medals | !INBOX // EUDIO.

wanna get smashed and make out

yep ilde's got a shitload of booze, as usual

the hero we deserve

why am i still waiting for you

when i get super speed then you can be a smart arse about how long take

nearly there, pour me a drink

cocktail or do you want it hard

i always want it hard petre

[hahahahha]

when have i ever gone soft

[haahhaahahahaha]

hmmmmmmmmm

[when ur too drunk eeeyyyy

anyway, she's letting herself in mere minutes after that text. no knocking, just trudging in and - well, she looks crushed. she's probably had a cry; there's a red rim round her eyes and her whole face has this kicked puppy look about it. if this how badly she's taking Cole leaving, how she'll take Petre leaving one day will probably be much worse.]

[oh hi Jem. Petre's in the living room having a smoke. He looks like he's already drunk. Which he is, because there are a bunch of bottles he stole from Ilde's collection and they're almost all half empty by now.]

Jem. Over here. Come on.

[It's no surprise; the moment he texted her, she'd had the gut feeling he'd already beaten her to the 'let's get hammered' punch. She ditches her jackets over a chair, shoes left somewhere in the hallway and she says nothing while stepping into the living room.

He looks just as fucked up about this as she does and privately, she's glad. She waits until he's taken a draw and then slips into his lap, straddling and pressing a kiss to his cheek before she presses her face into his neck. She exhales, shaky and miserable and makes a blind grabby hand. ]

Pass the vodka, ta.

[Truth be told, he doesn't expect her to just come on over and drape herself all over him like she does. Maybe that's the wake-up call that he needs to realize how beaten down she feels about all of this. Petre doesn't even know how to describe his own feelings - he knows he's pissed off for sure, but sadness is something that sits very weirdly on him. It's hard to admit, hard to recognize. Murky and heavy. Sticky. It makes his skin feel rather gross.]

Leave a little for me.

[Even if he's already had more than enough.]

[She only lifts her head to unscrew the cap and lift the bottle to her lips. No glass, no cares left to give. If's a big gulp; it burns going down and burns still on her tongue after she's screwing the cap back on. She leaves the bottle at his side and stays sat back, just to really look at him. He looks just as miserable as she does and for a moment she knows how easy it would be to hate Cole for leaving them. There's a sharp twist in her chest and she feels utterly emptied out.

She sniffs, once, and cups Petre's face with her hands. She thinks to say we can't let this happen again, but that might be obvious. Getting close to people hurts here more than anywhere else. She knew that from the start; everything here is temporary. Even Petre. She swallows down a lump, eyes stinging even though there's no tears.

(Cole could come back and Jem doesn't know what she'd do if he did. )

Gently, she places a kiss to Petre's forehead. Tender, consoling.]

[There's a small twist in his lips, pressed together with the tension of a feeble attempt not to let emotions show. If she's looking directly at him then he can't help but look away, downwards at her middle, eyes unseeing. No movement, even when she closes in to press a kiss to his forehead.

Maybe Petre can't cry, and that's why the only remarkable thing about him in the moment is his breathing. His arms feel limp. Throat empty, his thoughts a blur. The only thing he can think to say is the reason why he'll miss Cole - the same reason he misses Diana.]

He said he'd take care of me.

[So... fuck him, or something. At least Petre left Diana knowing they'd see each other again. Cole left knowing they wouldn't.

With a strange little frown he reaches for the bottle, his turn to down a long and scalding swig.]

[Fuck him is probably the healthy reaction. They're both a mess; the devastation Cole has left in his wake is fierce and sharp. Jem doesn't even consider the other people who must be hurt too. All that really matters here is Petre and herself. ]

Yeah, I know. He said a lot.

[There's a bitter taste in her mouth, a dull look in her eyes. She waits until the bottles away from his mouth before she takes it back, downs another gulp and let's out a shaky exhale after. She's heart broken; it hits her as he chest starts to burn. This is heart break. ]

- Fuck, [and you know what, fuck him, she thinks, lifting a hand to her mouth, her whole face crumbling. Fuck him for making her feel like this. ]

[It is just him and Jem right now. Anyone else who feels for his loss is irrelevant. They don't know what these two do, they didn't feel the same. Cole didn't make the kind of promises that they got to hear.

Whether that's true or not, it's what Petre chooses to believe, in his constant, magnificent egotism.]

Everybody's gonna leave. Some day.

[Jem included.]

[There it is. Verbal confirmation. She'd confessed to Cole, with his head on her chest, that she didn't want to go home. Her short trip home had only cemented that. Roarton's not home. Her parents are home; Kieren is home, but Roarton is an infection and Jem wants rid of it entirely.

She swallows. ]

You thought about it? [Going home. She really ought to prepare herself for that inevitability.

Not really.

[Amazingly enough, it's - mostly true. Petre feels so comfortable here that it's almost criminal, and the only thing that isn't pulling him right back to stand by Diana's side is knowing that anything happening back home has been frozen in time. Until he goes back, nothing happens without him knowing it. Satan shouldn't mind his absence because he isn't going against the mission. He's just... using a little bit of cheat code on the contract she made for him. That's hardly illegal, right?

But then he will go back, and he will have to die at some point. After all the gods are gone and there's no one left to slay. Petre just wants more time. (He wants it all, unknowing that eternity will be torture on Earth or in Hell.)]

I'm not going anywhere any time soon.

[Even if they come to him saying it's time to go.]

You?

Mmmm.

[She's already been home, after all. She takes another swig, the burn less severe and sets it down between them.]

A little bit. [She hesitates, then shrugs. ] Not - not about goin' back though.

[About staying away. ]

How long are you staying? Do you know?

[Because nothing lasts forever. He doesn't think anyone of them would want to die here, no matter how great this place is supposed to be.]

[She shakes her head, slowly and - guilty, maybe. ]

Not really. Till my incentives done and then - maybe longer than that.

[She looks down at her hands between them. ] If I go back, I'm - I'm gonna have to turn myself in. And even if I don't it's the same old bullshit.

[He brushes her hair back, steadies his hand on her nape. His gaze is both intense and careful, watching how her features twist, how her voice trembles.]

You could come back with me.

[There it is: an out, practically gift wrapped. A solution, too; a way to never have to feel like this again. The answer should be so easy to make. But he's not thinking right and neither is she. She's scared and miserable and he's angry and miserable too. So she cups his face with her hands and smooths her thumbs over his cheeks. ]

Ask me when we're feeling better.

[because he might not want it, then. But maybe not.]

[He doesn't hesitate to bring his hand up and wrap his fingers around hers. Petre's gaze is still determined and slightly vulnerable, as if searching for an answer in her eyes before the question is even placed.]

Would you?

[If not for the out of place vulnerability on his face, she'd push him to let it go. Instead she kisses his forehead again, the touch gentle and intended to be comforting. ]

You think you could live with me?

!INBOX // EUDIO.

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