Weren't we just here?

[waitforsuperman]

Who: Alfred and Ivan
When:  October 1st, afternoon
Where: The hospital
What: There's only so much Alfred can take before he snaps.

Comments

[das_vedanya]

Ivan could recognize the sound of those shoes in the thickest of crowds. Nurses clicked across the tiles, doctors clacked, other patients hissed across the tile, but Alfred pounded against it. He could tell when Alfred was walking with purpose, and the steady tempo of approaching bomber jacket and blond hair told him that Alfred definitely had a purpose

[waitforsuperman]

The American's teeth ground together and the only reason his voice was so calm, so quiet and so dangerously controlled was because John was sleeping. John needed rest. John needed rest to recover from wounds. Wounds that Ivan gave John. Ivan hurt John. Alfred knew why.

"Why," he demanded, "Why Ivan? John hasn't done anything to you! He never hurt you and- He never did anything to me if that's what your twisted mind got from reading that stupid fucking journal I kept."

[das_vedanya]

"Then clearly I owe you no explanation," he hissed low in his throat as his sore fingers constricted around his scarf. "You're so smart, Alfred, you've already figured it out, but as per usual, you've arranged the words so everything is entirely in your favor. Have you ever stopped and tried to see it from another person's perspective?"

Ivan tossed his gaze aside and stared out the window; he had almost the same exact view as Alfred spare for the ten feet of height advantage from the room below.

[waitforsuperman]

"Don't you dare look away from me." Alfred's hand shot out, grabbing Ivan's chin and practically dragging him down to eye-level. "You are an idiot. There is no other side, you acted on your feelings based on me. You didn't do this because you wanted to hurt John you did this because you want to hurt whoever tried to take me from you."

He grinned. "You did all this for me. What other perspective is there? Tell me Doctor."

[das_vedanya]

Without the promise of seeing that rage in Alfred's eyes again, Ivan let himself relax into the rigid mattress. His hands feathered through Alfred's hair. "That's just conforming to society's expectations of us. We're already defying society by being together in the first place, da? If we were normal by society's standards, we would be broken up... you would..." his voice got quieter, "...well, we would be with other women. The most we'd see of each other would be an occasional bar meet, maybe pass each other on the streets."

The hospital suddenly seemed too quiet. Everything ached, and the American's weight on his ribs suddenly felt heavier. Ow. Ow. Owowowow. "I like our normal..."

[waitforsuperman]

Alfred tried to imagine his life without Ivan. No more mind games, no murderous sister, no hiding in Ivan's room to be together, no doctor/boyfriend troubles, no hospitals, no scars, no hurt feelings. No Ivan Braginsky. This made him open his eyes, frowning a little. No more playing with him. No getting used, no harsh sex, no tip-toeing around subjects and words, no wishing for more and never getting more, no worries of commitment from the both of them.

No more cold.

He sat up, sliding off the bed, all at once wanting to throw-up and run. "I-I should really get going though, it's late." But there were positives right? They cared about each other in a twisted way, understood the other, could be themselves... A version of themselves around each other.

Then, a small nagging voice with the beautiful body of Ivan's sister whispered in his ear. Then why does he hide you? Then... Because he cared?

"I'll see you later, okay Ivan?" he turned back to him, burying his lack of smile in a kiss to Ivan's jaw softly.

[das_vedanya]

"Mm?" he only opened one eye a crack to look at the retreating figure stealing away the warmth once pooling on his chest. The hospital room filled with snow again; somewhere John was muttering to himself. He couldn't feel the kiss on his jaw through the staleness of Alfred's lips. Ivan was rolled over on his side again, compensating for the sudden emptiness of the bed by wrapping his arms around one of the two pillows beneath his head. Unconsciousness sounded nice. Unconscious didn't hurt, didn't feel, only dreamed. It was naivety that lured his eyes closed, so he could slip off somewhere warm and pleasant and golden, rather than white, red, and cold and miserable.

Alfred's hair reminded him of the petals on a sunflower. "...come visit." He managed through a mouthful of pillow; he was too exhausted to argue against him leaving.