well, this is awkward.... Donny/Graham
20. Sitting on the kitchen floor, humming a tune, and overindulging in ice cream.
Donny’s headquarters were hardly ever quiet. His crew, like any other, had to be a finely tuned machine in order to operate smoothly; there were most always a handful of operatives to be found actively doing their job at any given hour of the day. Now, though; Three in the morning- it was as close to quiet here as it ever got. Maybe the holidays had somethin’ to do with that. It wasn’t a secret that Donovan had plenty of family men and women in his employ- they were all likely off giving thanks with the people that mattered to them. He always got itchy this time of year. Always wanted to smoke or drink or work his way through until March.
Donny’d wanted him to join in dinner with DJ. Graham hadn’t said no, but he’d ran his mouth enough to try and distract from the fact that he hadn’t said yes either. Kept opting for that little trick every time it got brought up. It was a week away now- less than, actually, three days, maybe four- his head was fuzzy, and it didn’t matter. He was still here, wasn’t he? Was it possible to give in and just kinda automatically go to dinner without ever outright saying yes, Donovan, I’ll join in the family dinner, as if I have any right to be there?
This was why he didn’t like thinking about it.
Tonight, though, or at least at this particular point in his evening- his troubles were few. Very few. Objectively the fact that he was still kind of actively bleeding all over the kitchen floor was probably an issue, but he’d quit paying attention to it long ago. His legs were sprawled on the ground and his back was pressed to the fridge. The freezer door was still cracked open above him; humming as it tried to keep up with the cool air leaking out into the room. He hadn’t made the conscious decision to sit down so much as it had… happened… and he’d just kinda gone along with it because his head was spinning and his gut was churning a little. It wasn’t all bad- he felt kinda fuzzy and heavy, but painless. That was the important part.
He was humming to himself as he spooned the ice cream in to his mouth, appreciating the rich, sweet flavor, but not so much the chill that bit at his tongue and the back of his throat. His voice went a bit pitchy as he fought through the brain freeze, but he persevered- something he’d heard on the radio, too catchy to be forgotten.
Had he been stabbed? Yes. A little. Not that it was a novel fact at this point in his life, but yes. Was he bothered? Not anymore. He had strong drugs and he had his ice cream and inevitably someone would find him and haul his ass off to get patched up, probably, not necessarily because they cared what happened to him but because the boss would have their asses if they did anything but.
Donny’d have his ass, too, for fucking around and getting a snack before taking care of the wound to his side- and jesus, it’d be a miracle if there was an unmarred patch of skin on his whole damn chest to be found, ‘cause the bastards always went for the torso- but… Graham giggled, his humming interrupted and discordant, whatever hybrid noise coming out of him sounding airy and a little unhinged. It was just… Donny’d already had his ass, so many times. So many. On a regular basis, even.
He giggled again, and then choked on his ice cream as the pitch- black kitchen was abruptly flooded with light, and, oops. “Oopsie,” he echoed aloud. “Hey. Hi, D.” Graham snorted out a laugh. “Big D. Hi. Caught me.” He watched as Donovan’s face went from disgruntled and sleepy to alarmed, probably ‘cause of the blood, and if he’d been just a little more in his right mind he would’ve been bracing himself for frantic- former- med- student- mode and being bitched at and fussed over.
Instead, Graham hummed out a “G’mornin’. Night? Aw, this, don’t worry ‘bout it, it’s fine…” He spooned another mouthful of ice cream into his mouth. “I’ve had worse, ‘s’ all good, don’t even feel it, I took-“ He paused, staring blankly as he tried to remember. “Something. Enough of the right thing? Or too much of the wrong thing, maybe, anyways, I feel good, don’t feel a thing…” He trailed off, quiet for a moment before abruptly bursting in to giggles. “I… sorry… your face, D… oh.” He scrambled to wind an arm around Donny’s neck as the man picked him up, yapping at Graham about something or another, and just held tight to his ice cream with the other hand, idly wondering how to get the hand with the spoon over to the one with the carton. “You’re interrupting ice- cream time,” He accused, the words muffled into Donovan’s neck as he peppered sticky kisses to the exposed skin. “But you do smell soooo nice. Mmm. So I forgive you. Mostly. ‘S’long’s I get to finish it before it melts.”