"So this is your place?" The blonde male scanned the house through dark shades that reflected everything in their line of sight. The little miniature representations danced as his head turned to look around the livingroom. He was very curious, very sharp, very full of questions and quick comebacks. He found delight in figuring out the unknown about people, discovering them.

Droog noted these details when they first met, a wedding reception held for one of friends. As the case might have it Slick was unwilling to go alone, Droog was dragged along for the ride, which was nothing new. But the boy, he was an interesting treat among the others. It was like looking at a ghost. The way his blonde hair swept off to the side, eyes hidden behind reflective shades; they were worn even with a suit. He looked like David Strider.
Now he was looking about Droog's living space for the first time ever. A whole year and only now was Droog willing to have him in the house. It was a baby steps process. 'Small steps' he reminded himself, and so he seemed to teeter along the edge of healing and oblivion as not to push himself over. He followed the other around and answered any questions he asked, being careful not to tell too much about himself. Though the young male, probably younger than D had been even, did complain to Droog often that he was far too mysterious.
'It doesn't suit you, the whole talk,dark, and mysterious act. Though it is kinda sexy sometimes.'
'You really need to open up to me if this whole relationship thing is gonna work.'

These tended to be a few of the recurring comments made to the mobster by the young male.

The blonde took a few more looks around before turning to droog. He slowly removed his sunglasses and smiled. He had brown eyes. Deep dark brown eyes not the bright cherry red of his lover. And Droog was suddenly reminded that this is not his D. This is not Dave and never could it be. He suddenly felt hatred for this /imposter/. He swallowed it. He had to try.

"This place is a bit of a mess though, you have blankets and crap stranded all over the floor." He kicked a pillow that was on the floor.
"This is where I sleep…Dane." The mobster flinched sharply at the name. Another stinging, biting hatred.

"Don't you have a bedroom? Pretty shitty Idea to sleep on the floor when you have extra rooms down the hall."
"I told you I'm complicated. I doubt you would understand at all." Droogs jaw tensed, teeth grinding against each other.
"Droog, is this more of your mysterious bullshit, because I don't think I can take anymore of it."
The diamond had to breath in deep to keep himself from losing his temper. He had gotten so good about controlling it better when D was… Don't think about it! He couldn't afford to have another breakdown, not in front of Dane, or anyone. He could have it when he was alone. For now he had to pretend he was normal, as normal as he could for someone like him.

"I'll be back, just stay here a moment." He sighed and took a moment to slip into his own bedroom. He couldn't do it, he couldn't. He needed to get away if only for a moment, needed to find a way to calm down. Pills, he needed his pills. Painkillers, something to make him feel good. He entered the room and begins to rummage through his drawers till he finds an orange bottle. He began to undo the cap quickly, quickly sifting two into his palm. Though the instructions only called for one, two couldn't hurt.
He took it dry and it stuck and stung at his throat. He ignores it once it is fully down, though he had to swallow a few times. The sigh he released lingered thick upon air that seemed to ever gain weight on his shoulders. He couldn't hardly stand any of this, it isn't till he looked in the mirror he realised how worn he really was.
He had bags that hung below his eyes; the baggage of something precious being lost. And he catches the sight of his bed from the corner of his eye and part of him wants to scream. He doesn't. He slept on the floor because it was easier, easier than sleeping in a space that used to be theirs.
He turned his gaze back to the vanity on the dresser. He had to do this. If he didn't love Dane right now, maybe with a little more time he could. It would be good for him, even Deuce was beginning to think something was up. He needed this. He couldn't fuck it up and so with resolution he grabbed a bottle of Gin from his dresser. This had become more of a place to store his beverages than anything else. He quickly pulled the cork and took a swig on his way out.
Drinking might help him face….
No.

No!

NO!

"Whatever the hell you think you are doing, stop…" His voice was cold, dead, angry. He felt his fingers begin to tingle, down to the tips, blood rushing to them.
"Sorry, heh, just admiring the sword on the wall. I used to take lessons in fencing so…"

"Shut the fuck up. Lay your hands on his things again, I am going to use that sword to sever your arm from it's socket, and then I'm going to beat you till you're clinging to the last inch of your life with your own fucking limb."

"Droog what are you…"
"I said shut the fuck up…"

Dane's mouth dropped open, shocked at the others sudden change in attitude. The others demeanor was usually so calm, collected, and cool. The brown eyed boy could hardly imagine the other losing his cool over something so gentle. Suddenly he remembers that the other has never even kissed him. Maybe…
He slowly moved over to Droog, wrapping his arms around the mobsters neck. Droog almost pulled back but Dane connected their lips before he could. He felt suspended, a shudder through his spine, his hairs stood up on his arms and neck, it's surreal. He kissed like Dave did. He tasted like Dave did. A hint of apple juice and doritos. It was perfect, as long as he didn't look into the boys eyes.
Droog found himself pushing the other to the wall, one hand still clutching his gin bottle tight, like if he let go his life line will stop. He moved his lips with need against the others, a whimper coming from him, pinning the blonde as roughly as he can, ensuring he wouldn't get away. He nipped and bit at the others bottom lip, moans being coaxed from both of them. He trailed off of Dane's mouth, starting at his jawline.

