Doppo was reluctant to reveal even a modicum of vulnerability because he knew the detriment it would have, the threat of it becoming an ultimatum or ammunition for someone, somewhere. That sort of apprehension twisted into fear and then dread. Then he was struck with a revelation that only exacerbated it, what if he was so worthless, so insignificant that no one had ever considered it and all of that anxiety had been pointless. It was a ruthless landscape ravaged by a relentless war, monotony sapping at him until he felt so enervated, so weary, that the only thing left of him was his simmering rage and the urge to collapse into his bed and instantly close his eyes. If they never opened again, if he could be relinquished into that dark embrace, maybe, just maybe, someone would notice his absence at the office tomorrow.
With a somnolent blink, weighed down by the remnants of the booze or the excitement that undulated off of Dice, he found his reluctance began to wane. The notorious gambler seemed impervious to despair, as if those dark, slithering tendrils couldn’t find purchase on his fearless heart. He felt a little envious, peeking up at him from beneath the haven of blankets, wondering what it must be like to be so indomitable. He stared, unaware of the intensity of it, or the way the walls he had erected and once thought impregnable had begun to deteriorate with the warmth of alcohol or the warmth of —friendship. Doppo’s concept of friends seemed to only extend as far as his teammates, others seemed to fall into categories like tolerable, unbearable and should be avoided at all costs. Did it make him seem aloof, cold even, since Dice possibly knew more of him in his fervent bursts of anger as he performed was this side of him incongruous to it, unbelievable almost.
His head was beginning to hurt again, his thoughts swarming and swimming and colliding and collapsing. His stomach lurched and he forced his eyes closed for a moment although when they opened again Dice was a fraction closer than before. A soft, incredulous breath failed to be clenched between his teeth, his eyes wide, his heartbeat erratic, he could feel it thundering at the base of his throat. “ D-Distract me ?” The repetition was clumsy, like his tongue was leaden, or kept clacking uselessly against his teeth, he hadn’t been able to blink or look away, almost convinced he could feel the warmth of Dice’s breath as it fanned against his skin. It was molten, searing, alleviating, warm, warm, warm. He wasn’t sure he should show him what lurked beneath his demure facade, Dice might end up biting off more than he can chew, seeing something that really shouldn’t be glimpsed by anyone, ever.
“ Fun, fun… this is fun ?” He gave the blanket a weak jerk, as if he were gonna pull it over his head but it was only for emphasis. Doppo had been convinced that Dice’s fun would be confined to the bursts of neon light announcing another storefront dedicated to gambling, eager to empty out his pockets and thrust him back out into the frigid night without a yen to his name. His cheeks were flushed, embarrassment from someone else being languidly perched on his bed, probably, the alcohol still flooding his veins and softening his demeanour, maybe that too. “ Y-You really want to hear that ?” Ah, he didn’t believe it, or was uncertain at the very least, who, other than a professional therapist charging an exorbitant amount of money by the hour, would willingly subject themselves to that. As he was staring into Dice’s eyes he found there was no annoyance, no repugnance, he looked rather relaxed, sure but there was something earnest about that too, something that almost left Doppo feeling disoriented.
He sunk further under the blankets, thinking that if they swallowed him what he said next might lose its significance. “ I really hate them, you know.” It left a bitter taste on his tongue, a dull pulse beneath his skin that felt like the echoes of anger. “ Every day they ask me to do their job, contradicting the things I say, telling me I don’t know what I’m doing.” Vomit would have tasted better than this, the rancid remnants of every drink he had that evening and the dinner he had picked at rather than eaten in full would have tasted better than this. His brows furrow, through those heavy-lids he looks up at Dice, appraising his expression or attempting to convince the several copies of him that they should merge back into one. “ …Again, again again, I do what they ask, you’d think that knowing I'm doing their job would make them realize I know how to do it better than they do.” laughter bubbles past his lips, a little delirious, a little desperate, a little sad. “ I think about running away sometimes..” he trails off for a moment, rolling onto his side, resting a hand against his cheek and feeling the relief the coolness of his skin brings. “ ….where would you go, if you could go anywhere ?”