Letheia hasn't yet touched her bride. The ceremony that will bind them is still a few weeks away, and the span of time exists between the two of them as well, as a polite, formal distance.
The young woman she will marry always seems to itch: itching inside the heaviness of her formal clothes, itching inside the ritualized conduct of feasts, parties, and honor-giving, itching inside the marital arrangement her parents have made for her. Sitting at the head of the feast table now, Caitlyn at her right, Letheia can almost feel the itch in her periphery.
There's music, there's dancing. She doesn't ask the girl to dance. Instead, she leans close; a blue lock of hair brushes the verdant bridge of her nose as she murmurs into Caitlyn's ear. "Let us adjourn," she says. "I would rather us... Talk. Somewhere less noisome." She could, but does not yet, touch Caitlyn's hand.
[ ache ] for jon, from avery? i almost jumped the gun and sent one from ed but i behaved...
@forebodes / kissing meme / always accepting
"You're doing very well, Avery."
He means it. Jonathan hasn't ever crossed a patient with such an interesting fear response. It seems the Murkoff trials have done something incredibly unique to McGinnis, though Jonathan isn't sure he ever should have supplied them with any of his fear toxin in the first place. Whatever happened to Avery to cultivate this response must have been... Invasive. Even by Jonathan's standards.
When he was watching Avery before all of this, he saw those black-outs. He saw what Avery has done to people.
Maybe what happens next is Jonathan's fault. He's grown fond of Avery. After all, that feeling has been there, hasn't it? It's why he took Avery in the first place. He couldn't just watch him anymore; he had to have him.
The restraints come off, and Jonathan cups Avery's face with one hand. Gently grazes his thumb along Avery's cheekbone. He's awfully touchy, awfully close. It's admittedly skirting on inappropriate, but Avery... He responds well to it. And it's important to Jonathan that he comfort a patient after each session.
Jonathan also isn't very good at denying himself what he wants.
His other hand finds Avery's shoulder. And he's about to speak again, but his words catch in his throat when he takes in Avery's gaze. Half-lidded, dreamy. For a moment, all he can do is look into them, wondering what Avery is thinking of. And maybe he would have asked, but the answer is discovered quickly - Avery's freed hands grab at Jonathan's lab coat and reel him in. For a kiss.
Don't. Don't. Don't.
He shouldn't kiss a man. He shouldn't kiss a patient. He shouldn't kiss someone after a session, of all things.
He shouldn't. He does.
It's fiery, passionate. More like they both want to consume each other than simply kiss. And it's not just a kiss - Jonathan can't help himself. No, this is the release of tension he's been holding in and doing his best to ignore. His hands are shaking. He climbs up onto the chair, putting himself over Avery. Grabs hold of Avery's face with both hands, kissing him deeply.
No, he's not very good at denying himself what he wants.
𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 “ ⸻ wow, i never seen one that big before.” tongue swipes over plush lower tier, melodic giggle ringing free. “ya camera. that things gotta be from, like, the 90's or some shit.” a scrunch of her nose. “can i hold it?” ♥ @forebodes - august.
hamlin hamlin mcgill is not the ideal spot for a teenage girl to spend her time, but jade will take it. she’s made a habit of curling up in a particular spot in the break room while she pours over her school textbooks. you can tell when jade has been there simply by judging how the coffee supply has depleted. sometimes she wanders, making her way down to the mail room or the cornfield, as some employees oh so affectionately call it. most of the employees know she is by now, and she’s become somewhat of a runner for things like coffee and miscellaneous snacks from the vending machines. an afternoon can pass by easily enough like this.
while she’s on her way to drop off some snacks from the vending machine to some of the low level interns, she spots howard making his way down the same corridor. she doesn’t see much of him during work hours, nor chuck for that matter. their the namesakes, the busy ones, people she knows she shouldn’t pester. but a simple greeting wouldn’t be pestering, would it? no, she doesn’t think so.
“ hey mr. hamlin, ” she offers with a grin as she approaches, “ i’m here after school again. want a nutter butter? ”
They've been drinking. Jonathan's always drinking, but Edward is too now. And it's been some time since Jonathan has had such an efficient setup, has had Edward visiting him (he's always showing up wherever Edward is, though, like a spectre in the night). It's only natural that Jonathan gives him the tour of the operation, isn't it?
This has been culminating for months. Touches here and there; a hand on the back, the shoulder, the nape of Edward's neck. Standing a bit too close, leaning in. Jonathan's eyes seem to never leave him. The older man has always had a penchant for throwing out some pet name, but it has started to feel different when he says them: my dear, my darling, my boy.
Tonight is on another level. Every one of those changes that Edward has noticed over time has dialed up. Jonathan's hand seems to chronically find its way to him, to guide him along on their journey. Leading him by the wrist, an arm around the shoulder as they move together, or a hand pushing on the small of the back to direct him forward.
Jonathan isn't too sure how many drinks he has had at this point.
Enough to not care.
The mood is playful. When they enter the room for the patient sessions, Jonathan beckons Edward to the chair with restraints. "Feel free to sit if you need to rest. I can even strap you down nice and tight," he teases. "We can play doctor, if you like."
For some reason, Edward sits down. Jonathan didn't expect him to, so he has a good laugh. With the younger man under him, Jonathan places both hands on each arm of the chair. Traps him underneath. Does that thing he has been doing as of late, where he leans down far too close. Edward can smell the alcohol on his breath and his cologne, resembling the scent of spice and incense. "Well, sweet boy, tell me what ails you. Have you any new fears to speak of?" Jonathan's grinning.
