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Hot Shower Scene[related]
3:42
How did that quote go? ‘Life is made of small pleasures, and happiness of tiny successes’, or something like that?
As Rufus stood, barefoot and tousle-haired in the middle of his kitchen, pouring whiskey into a rocks glass, he had to agree. The kitchen’s fluorescent light was dimmed, darkening the far corners of the room and throwing strange shadows against the wall as Rufus moved around.
This was...not his best idea, really. In fact, not too long before, he’d expressly told himself that drinking wasn’t going to help with any of his problems. The two empty bottles of premium sake still sitting in his bedroom, a night’s worth of memory loss, and the splitting headache that’d only just begun to recede could attest to that much. This right here? This was bordering on masochism.
That didn’t stop Rufus. Glass in one hand, bottle in the other, he poured the Jack Daniel’s with far less grace than he would have liked. He stopped when his glass was half-full, then recapped the bottle. He returned the whiskey to its cabinet with a small sigh. Between his own indulgence and Raury Feybrand’s unexpected arrival, tonight was proving detrimental to his alcohol stash.
Or was it morning now?
The blond scratched at the edge of his jaw and turned to check the microwave. He squinted at the luminescent green numbers, and his head thudded dully in retaliation.
3:42, they read.
Ah, well. That would probably mean more to him if he knew when he’d passed out earlier. He turned back to his freshly-poured drink and considered it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said to the glass, taking it in one hand. “I agreed to help him, didn’t I? I’d say I’ve earned you.”
If he tilted his head and listened, he could hear the shower going in the other room, where Raury was hopefully allowing the combination of strong water pressure, hot water, and good alcohol to rinse away some of the stress he had to be feeling.
Was it selfish, that part of Rufus wanted Raury to be experiencing some of the same emotions he, himself had felt when put in the same position? Of course it was. Rufus had never tried to deny that he was a fundamentally selfish person. If given the choice between finding out he’d handled his own hollowfication pathetically or establishing that his reaction had been perfectly normal, it wasn’t even a question which he’d pick.
That didn’t mean that the answer he’d pick was the answer that would turn out to be true, though. Even with all of the uncertainty and confusion surrounding the circumstances of his hollowfication, Raury was holding up better than Rufus had. Admittedly, Rufus had also had to deal with...
...other difficulties at the same time, and, admittedly, Raury was able to seek refuge from the world’s unpleasantness with far less trouble than Rufus, but...
Well. Those were just excuses, in the long run.
“See?” Rufus announced to the kitchen. “This is the perfect time for a drink.”
He brought the glass up to his lips and took a long sip. He let the whiskey burn its way down his throat, and when he exhaled, it was with a full-bodied, contented sigh.
It said something about him, that surrender felt more like victory than defeat.
You were the brave one, Kazue. See what happens when you leave me to myself?
Jack Daniel’s in-hand, Rufus retreated into his bedroom – pausing, for a moment, in the bathroom doorway (of course he’d left the door open). Steam billowed from the shower, and if he angled his head just a little to the left, he could see a well-built figure standing under the water, scrubbing at his hair.
Rufus took another sip of his drink, and kept moving. Small pleasures and tiny successes.
He’d intended to sit down with his whiskey and unwind; maybe watch those ridiculous(ly cute) weasel videos he’d apparently found last night. Something to take his mind off Raury’s hollow problem and Rufus’s promise that he’d help take care of it.
Instead, he retrieved his comforter from the floor and worked at setting his bed back to rights. A somewhat more halting process when done one-handed.
What was he thinking, really? He rarely left his gigai these days. He was used to business meetings and corporate battles now, not life-or-death missions and sword fights. Even if he still remembered the feel of his natural form’s ears and tail, or the weight of his zanpakutou in his hand, that didn’t mean he was ready to throw down against a hollowfied friend. He hadn’t been ready for it as an active shinigami.
No amount of self-introspective browbeating was able to change his decision, though. He was – maybe not content – but determined to see Raury through the restraining of his hollow. That was the real oddity.
Maybe running away all the time was just starting to get old. Rufus was too tired and too hung over to figure out how much that thought bothered him. He shelved the thought, fetched his smartphone from his bedside table, and took another long swallow of whiskey. Phone in his pocket, he picked up the empty sake bottles on his tower (and a container of half-eaten take-out he hadn’t noticed when he’d woken up) and took them to the kitchen. On the way back he pulled the phone out again and, it in one hand and his Daniel’s in the other, paused in the bathroom doorway again.
The redhead in the shower had his head kicked back, chugging away at his (second) bottle of Johnnie Walker; water sluiced from his body, only half-hidden in steam.
Rufus heaved another sigh and took a couple of pictures. He felt a bit bad about it, but, really – not taking a picture wasn’t really an option.
Small pleasures, he told himself. Tiny successes.
Then he left Raury to shower in peace; the man had a lot to think about.
He had a lot to think about, he realized as he sat himself on the edge of his bed. Like how he going to keep himself (and Raury) alive through the hollow-taming process. And, if they both survived, what he was going to do from there. If Raury wanted to go chasing answers about his apparent abduction and hollowfication, would Rufus follow? And Raury had been asking about other ‘maskies’ – if the redhead struck out to make new contacts and establish himself as a vizard, where did that leave Rufus?
Raury would probably leave him alone if he asked it – and Rufus could go back to the life he’d gotten so complacent with.
But, well. Was that what he wanted?
Rufus chased the thought with the last of his whiskey, then sunk back against his covers. Fingers still loosely-curled around his empty glass, feet still on the floor, Rufus let his eyes slip shut; he was already in a light doze when he heard the shower cut off.
Absently, he realized he should get back up. Make sure Raury would be fine on his own. A proper host would.
On the other hand, the hour (and the alcohol) was catching up with him again, filling his head with warm cotton, and he was honestly too close to sleep to get past the idea of moving. Rufus listened to his friend wander off into the living room.
It’ll be fine, he thought, abstractly, and contented himself with going back to sleep.
.
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