a quick glance to the taller man. "As if I'd fucking let you."
"If I wanted to tear you apart," Xanxus paused for a second in order to take the keys from the boy without a tip and moved around the car to get in, "I fucking would." He strapped himself into the car and started it up with a loud revving, looking out the passenger window at Squalo expectantly. "You waiting for the fucking bus or what? Get your ass in."
"No fucking way." The swordsman muttered under his breath as he reached down to open the door, sliding into the seat with a muffled curse. Reaching awkwardly for the seatbelt, Squalo glanced at the other man and narrowed his eyes slightly. "So what the fuck am I gonna do for the next three weeks like this, huh?"
Xanxus tried not to laugh. He really did. But it didn't work so well, and he let out a sharp laugh as he rounded a corner rather tightly, ignoring all common safety sense as he drove back to the mansion. "The same thing I did when I was stabbed in the fucking leg, of course. You do abso-fucking-lutely nothing and like it."
"HEEEEEEEEEY, what the fuck are you laughing about now?!" A loud curse was the response to the rather violent turn of the vehicle and Squalo jerked, another hissed curse leaving his lips as pain shot up from the the bad shoulder. "I'M NOT GOING TO FUCKING DO NOTHING FOR FUCKING THREE WEEKS!"
It didn't take long to get back to the mansion from the hospital--the perk of a great location--and Xanxus brought the car to a stop in front of the doors. "You'll do fucking nothing for three weeks if the doctor fucking told you to. What was your damn excuse for making me stay put? Oh right, I know this kind of wound. So suck it the fuck up."
Squalo didn't reply, but angrily pushed himself off out of the car after struggling with the door for a minute, not even looking back before he was walking towards the doors, pushing them open with one hand and entering the house. "I fucking hate you," he hissed, turning his head briefly to regard the other. "You don't even- I- Fucking retard-!"
Xanxus stopped just inside the door and glanced to the side at a small glass ashtray, empty from having recently been cleaned, and about the same weight as the glasses he used to drink his whiskey. He hefted it into his hand and tested the weight for a second before he chucked it at Squalo's retreating head. Without a word, Xanxus turned and headed off down the hall toward his room.
The weight of it nearly knocked the swordsman to his knees and he stumbled, clutching at the nearby table for support; the vase on it wasn't so lucky itself, dropping off and shattering on the shined marble floor, water spreading like clear blood that trickle down the back of Squalo's head, making him hiss in pain as he straightened up. "H-Heeeeey! I wasn't fucking done!"
"I am. If you have more to say, you can follow me." Xanxus wound his way through the halls and up stairs in order to get to his room, more than certain that Squalo was following behind him. He paused just outside of his room and turned around in order to wait for the other man to join him.
Almost even before he was within reach, Squalo roughly grabbed for the front of Xanxus' shirt (the half-dried blood sticky against his bare forearm) and leant up to crush their lips together, more like a savage bite than anything even remotely resembling a kiss, almost looking as if Squalo wanted to tear the other's face off with the gesture. "You're a fucking idiot for even thinking that," he muttered against Xanxus' lips, eyes narrowed and hard as they stared directly into the other's. "I don't fucking need another reminder."
Xanxus put an arm around Squalo's waist, his hand resting at the small of the swordsman's back. He held the other man there for just a moment, gazing at him, before he made sure to return the kiss, just as hard and vicious. Blindly he reached with his other hand in order to open the door and haul Squalo into the room with him, slamming the door shut once they were inside. "And just what the fuck am I supposed to think when your ass takes off without a fucking word. You're to be here when I god damn need you to be here."
His good hand grappled for hold anew as Squalo turned them around, slamming Xanxus back against the closed door and pressingclamping down at the base of the other's throat, feeling the hard jut of Xanxus' collarbone under his splayed fingers, pressing down even harder to feel the pulse of the vein under the scarred skin. "I'm not your fucking servant." A low, vicious hiss left Squalo's lips, specked with blood. Xanxus' blood. "Don't fucking treat me like one."
It was easy enough to flip their positions back around again, Squalo's back now against the door, one of Xanxus's knees between his legs. "You're not a fucking servant, you idiot shark." He reached down and took a hold of Squalo's good wrist, his right wrist, and brought it up to pin it up against the door with a slam. "You're my fucking right hand." Xanxus gripped Squalo's wrist tightly, mostly in the hopes of leaving a bruise in the grip's wake.
Squalo snarled at the other's face, only inches away from his own, and bucked hard against Xanxus, his whole body tensing, pushing against the grip that held him pinned to the wood. Between a rock and a hard place, and in his current condition, his left arm almost immobile with pain now, it would almost have been impossible to. "I'm no fucking use to you like this." Words almost incoherent through the rising growl and clenched teeth, the swordsman tilted his head and used what strength he could muster against the other to crash his forehead against Xanxus', in effect a headbutt, in attempt to be freed of the bruising grip.
"Son of a fucking--" Xanxus pulled away (though his body said no, no, not yet) and he put a hand to his forehead, glowering at Squalo. "That's not the fucking point, you--" He brought his hand down from his head and turned to stalk further into the room finally, a hand up to undo his tie and tear it off, tossing it to the side. Frankly, he needed to get out of the bloodied clothes anyway. "I'm going to have to fucking spell it out, aren't I." Xanxus snarled and started to work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers moving with impatience.