"Whoa…" The younger man's voice was breathy and he laughed a little. "Slow down there, hubby."
A crash of breaking glass. Red. Screaming. Red! Heavy breathing. RED! Gritted teeth! RED! RED!RED!
Blood.
"Wh-what the fuck, Droog?" Dane's voice was weak, pained, he was hurting. The alcohol was probably stinging the open wound on his skull, glass stuck to the wet gore upon the others scalp. Droog snarled loudly and his hand quickly caught a mess of the now crimson stained locks. He yanked the others head up, forcing him to look him in the face.
"You listen here you little shit! You don't fucking call me that! You don't have a goddamn fucking right! If you think you do you better think twice because you aren't him!" He shakes his hand, yanking the others head back and forth hard. "You don't get to touch his stuff! You don't /get/ to call me hubby! And you know why I wouldn't fucking sleep with you?!"
Dane's eyes widened at this.
"Yeah, I fucking heard you talking with your friend at the bar last week! I don't sleep with you after a year because I will fucking moan his name! Because it's not you it's him!"

Before the other had the chance to even answer Droog's fist was connecting with his face. It was at least two minutes of the wet packing of skin on skin. The sound of knuckles drawing blood to the surface of a perfect cheek. It was satisfying. When he feels a warm kind of wetness his white eyes clear and he looks down to a sobbing mess below him.
He quickly stood, running a blood soaked hand through his own hair. He shook his head as he examined his work; swollen cheeks and busted lips, split brows and a bruised chin. He watched the other sputter blood onto his floor and his hand came swiftly to smack the boy for dirtying his lovers fine floor.

"Get out of my fucking house, get blood on anything else I will make your death look like an accident."
The younger male shuddered as he brought himself to his feet, his head swirling about, the room tilting and swaying and it is all he could do not to fall over on the floor again. He finally reached his destination at the door and didn't seem to hesitate to leave, not even to give a second look to the sharp diamond.

Droog mumbled at the mess on his floor, he couldn't do it, not anymore. Now he didn't need to worry about the other, he wouldn't even be bothered by the other. He wouldn't be mocked by names that resembled, and eyes that lied, tastes of familiarity. He sauntered back to his room, gathering up his pills and another bottle. His mind seemed numb as well as his fists. His heart ached and pained beneath his chest and he felt sick.

Beginning a slow walk back to the living room he found himself slowly taking a peek inside of another room on the way. It was D's room. It was cold and the air was heavy, thick. This area hadn't been messed with since D was alive. Upon his bed was a stuffed animal, a cow to be exact, because what would be more fitting?
It was a joke between the two and Droog had seen it one night while out shopping, he knew he had to get it for the other. This trifle little bovine even wore a collar, one with a dog tag that clearly read 'Cerberus'.

"You majestic son of a bitch…" the mobster whispers through a sore throat, the feeling of sorrow building in it. He fought back tears as he took the stuffed animal into his arms, alcohol and pills clutched in the other. His feet dragged over the floor as he finally made his way back to the living room.

He stared long and hard at the futon. It was a deep red, like the ink of the pen that his lover had always used. If he was going to do this he needed to do it there. So he found his courage and placed himself upon the futon, laying across it, his head propped just slightly so he could take the pills. He rest Cerberus upon his chest before starting.

Emptying the rest of the orange bottles contents into his mouth he swallowed them down with alcohol. When he swallowed the last bit he allowed himself to lay back fully, taking little sips here and there.

"I miss him…" He began to speak to the novelty cow. "I miss him so much. I never even...even thought I could miss someone like this I just…" His voice broke and hitched every few words as his heart began to pour out, like an illness over his lips.
"I just want him back! What did I do wrong!? What did I… Mnn…" He was cut off by a feeling of comfort, his heart slowing. He could hear each slow and watery beat in his ears. It was somehow relaxing.

"It's loud here, you know…" The mobster slowly began to smile, an empty smile as it may be. "I can hear him when I sit here. That's why I don't do it…" His free hand slowly began to pet the toy, his speaking calmer, his tears faster. "This was his spot, the recliner was mine...we...we made love here for the first time and...It's been so hard for me. I can't sleep here! I can't sleep in my bed! I Can't sleep anywhere except the goddamn floor and I just…" His hand slowly uncurled from his bottle, the alcohol crashing to the wooden floor below.
All is silent.
All is still.
All is at peace.

Droog can see a white light peaking through his lashes. Slowly he opens his eyes. Ceiling, window, coffee table, recliner, floor mat, Cerberus. When he realizes where he is sitting he quickly removes himself, bringing the bovine with him. It takes a moment more to remember what is going on. When he finally remembers he drops to his knees and the tears come quick, the sobs are loud, and when he wants to scream, he allows himself to.

Sometimes there just aren't enough pills in a bottle.