Logs:Support

Support
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Matt
In Absentia	2021-06-07 "Some difficult things are worth doing."
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It's a sluggish Monday morning; the city's been waking up a while now but the muggy heat outside seems to weigh this process down. Outside a young woman trudges slow and sleepy-eyed behind a similarly lethargic corgi at the end of a leather leash. A teenager grips a half-finished coffee protectively close to the chest as they wait for a bus. Around the corner a taxi horn sounds in a halfhearted tap. The red-light-running cyclist they nearly collided with doesn't even muster up the energy to curse. Through this torpid scene Lucien seems incongruously energetic, Flèche bounding along eager in front of him, his jogging pace brisk, a chipper good morning offered to the neighbors he passes before steering the dog back up to his own front door. There's a good deal of sweat soaked into his green performance tee but he's not noticeably out of breath. He's humming quietly under his breath (Doja Cat's Boss Bitch), one foot bouncing in rhythm with the music playing through his earbuds as he stoops to free the pup from her harness, remove his running shoes. He hasn't yet removed the earbuds from his ears when he heads into the kitchen, filling Flèche's water bowl with fresh cold water and then heading to retrieve a pair of oven mitts. It's just as Lucien is pulling a tray of citrusy-smelling scones from the oven that the timer on his phone goes off, music interrupted by a series of shrill beeps. His wince is sudden, the carefully organization of his mind collapsing into a brief chaos as the tray clatters from his hands down against the edge of the stove counter. Several of the scones tumble off (much to Flèche's delight). The beeping is continuing; he snatches the earbuds out of his ears, clutching them tight in one palm and his other pressing hard to the edge of the counter, eyes fixed down on the crooked half-filled tray of scones. By his feet, Flèche is happily gorging on the bounty of bread. Upstairs, Matt has been rousing from unrestful sleep in fits and starts. A trip to the bathroom and back to dozing. Plucking up his phone for a desultory social media check-in, then back to dozing. Finally he drags himself from bed and dresses in desultory fashion, pulling on black cargo shorts and a red tee shirt with the graphic of a library card that reads "Last checked out on:" followed by a series of stamped dates terminating in his birthday. All this done, he actually just flops back down on his immense bed with a soft groan, burying his face in a pile of pillows. Then he twists and sits bolt upright at the metallic clang from downstairs, all drowsiness suddenly fled. His power flexes out, gentle questing tendrils only just sensible to Lucien. It's only a moment later that he follows, himself, stopping the top of the steps to listen for any stirring from his younger siblings before padding quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. His hair is unkempt and his face drawn, eyes still sluggish with recently banished sleep. "Darling," is all he manages at first, gaze skipping between Lucien, the tray of scones, and the dog at his feet. "{Did your train...}" He evidently discards this hypothesis before he's formed a question about it, and goes to his brother's side instead, snatching up a dish towel to nudge the tray into a more secure position. His power coils into Lucien's, tentative, not fully seizing hold of his biokinesis though he could do so easily. "{The scones smell delightful, but--are you not going back to DC?}" Lucien doesn't look up until Matt is beside him; his weight presses down against his palm, his eyes fixed on the skewed tray. They lift when Matt rights it, just slightly wider than they were before. There's a beat of silence, a small blink; he is quiet as he turns away, filling a kettle to set on the stove. "{Not today. Did you sleep? You hardly look it.}" Matt does not budge, save for bright green eyes that follow Lucien. "{I slept plenty,}" sounds only the slightly touch defensive, though he almost immediately concedes, "{only, not well.}" He returns the towel to the handle of the oven and tucks himself out of the way with an instinct honed through many years of kitchen loitering. "{Did your rehearsal schedule change?}" There's a very faint note of skepticism in this. Lucien's brows pinch; he pauses in the middle of preparing a teapot to actually check his phone, then set it back down on the counter. "{Not to my awareness. Would you like eggs? There could be eggs.}" Matt looks back at the scones. Then to the teapot. Then back up at his brother. His breathing slows deliberately, the grip of his power tightening briefly before relaxing into quiescence. "{I would eat some eggs, if there are eggs to be had,}" he replies at last. "Scrambled, perhaps?" A thoughtful beat later. "{Why are you not going back, then?}" "I can scramble." Retrieve eggs and goat cheese from the fridge, pull the kettle just before it starts whistling, fill the teapot, pluck a few basil leaves from one of the windowbox plants; there's its own sort of choreography in the familiar routine. The question does not pause him, though his brows do pinch with some uncertainty as he cracks the eggs into a bowl. "{Today?