The effort made lights go off along his peripheral vision and Squalo slumped heavily against the door, before gritting his teeth even tightly together and somehow keeping upright on his feet. His shoulder jolted sharp pains every time he breathed, and the hot wetness at the back of his head (from the ashtray--fuck him, fuck him) made Squalo wince. "Fuck you," he spat out towards the figure of Xanxus across the room, his grip closing around the doorknob (the wrist stinging at the motion; it was bruising darkpurple under the black of the glove) and yanking it open, stepping out into the corridor.
"The point fucking is," he started, finally getting the buttons undone and the shirt tossed to the side, almost angrily thrown, "that you're fucking there. That you've been fucking there; a constant thorn in my side that I can't remove no matter how god damn hard I try." The feathers were removed next, and these Xanxus placed down with a little more care. "Do you fucking get it yet? Eight fucking years, Squalo. Eight fucking years and somehow you're the only thing that ever broke through that prison. Explain that."
Squalo paused (not really a pause, more like stilling of his entire body as if he's turned into a stone, as if his feet'd been nailed to the floor, except for the hand gripping the doorknob so hard, trembling with the tension visible across the uniformed shoulders); halfway out into the corridor, halfway in, stuck in some kind of limbo. He closed his eyes, took a breath, feeling alls of a sudden the bandage around his shoulder, his chest, too tight.
"I missed you." He finally said, simply, though it was possibly even harder to breathe out into the still air. Searching his memory, the first meeting (I won't let you down, boss) the bright burning rage simmering just under the skin, the white school shirt marked with the Varia sigil. Eight years, and that's all the memory he had to keep with him.
Xanxus stopped for a minute himself, a hand gripping the back of a nearby chair to the point of his knuckles being white. He stared at Squalo's back in silence, at the feet of hair that trailed down the swordsman's back, at the tension along the line of his shoulders. Xanxus took a small step forward then stopped, hand still on the chair, still nearly ripping through the fabric, and he shook his head. "Squalo," he finally said, his voice nothing but a low rumble, a private tone, "look at me."
It was hard to keep standing on his feet now, pain shooting through his torso with every breath and Squalo leant heavily on the door without even really meaning to, stumbling a little as the door slid open a bit further before (painfully but soundlessly; he wasn't weak, he would never-) regaining his balance. "No." Squalo said (with closed eyes gritted teeth because the brightblack spots to his vision was somehow more bearable when his eyes were closed, the pain in his head less so with the taste of blood in his mouth) flatly, the doorknob creaking audibly under the vice-grip.
"Come here and sit down before I have to carry your ass over here. You shouldn't be on your fucking feet right now." Xanxus finally let go of the chair after he pulled it away from the desk it sat at and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Unless you want to pass the hell out again." He glanced away, though, all the same, fairly sure that there was no way that Squalo would want to be seen like this. Xanxus sure as hell knew there was no way he'd want someone fucking staring at him when he was on the brink of a blackout.
Squalo took a moment to let the dizzyness pass by (like a roaring train through his head, the rattle of it almost making his vision swim again) before turning slowly, somehow managing to walk upright, somehow managing to stand straight (somehow managing to not look at Xanxus directly) in front of the other, the blood drying and sticky at the back of his neck, matting the pale hair sickly, dark red. He glanced at Xanxus (rather, at the crossed arms, the scars even darker pattern over dark skin) then at the chair, momentarily unsure of what to do even with the order so clearly given.
"Will you just fucking sit down?" Xanxus's voice was subdued, quiet in contemplation, and he moved across the room with muffled, heavy footsteps. He sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the phone to call the mansion's service, a quiet conversation taking place. When he hung up again, he remained perched on the edge of the bed before he finally glanced back toward Squalo to see if the stubborn idiot had finally sat down or not.
As soon as Xanxus was far away enough, the swordsman let his good hand perch on the armrest of the chair, nearly staggering as he sat, a sharp intake of breath the only sound of almost-pain he made. The silence that followed it was making his head hurt again, and Squalo turned his head slightly towards Xanxus' direction after a moment, his voice cracking and hoarse around the edges. "What more do you want?" Eight years of his life staring at the frozen ice that wasn't really ice, punching the spiked surface with his hand until the metal jarred shock up to his shoulders, watching the hair grow steadily long every day and still stuck in that limbo, still stuck in aimless killings, what more?
Xanxus didn't answer right away and instead waited until after the maid had left, the supplies he had called down for now in his possession. He placed the bandages on the bed and moved to place the large tub on the ground behind the chair Squalo sat in, a jug of water in one hand and a towel draped across the other. The towel was put down, and Xanxus reached around to tip Squalo's head back with a gentle touch. He lifted the jug and started to pour the water out slowly down Squalo's hair to loosen the blood, the temperature tepid to avoid shock. "Hold still for a minute."
Squalo closed his eyes, flinching a little at the touch to his face but not making to move away, instead letting the other pour the lukewarm water over his hair, the sticky blood staining the water that collected beneath pale pink. The eyes opened after a while though, the pale gaze glancing up at Xanxus, the look somehow managing to be both vaguely puzzled and. And. He wasn't used to this strange gentleness coming from Xanxus, expecting the rage that was always present to present itself any moment, familiar crash of glass against skull, sound of metal sliding against metal, click of a gun. "--Why?"
"Why what?" Xanxus glanced down at him only briefly before he went back to the task in hand. When the jug was finally empty, he took a hold of the towel and started to rub the hair dry. There was still some red present, but nothing that wouldn't wash out with a good shower. He tipped Squalo's head back up again before he moved back toward the bed to grab the bandages and return. Silently he wrapped the bandages around Squalo's head. "Tight enough?"
