@kxmpfer
“Right.”
Rule one of being a solider (or an ex one): desperate times call for desperate measures. He grabs a fist full of Walter’s shirt and all but drags him off the sofa. Typically speaking he doesn’t like to man handle people, but this is getting ridiculous. It’s not like he doesn’t understand, mind you, he does; in fact Rudy would like nothing better than to sink down there next to Walter and not get up for maybe a good couple of years, but at least one of them has to keep their shit together, and it looks like Rudy;s drawn the short straw.
“We’re going to that cafe at the bottom of the road, because there’s no food in this verdammt flat, and you haven’t left the house in what, a week? Frankly, Walt, you’re starting to smell.”
Tough lough is the phase that springs to mind, but it is needed. Rudy has seen enough of his friends go from bombs and bullets; he’s not going to stand here and watch while this one fades out before his eyes. He lets the older man go, looking him up and down before throwing a few words across at him.
“Change your shirt first.”
He leaves the house once a day; at four in the morning he makes it out, comforted by being the only living person in a world dead asleep, and he runs. He runs for two solid hours with white noise blaring in his ears, runs until every muscle in his body is wound so tight it feels as if he’s about to snap in half. He runs because the prosthesis hurts when he does. He runs until it feels as if his leg has been torn from his body once more. He doesn’t stop anywhere along the way, from the first step out the front door to when he returns at six o’clock he runs, and the world is dead to him. Once he crawls back into the apartment he collapses on the sofa, and never has any intentions of moving anywhere until the clock strikes four in the morning once again. He isn’t asleep, he’ just existing - breathing, fading, watching the shadows move across their ceiling, yet he still feels as if he’s been rudely awakened when he’s dragged off of his spot on the worn sofa. He makes his dissatisfaction loudly known by a row of curses as balance returns to his feet and a boiling glare shot at the younger, ‘ did someone let you watch DOCTOR PHIL again, what the HELL’s gotten into you? ‘ he looks down at his shirt, unchanged for he’s not quite sure how long, he doesn’t bother -- he’s not going anywhere, it’s not worth the effort. ‘ --- and that cafe is terrible ‘ he says, he’s never been there, he doesn’t know if it’s actually terrible, he just really does not want to go. ‘ can’t you call a FRIEND? what about that girl you keep YAPPING about? I’m sure SHE’D love it ’