}" Despite the preceding questions this one seems to be a genuine confusion. "{You nearly died.}" Watching his brother work seems to ease some of the subtle tension in Matt's slender frame, though there's more weariness than relaxation in his slump back against the counter. "{Yes.}" His eyes dip to the floor momentarily. "{I won't do it again. I--}" He breaks off, his jaw clenching. "{That does not, I suppose, inspire much confidence. But there are others here to look after me, you needn't...}" His teeth grind quietly. "I know I need to do more than just declare I'm done with it. There are plenty of resources, and it is both selfish and impractical for me to put this all on you." Lucien's brow quirks upward. "Is it?" Though the eggs have cracked cleanly against the side of his bowl he inspects it carefully after dropping each in. "It seems to have worked alright for some time now." There's a faint ripple across the surface of his mind; his eyes stay fixed down on his task. "At least, when I am actually giving you the consideration you deserve." "It worked, but that doesn't mean it was alright." Matt goes almost completely still, his eyes widening fractionally. "Darling...you've given me a great deal of consideration, and for the most part I've taken it for granted. {There are times we've no choice but to let you carry me, and there are things only you can give me, but those aren't all times and all things.}" He swallows hard, eyes flicking to the bar and quickly away again. "I hid behind the truth that it's difficult for me to confide in other people, but I should have considered how unfair it was for me to take up so much of your attention." There is a few moments after this that Lucien freezes, one uncracked egg still nestled in his palm. Internally there is a tumult in his mind; it settles when he straightens to set the egg down and decant the tea instead. "{I would rather spare you the attention here, now, than expend it considering what I ought to say at your eulogy.}" His lips compress as he nudges one of the mugs across toward Matt. "{Again.}" He's slower to return to his eggs, cracking the last one before leaning back against the counter with the bowl, whisk quick and steady. "Has it become easier, then? Now? Which of your friends are planning to sit down with to have this little chat about addiction?" "{I feel that there must be some middle ground between doing nothing and forcing you to rearrange your entire life around me. Again. Thank you.}" This last as he takes up the mug and hunches over it slightly as though he were cold. "It has not," this is matter-of-fact. The fragrance rising from the tea eases his posture. "But some difficult things are worth doing." Still, he hesitates at this last. "I'm not sure. Jax or Hive, maybe? Desi probably ought to know, too. All else aside, I do have a rather excellent therapist." His teeth grind together slowly. "And there are always support groups...and such." Once again Lucien's eyes widen, just a touch. "Hi, I'm Matt, and I'm a heroin addict? {Goodness but I would pay to see what you would share with the group.}" There's still a steady rhythm to the churning of his whisk. "Or even with Desi." His eyes lower, and he holds the bowl a little bit tighter. "{And after you tell them, what then? What is the actual plan to make sure that if I leave town all week you are still here when I return?}" Matt's equable expression wavers momentarily. "Well, perhaps the NA thing is just a bit far-fetched for me. {But if Desi's to be the only other adult in the house, telling her seems like a practical concern.}" He blows across the surface of his tea and takes a sip. "{I'll find someone, or someones, to be a safety check, and contact them if I feel like I might relapse again. We can decide together whether I need someone to--sit with me, for a time.}" He straightens a little, lifting his eyes to his brother again. "I do miss you so, when you're away, but you needn't be my only support even when you are home. I'd rather you have some attention to spare for actually enjoying my company." His mouth twitches ruefully. "Or resting." "Mmm." Lucien shakes his head, moving to set the bowl down and put a skillet to heat on the stove. The faint lingering tension in his jaw suggests he is not entirely appeased by this, but there is a stretch of quiet while he washes his hands and mulls it over. "Jackson or Hive, then. Very well." "There are others I can reach out to, even if I'm not ready to explain it to them. If I just need to not be alone, Dusk or Ryan or Steve or--" He breaks off, fingers tightening around his mug. It's a long beat before he continues, eyes not quite focusing, "I know you'll probably worry anyway, whatever the plan, but I won't cut you out of this. If you've other ideas--gods know I haven't the best record for listening to you lately, but I'm ready." "Mmm." Lucien's expression doesn't much change. Steady, somewhat blank now past the small clench in his jaw. He drops a pat of butter into the pan. A pinch of salt into the eggs. When he does break his silence next, it is only with the somewhat-non sequitur, "Goat cheese and basil meet with your approval?" He doesn't seem to expect any disagreement on this front, at least, already beginning to snip the basil leaves into small slivers.