The swordsman sluggishly obeyed Xanxus' ministrations, though his gaze now never completely left the other's face; gauging the reaction, perhaps, or just merely having no other place for him to stare at instead (and Squalo was sick and tired of staring at the same old ceiling). "...Why are you doing this." He finally said, nodding slightly and raising his good hand up to press down on his forehead, letting Xanxus wrap the rest of the bandage around his head.
Xanxus finished wrapping the bandage and finally tied it off before he dropped his hands to his sides. "Because," he finally intoned, moving away from Squalo to sit on the end of the bed and stare at him in the ensuing silence. Xanxus let out a breath and shook his head and turned his gaze out the window. "I was this damn close to fucking killing you earlier, you know," he finally muttered, arms crossing over his chest. "I've changed my mind."
A silence reigned for a minute or two, Squalo dropping his hand with an audible sound back against the armrest - a display of weakness, he knew, but the edge of his vision was blurring again with the darkness of the room, and he was just so fucking tired, in as much as he could somehow force himself to admit. A short bark of laughter broke the silence though, and Squalo tilted his head back against the chair, the sound choked halway up his throat. "That's a... fucking stupid way to die."
"I wanted to kill you." Xanxus said, standing once more and absently pacing back and forth across the room. "I wanted to see your fucking blood seep out and stain my damn floor just so I wouldn't have to fucking worry about any damn number of things. About you fucking off and getting shot in the back, dying in some damn alley somewhere. About your ass leaving and deciding it never wanted to fucking come back. Whatever. So that's fucking why."
Squalo looked up at that, his gaze fixing on Xanxus as he silently sat on the chair that he was given, watching the other pace back and forth across the room and listening to the words as intently as he had when they had been mere children (it was almost funny at how old he felt, just then) and Xanxus was laying out the meticulous plans for the coup, the sharpened blade laid across his lap. But now it was his broken, bloodied arm in a sling, his head wrapped up in bandages yet still managing to sting and make him grit his teeth at every small movement, the dark jagged lines of the scars on the once smooth skin.
"Xanxus," his voice was still hoarse, both from yelling and from pain, and Squalo struggled to push himself up to his feet, stumbling his way over to the other, just managing to catch himself at the last minute from crashing to the floor. "Boss," Squalo looked up, his knees still stinging from the impact with the floor, but his grin still knifesharp and bright as if the red staining his hair and bandage beneath his shirt were all nothing.
Xanxus stared down at him in silence, down at the top of Squalo's head, at the bandage. He reached down and placed a hand on the top of that head, his eyes closed. This was familiar. This was like a memory, a memory of the same image, only Xanxus wasn't able to place a hand on him like this. His movements were hampered, cut off by ice that wasn't ice. He opened his eyes again and looked down at Squalo before he finally crouched a little and hauled the other man back up to his feet, one arm under Squalo's good shoulder to support him. "You need to lay the fuck down," was all that he could muster before he started to lead Squalo over to the bed.
Squalo stumbled only once on the way back to bed, a sharp swear of pain that was barely muffled as he bit down on his lip hard, his good hand curling against Xanxus's shoulder as he leant his weight against the other; a second of weakness that Squalo would never really admit to. "Idiot," the tone was vaguely sneering, a part mockery, a part serious, a part something entirely different. Imagining the bright white of the school shirts again. "I've done too fucking much to leave."
After he laid Squalo down onto the bed, Xanxus moved around to the other side and sat on the edge, silently removing his shoes, his belt, before he shifted to lean against the headboard. "Then stop fucking leaving. Stop fucking disappearing like you did over the weekend. This bullshit isn't gonna fly anymore." He paused for a second and lifted his hands to place them behind his head. "You had eight years to get used to fucking waiting. I've had a lifetime of getting whatever the fuck I want. It's been a good run. I'd rather not fuck with my nearly flawless record."
The swordsman silently glanced over at Xanxus, mere flick of eyes that could have meant anything under the bandage and the bloodstained hair, and directed his gaze back at the ceiling again. "I'm fucking sick of waiting." He finally breathed out, eyes closing for a moment or two as the lights swam across his vision again. "You don't fucking know how--" Squalo cut his words short, passing his good hand over his face. "...Sometimes I feel like wanting something too."
Xanxus shifted so he hovered over top of Squalo now, gazing down at him with a hard look. "You're not fucking waiting anymore, Squalo." He brought up a hand and absently pushed a bit of silver hair out of Squalo's face, the urge to do something to him, anything, but the swordsman was already on the brink of passing out and staying out. "You have some fucking decisions to make, though. I'm not as fucking patient as you are."
Squalo reached up, the tips of his fingers brushing against the other's scarred cheek once in a bizarre display of... of something that he would (and could) never really do normally (cold leather against warm skin) before dropping back against the sheets. "You never fucking were." He felt tired, drained, even, half-closed eyes flicking between Xanxus' face and the ceiling beyond that, and the corner of his lips twitched into some semblance of a smirk. "Can't it be my turn now?"
A light snort left Xanxus as he watched Squalo start to fade out (sleep, this time, not instant unconsciousness) and he shook his head. "No," he finally muttered, though he didn't even know if Squalo heard it. Xanxus moved away from the bed and to the closet to change out of the rest of his bloodied clothes and into something clean before he went to the door. He paused for just a second to glance back at Squalo before he pulled open the door and left.
When: After the Interesting Truths on Xanxus came out here.
Where: In Venice. Varia headquarters. Xanxus' room, and a private hospital, then back to Xanxus' room.
