Blackouts and Black Eyes

[das_vedanya]

WHO: Ivan and Alfred
WHEN: Friday-Saturday, 18-19 of February
WHERE: Liberty's very own IKEA
WHAT: Because Alfred cannot make a quick decision between the price versus quality of plates, the two of them get stuck in the superstore during the blackout with no means to get home until the snowstorm passes.

Comments

[waitforsuperman]

Alfred really loved IKEA. He loved the little rooms they had set up, like glimpses into peoples' lives where he could enter, sit down and pretend to be whomever he wanted. He ignored the looks form the Russian that clearly said 'You're an immature child' and instead just enjoyed himself because, hey, it was a trip to IKEA

[das_vedanya]

Through the murmurs and distant cries of the other patrons Ivan caught himself recalling the events of Monday - smashed plates, everything going black, Alfred's horrified expression looking onto him. As Ivan knelt to the floor, knees brushing against shards of ceramics, he left his phone on the floor between them, fishing through his coat pockets inside and out - reaching forward and pressing a button on his phone to refresh the strength of the backlight - until two objects fell from inside his coat. The unruly one, bent and dented with the backlight against it: a box of cigarettes; the other catching the silvery gleam of the light along its slender body: a lighter, and obviously the only thing he was looking for. For now

[waitforsuperman]

The Russian was calming because that's what had happened last time. Ivan had been there, in the dark, comforting and quiet. But this time was different. Alfred watched with wide blue eyes as the lighter flickered into life and then graced the end of a smoke.

His greedy hands reached up, taking the lighter without waiting and continuously flicking it on and off with this, the darkness couldn't get him. Still, it took him a good five minutes to sit up, leaning against Ivan still, the last anchor in the world and reply to him.

"Yeah."

He looked up at Ivan, watching his face, illuminated by the dark. In this little sphere of light, with just the two of them, Alfred felt... safe. Safe enough to reach down and hold his hand. "Maybe we should go to the front or something..."

[das_vedanya]

"We should think about going home," his hand constricted around Alfred's like a robotic impulse. Ivan inhaled another breath of smoke, eyes getting sore from the flickering lighter in the corner of his eye. During the split second where Alfred had clicked the lighter off, a much brighter floodlight fell upon the two of them like a spotlight. The Russian slipped his fingers from between Alfred's knuckles and blocked the painfully bright light from his vision.

"Are you all right?" the faceless silhouette asked from down the aisle. Ivan nodded, making certain that his verbal confirmation was clear enough as he shifted an inch in front of Alfred to keep his less than heroic expression from the light of the flashlight. The group slowly migrated past their isle, throwing the two into lighter-hindered darkness again.

"Come on Alfred." He reached for the American's wrist this time, sturdily holding it as he made to get up. "We can shop for furniture later. Let's go home."

[waitforsuperman]

"That's a little less believable, but then again, you weren't really one for imagination."

Alfred realised, in a brief moment, that he was using past tense and his smile twitched. And then there was the pain in his wrist as the blood on Ivan's jacket and he shook his head, lifting his free hand, clutching at his head, wobbling lightly. "Ah- shit-"

The knife clattered to the ground as the American's grip when limp and he sunk against the Russian with a small noise of discomfort. "No..."

[das_vedanya]

Ivan did not release any pressure on the other's wrist as long as Alfred intended to keep this facade of feigning a conscience - until he had suddenly pushed all of his weight against Ivan's chest. He slowly released his grip on Alfred's wrist, but made no effort to support him beyond maintaining his own balance while Alfred slumped.

"...chto?"

[waitforsuperman]

Alfred grumbled, straightening, pressing a hand to his head, shaking it. "I'm not- gonna..." He shook his head, blinking at the Russian, staring at the cut, reaching down and grabbing the knife, weighing it in his hand.

"I... Did that?" He questioned after a long minute of silence, blinking.

[das_vedanya]

In an effort to shift the American's focus on something else, the Russian instantly clapped his palm over the cut as if doing so would erase its image from Alfred's memory.

"It is not important."