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[lectorisalutem]

Even hermits had to leave their homes on a semi-regular basis. Pulling the robe that he left draped over the front widow as a makeshift curtain, Gulliver threw it on and wrestled a bit to feed his head and arms through their respective openings. For a moment, the heat and darkness of catching his head in a sleeve made his knees knockwith

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[sunsinge]

His steps were unsteady, half-shuffle against the stone. One cup too many, maybe. No. He was just tired, Amadius told himself. His tolerance was better than this. He was barely even drunk...

Still, the stairs seemed to sway beneath him, and he had to grip the rail tightly to keep from falling. Swaying like a bridge, it was; someone should fix it. Likely to get someone killed. Likely to get him killed, and wouldn't that be funny? Throw that crazy fuck for a loop. No joining with God, or whatever it was, because he'd already broken his neck on the stairwell. Throw all the debt collectors off, too. It'd been harder than ever to get money enough to drink, and it was all Amadius had been doing lately. If he was too sober, his thoughts always floated one floor up. What was he doing up there? What was he planning? How long would it be before he acted on it

[lectorisalutem]

He heard a voice as he turned to shuffle down the hallway, his eyes on his boots. For a moment, he thought it was Di-Amadius'. Gritting his teeth, he told himself that it was much too hoarse to belong to the man, but, as he had to navigate past a pale-faced, sorry drunk, Gulliver recognized him. He hadn't seen his face and couldn't point to any feature in particular that told him it was Amadius; he simply knew. He knew, and he kept walking. It was what they both wanted, to never speak to one another again.

Gulliver took the stairs in twos and threes. It wasn't until he heard a crash from above that he paused. He listened carefully, hoping to hear a scuffle, a curse, something to tell him that Amadius hadn't cracked his head open against the rail. When no such sound came, he turned around without hesitation and bolted up the stairs just as quickly as he'd bolted down them.

Somehow, he found his voice. Crouching beside Amadius, mindful to keep a few feet between them, he asked, "Are you alright?"

[sunsinge]

Panting, Amadius swallowed thickly and nodded, though his head seemed so loose on his shoulders that he worried for a moment that it would fall off. He felt no aches or pain from where he'd fallen, only a wetness on his forehead. Had he hit it? Fucking stairs--

"'M fine," he slurred, then coughed wetly. His head was still spinning; if he hadn't felt the wrought iron beneath his arms and legs, he would've wondered if he was still falling. It was cold, all of it, and he was beginning to feel clammy as well. A side effect of being near him, he told himself. "Go away," he croaked, pushing himself unsteadily onto his hands and knees. His elbows wobbled, and he had to blink quickly to keep his vision straight as all of him swayed, about to topple again. "I'm fine. Go-... leave me alone."

[lectorisalutem]

"You aren't fine."

He could hardly understand D-Amadius' speech, he was crumpled on the cold stone, unable to get up, his head was most definitely bleeding- What sort of a person voluntarily put themselves into a state like this? Taking a trembling breath, Gulliver got to his feet. All he wanted was to oblige his neighbor. He'd go about his business, run his errands and come home to find Amadius going grey and stiff in front of his door and, once again, feel guilty over his death for the rest of his life.

"Archons," he blasphemed before leaning over and trying to place a hand beneath each of Amadius' arms. "I'm putting you in your bed. Get out your keys."