What: Squalo's reaction to Xanxus' secrets. And some Mafia moments, ie guns and blood. And even more blood and Xanxus being all Xanxus with his killing desire and weird manly Mafia stuff. ~*EPIC*~
Why: Because the ITs for Xanxus were too awesome and we needed to do this. And HOLY SHIT WE DIDN'T KNOW THIS WILL BE SO AWESOME. IT IS EPIC.~*EPICCCC*~
Note: Go HERE for information on Squalo's condition during the log. It is a perfectly acceptable behaviour for him to do in that situation and he will tolerate no comments otherwise. Not that your characters would know anything about what happened. So NONE OF YOU REALLY SAW THIS HAPPENING.
Xanxus pushed himself away from his desk and stalked into the main area of his bedroom, away from his study, and immediately went for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. One glass then another was downed quickly and he turned around to lean back against the wall, glowering at nothing. A reputation carefully built was destroyed in a matter of seconds by a stupid fucking fish. Xanxus gripped his glass tightly and reached beside him to grab the bottle in order to pour himself another drink.
Squalo didn't bother knocking on the door this time, leaving his room almost as soon as the conversation died down, and making his way across the house towards Xanxus' rooms, kicking the door open so hard that the doorframe rattled at the impact. "XANXUS!"
His reflexes immediately wanted to have him send the glass in his hand flying across the room, but instead Xanxus kept a firm hold on it and he knocked back a fourth refill. "What the fuck do you want, shark." he snarled before he turned to gaze purposefully out the window. "Make it quick."
The swordsman stalked forward over to the other, taking a clean glass and filling about half of it with whiskey, not even bothering with the ice. The pale eyes flickered over to glance at Xanxus's face once, a quick glance that lasted for a fraction of a second, before he was muttering a sharp swear and gulping the liquor down, ignoring the sharp sting down his throat and at the corners of his eyes.
Xanxus turned his head and watched Squalo in silence as the swordsman downed the drink he detested so much. What the hell was this supposed to be? Some sort of sign of support or some shit? Xanxus raised an eyebrow before he removed the bottle from Squalo's possession and poured himself another glass, which he sipped at instead of completely downing. "The fuck was that all about?"
Squalo didn't enjoy the drink, the burning trail it left in his throat too much normally - and some rather unfortunate incidences back when they were still at school left him with a penchance for the sweeter taste of wine - but right now, tonight at least, he almost welcomed the burning heat, the stinging pain that almost made tears form at the corners of his eyes. "I have no fucking idea, Boss." The term sounded slightly odd on his tongue, and Squalo lapsed back into uncharacteristic silence, absently swirling what little liquor that was left in the glass.
"Right." Xanxus put his glass down on the small table that held his many bottles and he moved away, arms crossed firmly over his chest. He was less than thrilled with the way this month had thus far been going, which really pissed him off since it had been his god damn birthday. Never a fucking break. Finally he leaned against the window divider and glanced back toward Squalo. "You still haven't told me what the fuck you wanted."
"I don't know," the swordsman leant back against the desk, absently pulling his hair away before he settled down, and emptied his glass after a moment of silence, a sharp intake of breath that he couldn't quite mask following it. "We could get Marmon to find out where the fuck it is?" Squalo said, just wanting to do something, say something, anything, really.
"I don't fucking care right now." Mostly, Xanxus just didn't want to deal with it. With anything. In fact, he wanted to forget any of it had happened, though it didn't look like that was going to be a viable option at all. His eyes remained on Squalo for a brief moment more before he looked away again. "If you don't have anything useful to say, leave."
Squalo merely made a noncommittal noise, his eyes fixed on the barely moving drapery of the curtain. His eyes narrowed at the other's words, however, his grip tightening around the heavy glass that he held in one hand, and the next moment he was throwing it across the room, hitting the portrait of the Ninth that hung on the opposite side of the wall to him and leaving bits of broken glass and droplets of whiskey on the painted surface.
"LEAVE?" Squalo stood up and turned at Xanxus next, pale greyblue eyes narrowed, almost snarling in the other's face as he stepped closer. "You want me to fucking leave, AFTER ALL THAT SHIT?"
Xanxus gazed coolly back at Squalo, his eyes hard and rimmed with the fire of his barely contained rage. He wanted to go shoot up the fucking ocean and all other bodies of water, lot of good it would do him. Something finally broke, and he reached up with a snarl to tangle his fingers into Squalo's hair. "What else do you want me to fucking say, huh? Do you want me to boohoo and sob about how fucking important you are? Get the fuck out if you don't have any god damn useful thing to say to me right now."
That hurt, stinging his scalp a little with the force of the grip, but Squalo was far more preoccupied in other matters than that and he reached up, rolling back his sleeve with a gloved hand, eyes never leaving Xanxus'. "And FUCKLOAD of help would it do to you for me to leave you with all the fucking booze!" A hollow thud of metal hitting wood and Squalo's steel hand dropped onto the floor, the sound no less muffled by the carpet.
"Xanxus. Boss." Squalo looked back up at the other, the bandaged stark stump of a limb held out like the blade of his sword against the other's throat, his other hand gripping down on Xanxus' shoulder so hard it would have hurt anyone else. "What else do you want me to do." The tone was questioning, words hissed out through gritted teeth. "What can I do, Boss."
The sound of a gun being unholstered almost echoed in Xanxus's ears after Squalo finally stopped talking, and he lifted one of his guns, pressing it against Squalo's left shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, sharp and focused and completely without hesitation, before he snarled back at the swordsman. "I want you to remember just one god damn thing." A click, and the gun was cocked and ready, "You fucking belong to me. You always have, and you always fucking will." Xanxus shifted the gun, just a little, just enough that nothing vital would be hit, before he finally pulled the trigger.