Edward does something that drives him nuts. It's small, but it has large impact. Those icy blue eyes of Jonathan's lower their gaze to Edward's mouth, watching him, focusing on how Edward bites his lower lip. Jonathan breathes in sharply before muttering, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
Unfortunately, he's begun to think too hard about it now.
What the fuck is he doing, looking at a man like that?
Jonathan snaps up straight. He turns on his heel, back facing Edward, hands now held behind him. He picks up where he left off on explaining the process of how he conducts experiments. It sounds more clinical. He strolls over to the couch in the room, pats it, and elaborates on its purpose - a place to decompress, ground oneself, find comfort. Jonathan sits down on it.
They get into talking, and Jonathan settles. Relaxes again. Edward moves from the chair onto the couch. This time he's the one that's close. Edward props up his head on his hands, leaning in. Their legs are touching. Edward grabs Jonathan's knee for a short moment, but it's enough to drag Jonathan's entire focus away from their conversation.
"Edward," Jonathan interrupts. There's a beat of silence. Then Jonathan adjusts in his seat a bit, pats his thigh a few times. "Come here."
It's a test to see how that request is interpreted, if it's fulfilled. Part of Jonathan would never expect anything of it. He suspects some sort of rejection, at most, which is why he could never ask something like this before. But when Edward actually begins to move, begins to follow the order, it lights a fire in him. He's terribly excited. So much so that he doesn't wait for Edward; Jonathan grabs him by the hips and practically drags him on top of his lap.
There is barely a second before Jonathan's hand finds the back of Edward's head, and he pulls the younger man down into a hungry kiss. His free arm wraps around Edward and holds him tight at the waist, pressing the two of them together.
There's a moment where that thought comes back to him: what the fuck are you doing? But it's lost to him almost immediately.
Adrenaline pumping. Heart beating so fast it feels like it might burst from his chest. Visions of terror at the behest of an insidious doctor deluded by his own maddening attempts at... What? Some sort of societal cure attained through malpractice?
These are all things Avery has been subjected to by Jonathan Crane. Testing that noxious gas of his. And afterward, as if it might stave off the horrible feelings of what Jonathan has just put Avery through, the doctor drapes him in a soft blanket. Offers food, a drink. Makes him take medications to ward off the anxiety left over. Removes restraints. All attempts at some form of aftercare, which seems laughable compared to what Jonathan puts his "patients" through.
The last thing Avery sees before Jonathan exits the room is him taking apart a camera set on a tripod - Jonathan has committed Avery's horror to video format.
And he's left alone.
Thirty minutes. It's half an hour before two "orderlies" come around and escort Avery down some halls. They're in an abandoned hospital, only partially cleaned up from its decrepit form. The only fully functional and sanitized rooms he has seen are the ones Avery has slept in, the room where his session just took place, and the one he enters now.
Waiting for him is Jonathan, seated at a table. Papers decorate it, with Jonathan scribbling some notes as they arrive - he pauses to look up at Avery and adjusts his round glasses from falling down his long nose. He looks down again shortly thereafter. More writing. One orderly accompanies Avery to the seat across from Jonathan, notably bolted to the floor along with the table. Avery is handcuffed on one wrist, the other cuff attached to the table soon after.
"Anything else?" the orderly asks. Jonathan simply waves him off. With that, the man heads out of the room, shutting the door - they're left alone.
"I was given word you didn't eat or drink," Jonathan comments, not looking up as he scans the documents before him. He turns a page over to look at another paper under it. "I would highly suggest next time that you try. I know you may not be hungry or find the snacks appetizing, but it will help with the come-down. Just a tip."
Jonathan adjusts in his seat, sitting upright, forearms pressed into the table top, and he gazes at Avery with those sharp blue eyes of his. He's looking for something. He says nothing, however, and reaches over to press record on a small microphone. "Patient Avery McGinnis. Session one of medication assisted therapy completed. Follow-up interview."
Jonathan then crosses his arms in front of himself, settling into his chair. He continues, now addressing Avery directly: "Mr. McGinnis, I'll explain this - the point of what we're doing right now is to debrief. Without proper aftercare, the medication's effects can be traumatizing. Obviously, we want to reduce that, don't we?" One black-clawed finger tap-taps the table. "The drink, the food, the blanket, the propranolol tablets - they have a purpose. Along with talking about... What you saw." There's a glimmer in his eyes at that.
Sean offers a somber smile to the good doctor. Given the comment, it doesn't quite match. "Trying. Often failing, but trying." For such a melancholic man, he does his best to look to the positives.
That said, he fiddles with his cross pendant. It doesn't seem the man (should they both be called men) in front of him finds much mirth in the half-hearted jest. Perhaps he should have said nothing? The thoughts fester. Part of him thinks: I shouldn't care, not for Dr. Reid of all people. There's a bitterness there. Alas, that is not how Sean can operate in a lasting manner. The anger ebbs and flows. Mostly, he just feels gloomy about it all.
"I find myself doing my best to come to terms with it," Sean offers, feeling the need to explain. It's his anxiety. He needs to justify himself, and maybe that will cause less of a sting. Sean appreciates Jonathan's appearances, although they make him uncomfortable at times. He hates to remember what transpired between them. But how can he hold onto that when Jonathan simply seeks to do some good? "Have you... Been able to, yourself?"