What pain there would have been were mostly drowned out by the deafening noise of the gun still ringing in his ear (too fucking close, too fucking--) and Squalo stared at Xanxus, the feel of blood soaking warm through his shirt almost foreign. And. That's when the pain hit, his good hand clutching at the other's shirt collar as Squalo leant close, the surprised eyes narrowing once more into a mix of pain and anger. "--YOU- WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?! WHAT THE FUUUCK, XANXUS, YOU DIDNT HAVE TO FUCKING SHOOT ME!"
Xanxus lifted a hand and put it over top of the bullet wound before he pressed down on it, the shrieking in his face not fazing him at all. "That pain? You better do fucking well to remember it. And to remember it every time you see the scar it's going to leave when you look in the mirror. Because it's my fucking mark. Mine. Just like you." His lips twitched upward in a smirk as he moved his hand away, absently wiping the blood off on Squalo's shirt.
Squalo winced slightly at the harsh press of hand against the wound, which somehow burned and stung even more at the contact, and clutched at the front of the other's shirt even harder, leaning his weight on that hand as he stumbled slightly. "You- fucking- asshole!" The swordsman hissed out through tightly clenched teeth, digging his elbow hard into the other's side as he managed to somehow push himself up into a standing position, though his vision decidedly wavered at that exertion. "I... don't need- ANOTHER reminder- for that-"
His words trailed off, the grip around Xanxus' shirt slackening as the blood loss and the shock from the wound proved too much even for him. Squalo gave a barely-heard pained noise, his legs giving out from underneath him as he collapsed onto the floor.
He had been prepared to laugh, to tell Squalo that the mark was more for his sake than the swordsman's, when he felt Squalo go lax against him. Xanxus crouched and caught Squalo before he could hit the floor, and he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with a snort. Fainting from a little gunshot wound, how absolutely ridiculous. He shifted his arm and let it rest behind Squalo's shoulders before the other went under the man's knees and he lifted, carrying Squalo like a princess who had just fainted from the heat.
Xanxus made his way outside, ignoring the exclamations he heard from the wait staff for the mansion, and placed Squalo in the backseat of one of the cars before he hopped into the driver seat himself. And he was off to the private clinic the Vongola family used. The wound was cleaned and dressed, the procedure not taking very long at all with it being such a clean shot, and Xanxus waited rather impatiently in a private room for Squalo to get out of surgery, his shirt stained red with the other man's blood.
He didn't have to wait for very long, as Squalo was soon ushered out by a nurse, his left arm carefully bandaged and resting in a sling, the pale medicinal white of it almost blending in with the swordsman's hair and the still-sallow pallor of his skin. His eyes almost immediately landed on Xanxus, taking in the stark red stain on the other's shirt, and he waved the nurse off with an almost annoyed motion, and turned slowly to Xanxus. "Fuck you," he spat out, parts of his hair still stained with the blood, and glanced back down at his arm, the stump of his missing hand not so obvious through the opaque material of the sling.
"Is Princess feeling better?" Xanxus's lips twitched a little and he shook his head as he shifted in his seat to lean down and pick something up off the floor: Squalo's hand. "I had someone from the house bring this up while you were in surgery. Here," and he tossed it across the room toward Squalo. Silently he eyed the wrapped arm, still imagining the hole he had created just underneath all of the gauze. "How long did they say?"
"Don't fucking call me that!" Squalo snarled out but caught it deftly, the motion and the weight of it making him wince again a little, although it wasn't very noticeable. He stepped a little closer to the other in order to gingerly perch down on the hospital bed in the middle of the room, his good hand moving to fit his left hand into place, a process that only took a few seconds even in his condition. "Three weeks or so. Tch, it's not worth the fucking trouble." The last part of that was directed at Xanxus with a narrowed gaze, baring his teeth in a half-grimace.
"Oh, it'll be fucking worth it." Xanxus stood from his seat and moved toward Squalo once the hand was back in place. He lifted a hand of his own up and gingerly, with an odd sort of out of place tenderness, ran his fingers across the bandage where he knew the wound to be. "I know I can't wait to see the mark it left behind. It's going to be perfect." He glanced down at Squalo and tilted the other man's chin up before he bent down over him to crush their mouths together.
Squalo merely let out an annoyed, disdainful snort at the comment, although he didn't jerk away from the other's hand. Apart from the fact that it would have hurt too much to move the arm right now, the bandage seemed to burn curiously under Xanxus's fingers. "Take out my fucking eye next time, will you? Fucking asshole." Squalo tilted his head up and bit down hard on the other's lips, a decidedly poor retribution for the goddamned shoulder wound.
Xanxus snorted quietly and raised an eyebrow as he stood straight again. "You'd be useless to me if you only had one eye. Bad enough you only have one hand." He moved across the room and picked up his jacket to drape it over his arm, glancing only briefly over his shoulder toward Squalo. "Well, hurry the fuck up," Xanxus let his eyes wander around the room just for a second, "I hate hospitals."
"Why the fuck not? You seem fucking intent on tearing me to fucking pieces as it is." The swordsman grumbled as he stood back up, reaching up to gingerly adjust the knot of the sling. He glanced around the room also, taking in the sterile surroundings, the overwhelming smell of disinfectants and iodine, almost too evident even in the rather plush furniture. "God knows I've had my fucking share of it." He finally muttered, stepping away from the bed and waiting for Xanxus to move first. "Lets go, then."
With a nod, Xanxus turned and left the room, silence surrounding him as he moved down the hallway, not even caring enough to be amused by the way some of the nurses and even doctors flinched as he stalked by them. If only he weren't so preoccupied. He came to a stop outside and handed the valet the parking stub and watched as the kid scampered off before he looked back at Squalo. "As if I would tear you to pieces."
Squalo followed Xanxus at a short distance, not entirely trailing too far behind the other man but never getting too close either. He only moved to stop beside Xanxus as the car pulled up, giving a quick glance to the taller man. "As if I'd fucking let you."
"If I wanted to tear you apart," Xanxus paused for a second in order to take the keys from the boy without a tip and moved around the car to get in, "I fucking would." He strapped himself into the car and started it up with a loud revving, looking out the passenger window at Squalo expectantly. "You waiting for the fucking bus or what? Get your ass in."
"No fucking way." The swordsman muttered under his breath as he reached down to open the door, sliding into the seat with a muffled curse. Reaching awkwardly for the seatbelt, Squalo glanced at the other man and narrowed his eyes slightly. "So what the fuck am I gonna do for the next three weeks like this, huh?"
Xanxus tried not to laugh. He really did. But it didn't work so well, and he let out a sharp laugh as he rounded a corner rather tightly, ignoring all common safety sense as he drove back to the mansion. "The same thing I did when I was stabbed in the fucking leg, of course. You do abso-fucking-lutely nothing and like it."
"HEEEEEEEEEY, what the fuck are you laughing about now?!" A loud curse was the response to the rather violent turn of the vehicle and Squalo jerked, another hissed curse leaving his lips as pain shot up from the the bad shoulder. "I'M NOT GOING TO FUCKING DO NOTHING FOR FUCKING THREE WEEKS!"
It didn't take long to get back to the mansion from the hospital--the perk of a great location--and Xanxus brought the car to a stop in front of the doors. "You'll do fucking nothing for three weeks if the doctor fucking told you to. What was your damn excuse for making me stay put? Oh right, I know this kind of wound. So suck it the fuck up."
Squalo didn't reply, but angrily pushed himself off out of the car after struggling with the door for a minute, not even looking back before he was walking towards the doors, pushing them open with one hand and entering the house. "I fucking hate you," he hissed, turning his head briefly to regard the other. "You don't even- I- Fucking retard-!"
Xanxus stopped just inside the door and glanced to the side at a small glass ashtray, empty from having recently been cleaned, and about the same weight as the glasses he used to drink his whiskey. He hefted it into his hand and tested the weight for a second before he chucked it at Squalo's retreating head. Without a word, Xanxus turned and headed off down the hall toward his room.
The weight of it nearly knocked the swordsman to his knees and he stumbled, clutching at the nearby table for support; the vase on it wasn't so lucky itself, dropping off and shattering on the shined marble floor, water spreading like clear blood that trickle down the back of Squalo's head, making him hiss in pain as he straightened up. "H-Heeeeey! I wasn't fucking done!"
"I am. If you have more to say, you can follow me." Xanxus wound his way through the halls and up stairs in order to get to his room, more than certain that Squalo was following behind him. He paused just outside of his room and turned around in order to wait for the other man to join him.
Almost even before he was within reach, Squalo roughly grabbed for the front of Xanxus' shirt (the half-dried blood sticky against his bare forearm) and leant up to crush their lips together, more like a savage bite than anything even remotely resembling a kiss, almost looking as if Squalo wanted to tear the other's face off with the gesture. "You're a fucking idiot for even thinking that," he muttered against Xanxus' lips, eyes narrowed and hard as they stared directly into the other's. "I don't fucking need another reminder."
Xanxus put an arm around Squalo's waist, his hand resting at the small of the swordsman's back. He held the other man there for just a moment, gazing at him, before he made sure to return the kiss, just as hard and vicious. Blindly he reached with his other hand in order to open the door and haul Squalo into the room with him, slamming the door shut once they were inside. "And just what the fuck am I supposed to think when your ass takes off without a fucking word. You're to be here when I god damn need you to be here."
His good hand grappled for hold anew as Squalo turned them around, slamming Xanxus back against the closed door and pressingclamping down at the base of the other's throat, feeling the hard jut of Xanxus' collarbone under his splayed fingers, pressing down even harder to feel the pulse of the vein under the scarred skin. "I'm not your fucking servant." A low, vicious hiss left Squalo's lips, specked with blood. Xanxus' blood. "Don't fucking treat me like one."
It was easy enough to flip their positions back around again, Squalo's back now against the door, one of Xanxus's knees between his legs. "You're not a fucking servant, you idiot shark." He reached down and took a hold of Squalo's good wrist, his right wrist, and brought it up to pin it up against the door with a slam. "You're my fucking right hand." Xanxus gripped Squalo's wrist tightly, mostly in the hopes of leaving a bruise in the grip's wake.
Squalo snarled at the other's face, only inches away from his own, and bucked hard against Xanxus, his whole body tensing, pushing against the grip that held him pinned to the wood. Between a rock and a hard place, and in his current condition, his left arm almost immobile with pain now, it would almost have been impossible to. "I'm no fucking use to you like this." Words almost incoherent through the rising growl and clenched teeth, the swordsman tilted his head and used what strength he could muster against the other to crash his forehead against Xanxus', in effect a headbutt, in attempt to be freed of the bruising grip.
"Son of a fucking--" Xanxus pulled away (though his body said no, no, not yet) and he put a hand to his forehead, glowering at Squalo. "That's not the fucking point, you--" He brought his hand down from his head and turned to stalk further into the room finally, a hand up to undo his tie and tear it off, tossing it to the side. Frankly, he needed to get out of the bloodied clothes anyway. "I'm going to have to fucking spell it out, aren't I." Xanxus snarled and started to work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers moving with impatience.
The effort made lights go off along his peripheral vision and Squalo slumped heavily against the door, before gritting his teeth even tightly together and somehow keeping upright on his feet. His shoulder jolted sharp pains every time he breathed, and the hot wetness at the back of his head (from the ashtray--fuck him, fuck him) made Squalo wince. "Fuck you," he spat out towards the figure of Xanxus across the room, his grip closing around the doorknob (the wrist stinging at the motion; it was bruising darkpurple under the black of the glove) and yanking it open, stepping out into the corridor.
"The point fucking is," he started, finally getting the buttons undone and the shirt tossed to the side, almost angrily thrown, "that you're fucking there. That you've been fucking there; a constant thorn in my side that I can't remove no matter how god damn hard I try." The feathers were removed next, and these Xanxus placed down with a little more care. "Do you fucking get it yet? Eight fucking years, Squalo. Eight fucking years and somehow you're the only thing that ever broke through that prison. Explain that."
Squalo paused (not really a pause, more like stilling of his entire body as if he's turned into a stone, as if his feet'd been nailed to the floor, except for the hand gripping the doorknob so hard, trembling with the tension visible across the uniformed shoulders); halfway out into the corridor, halfway in, stuck in some kind of limbo. He closed his eyes, took a breath, feeling alls of a sudden the bandage around his shoulder, his chest, too tight.
"I missed you." He finally said, simply, though it was possibly even harder to breathe out into the still air. Searching his memory, the first meeting (I won't let you down, boss) the bright burning rage simmering just under the skin, the white school shirt marked with the Varia sigil. Eight years, and that's all the memory he had to keep with him.
Xanxus stopped for a minute himself, a hand gripping the back of a nearby chair to the point of his knuckles being white. He stared at Squalo's back in silence, at the feet of hair that trailed down the swordsman's back, at the tension along the line of his shoulders. Xanxus took a small step forward then stopped, hand still on the chair, still nearly ripping through the fabric, and he shook his head. "Squalo," he finally said, his voice nothing but a low rumble, a private tone, "look at me."
It was hard to keep standing on his feet now, pain shooting through his torso with every breath and Squalo leant heavily on the door without even really meaning to, stumbling a little as the door slid open a bit further before (painfully but soundlessly; he wasn't weak, he would never-) regaining his balance. "No." Squalo said (with closed eyes gritted teeth because the brightblack spots to his vision was somehow more bearable when his eyes were closed, the pain in his head less so with the taste of blood in his mouth) flatly, the doorknob creaking audibly under the vice-grip.
"Come here and sit down before I have to carry your ass over here. You shouldn't be on your fucking feet right now." Xanxus finally let go of the chair after he pulled it away from the desk it sat at and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Unless you want to pass the hell out again." He glanced away, though, all the same, fairly sure that there was no way that Squalo would want to be seen like this. Xanxus sure as hell knew there was no way he'd want someone fucking staring at him when he was on the brink of a blackout.
Squalo took a moment to let the dizzyness pass by (like a roaring train through his head, the rattle of it almost making his vision swim again) before turning slowly, somehow managing to walk upright, somehow managing to stand straight (somehow managing to not look at Xanxus directly) in front of the other, the blood drying and sticky at the back of his neck, matting the pale hair sickly, dark red. He glanced at Xanxus (rather, at the crossed arms, the scars even darker pattern over dark skin) then at the chair, momentarily unsure of what to do even with the order so clearly given.
"Will you just fucking sit down?" Xanxus's voice was subdued, quiet in contemplation, and he moved across the room with muffled, heavy footsteps. He sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the phone to call the mansion's service, a quiet conversation taking place. When he hung up again, he remained perched on the edge of the bed before he finally glanced back toward Squalo to see if the stubborn idiot had finally sat down or not.
As soon as Xanxus was far away enough, the swordsman let his good hand perch on the armrest of the chair, nearly staggering as he sat, a sharp intake of breath the only sound of almost-pain he made. The silence that followed it was making his head hurt again, and Squalo turned his head slightly towards Xanxus' direction after a moment, his voice cracking and hoarse around the edges. "What more do you want?" Eight years of his life staring at the frozen ice that wasn't really ice, punching the spiked surface with his hand until the metal jarred shock up to his shoulders, watching the hair grow steadily long every day and still stuck in that limbo, still stuck in aimless killings, what more?
Xanxus didn't answer right away and instead waited until after the maid had left, the supplies he had called down for now in his possession. He placed the bandages on the bed and moved to place the large tub on the ground behind the chair Squalo sat in, a jug of water in one hand and a towel draped across the other. The towel was put down, and Xanxus reached around to tip Squalo's head back with a gentle touch. He lifted the jug and started to pour the water out slowly down Squalo's hair to loosen the blood, the temperature tepid to avoid shock. "Hold still for a minute."
Squalo closed his eyes, flinching a little at the touch to his face but not making to move away, instead letting the other pour the lukewarm water over his hair, the sticky blood staining the water that collected beneath pale pink. The eyes opened after a while though, the pale gaze glancing up at Xanxus, the look somehow managing to be both vaguely puzzled and. And. He wasn't used to this strange gentleness coming from Xanxus, expecting the rage that was always present to present itself any moment, familiar crash of glass against skull, sound of metal sliding against metal, click of a gun. "--Why?"
"Why what?" Xanxus glanced down at him only briefly before he went back to the task in hand. When the jug was finally empty, he took a hold of the towel and started to rub the hair dry. There was still some red present, but nothing that wouldn't wash out with a good shower. He tipped Squalo's head back up again before he moved back toward the bed to grab the bandages and return. Silently he wrapped the bandages around Squalo's head. "Tight enough?"
The swordsman sluggishly obeyed Xanxus' ministrations, though his gaze now never completely left the other's face; gauging the reaction, perhaps, or just merely having no other place for him to stare at instead (and Squalo was sick and tired of staring at the same old ceiling). "...Why are you doing this." He finally said, nodding slightly and raising his good hand up to press down on his forehead, letting Xanxus wrap the rest of the bandage around his head.
Xanxus finished wrapping the bandage and finally tied it off before he dropped his hands to his sides. "Because," he finally intoned, moving away from Squalo to sit on the end of the bed and stare at him in the ensuing silence. Xanxus let out a breath and shook his head and turned his gaze out the window. "I was this damn close to fucking killing you earlier, you know," he finally muttered, arms crossing over his chest. "I've changed my mind."
A silence reigned for a minute or two, Squalo dropping his hand with an audible sound back against the armrest - a display of weakness, he knew, but the edge of his vision was blurring again with the darkness of the room, and he was just so fucking tired, in as much as he could somehow force himself to admit. A short bark of laughter broke the silence though, and Squalo tilted his head back against the chair, the sound choked halway up his throat. "That's a... fucking stupid way to die."
"I wanted to kill you." Xanxus said, standing once more and absently pacing back and forth across the room. "I wanted to see your fucking blood seep out and stain my damn floor just so I wouldn't have to fucking worry about any damn number of things. About you fucking off and getting shot in the back, dying in some damn alley somewhere. About your ass leaving and deciding it never wanted to fucking come back. Whatever. So that's fucking why."
Squalo looked up at that, his gaze fixing on Xanxus as he silently sat on the chair that he was given, watching the other pace back and forth across the room and listening to the words as intently as he had when they had been mere children (it was almost funny at how old he felt, just then) and Xanxus was laying out the meticulous plans for the coup, the sharpened blade laid across his lap. But now it was his broken, bloodied arm in a sling, his head wrapped up in bandages yet still managing to sting and make him grit his teeth at every small movement, the dark jagged lines of the scars on the once smooth skin.
"Xanxus," his voice was still hoarse, both from yelling and from pain, and Squalo struggled to push himself up to his feet, stumbling his way over to the other, just managing to catch himself at the last minute from crashing to the floor. "Boss," Squalo looked up, his knees still stinging from the impact with the floor, but his grin still knifesharp and bright as if the red staining his hair and bandage beneath his shirt were all nothing.
Xanxus stared down at him in silence, down at the top of Squalo's head, at the bandage. He reached down and placed a hand on the top of that head, his eyes closed. This was familiar. This was like a memory, a memory of the same image, only Xanxus wasn't able to place a hand on him like this. His movements were hampered, cut off by ice that wasn't ice. He opened his eyes again and looked down at Squalo before he finally crouched a little and hauled the other man back up to his feet, one arm under Squalo's good shoulder to support him. "You need to lay the fuck down," was all that he could muster before he started to lead Squalo over to the bed.
Squalo stumbled only once on the way back to bed, a sharp swear of pain that was barely muffled as he bit down on his lip hard, his good hand curling against Xanxus's shoulder as he leant his weight against the other; a second of weakness that Squalo would never really admit to. "Idiot," the tone was vaguely sneering, a part mockery, a part serious, a part something entirely different. Imagining the bright white of the school shirts again. "I've done too fucking much to leave."
After he laid Squalo down onto the bed, Xanxus moved around to the other side and sat on the edge, silently removing his shoes, his belt, before he shifted to lean against the headboard. "Then stop fucking leaving. Stop fucking disappearing like you did over the weekend. This bullshit isn't gonna fly anymore." He paused for a second and lifted his hands to place them behind his head. "You had eight years to get used to fucking waiting. I've had a lifetime of getting whatever the fuck I want. It's been a good run. I'd rather not fuck with my nearly flawless record."
The swordsman silently glanced over at Xanxus, mere flick of eyes that could have meant anything under the bandage and the bloodstained hair, and directed his gaze back at the ceiling again. "I'm fucking sick of waiting." He finally breathed out, eyes closing for a moment or two as the lights swam across his vision again. "You don't fucking know how--" Squalo cut his words short, passing his good hand over his face. "...Sometimes I feel like wanting something too."
Xanxus shifted so he hovered over top of Squalo now, gazing down at him with a hard look. "You're not fucking waiting anymore, Squalo." He brought up a hand and absently pushed a bit of silver hair out of Squalo's face, the urge to do something to him, anything, but the swordsman was already on the brink of passing out and staying out. "You have some fucking decisions to make, though. I'm not as fucking patient as you are."
Squalo reached up, the tips of his fingers brushing against the other's scarred cheek once in a bizarre display of... of something that he would (and could) never really do normally (cold leather against warm skin) before dropping back against the sheets. "You never fucking were." He felt tired, drained, even, half-closed eyes flicking between Xanxus' face and the ceiling beyond that, and the corner of his lips twitched into some semblance of a smirk. "Can't it be my turn now?"
A light snort left Xanxus as he watched Squalo start to fade out (sleep, this time, not instant unconsciousness) and he shook his head. "No," he finally muttered, though he didn't even know if Squalo heard it. Xanxus moved away from the bed and to the closet to change out of the rest of his bloodied clothes and into something clean before he went to the door. He paused for just a second to glance back at Squalo before he pulled open the door and left.