middaeg | Am I beast or am I human? [closed]

"B-Berserker?!"

By that reaction, it's clear that Waver knows exactly what that title means. But it's also clear enough he has no idea what on earth (or what on Geardagas, as it were) a Berserker of any sort is doing on his sofa. Shirtless. Expecting Diarmuid in the morning.

...goddammit.

"I'm Waver. I live here."

And having a stranger in his territory is more than a little annoying. Even if Waver isn't consciously thinking of it this way (yet?) this is still his space, and this is an unpleasant surprise that makes him feel less in charge of it, and unpleasantly vulnerable. Even if Diarmuid invited him... He's going to have to have Words with his roommate later, isn't he?

The reaction to his title gets a curious head tilt. A Master...? This one? Not as though his own Master wasn't an inexperienced young mage, but still. He doesn't entirely let his guard down, though he is more relaxed than before.

"So were you a Master, then?"

A pointless question. He's been asking a lot of those lately.

"I wasn't told about a roommate...," he says with a shrug, "We're bonded. He invited me to stay over last night."

There's no reason to hide the truth. It would bring more suspicion if he wasn't forward. It's already jarring enough to see an unfamiliar stranger sleeping on your couch, especially when that stranger happens to be a dragon. No need to escalate the situation -- fighting is such a bore.

"Th-that's beside the point!" But yes. Obviously. This Berserker does seem to have more of his faculties than what Waver was expecting, though. Not that he's about to complain about that; he still remembers rather well the frenzied, inhuman screams of the Berserker of the Fourth War.

Waver's musings are quickly cut short, however, when the Berserker on his couch continues talking.

His eyes widen, the unexpected revelation cutting through his defensiveness and anger with visible surprise and... hurt. Just a twinge, caught off-guard.

"...ah."

Waver swallows, the indignation evaporating. He tugs the blanket closer around his shoulders, and though he doesn't mean to show it, his ears droop a little. They're awful traitors, constantly giving him away, these days...

"I see. He'd mentioned-- I mean--"

He exhales, sharply.

"Right. If he invited you... whatever. Just put some clothes on. I'm making coffee. I do live here, whether or not he remembered to tell you."

He is an anomaly for a Berserker. Completely calm and in control of his faculties, it's only when he gets into a fight that his nature presents itself.

Why that reaction...? Interesting. He's not going to just let it go at that, of course. A shirt is retrieved from the ground and he pulls it on as he stands up. He doesn't button it, but it's on, at least.

"Why does that bother you so much? Don't try to deny it, either -- your body gives you away."

He has a feeling he knows the answer; he just wants to hear it from Waver. Diarmuid hadn't mentioned anything to him about another bonded, but Berserker never thought to ask, either. A mild annoyance creeps across his features the more he thinks about this.

Waver's ears flatten further against the top of his head as he stalks quickly past the couch without looking at his uninvited 'guest' on the way to the kitchen. He turns on the light and busies himself getting water on the stove for coffee, messing with appliances as an excuse to not meet the other's gaze-- though he can certainly feel it, and sense his growing agitation too.

"I'm not denying anything," Waver snaps, though a bit belatedly.

He doesn't know what to say. Why does it matter? He knows he's probably just an annoyance at this point. He knows it's his own fault he lost control and probably put Diarmuid in a situation where he was forced to do something about it, even if he hadn't wanted to. He knows Diarmuid is too polite and too strict in his own code of honor to deny Waver something he needs after they made a promise to be allies here.

He knows he's the burden here, in all likelihood. Just the person Diarmuid promised to protect for reasons that have to do with their past. It's simple. It doesn't mean anything.

...he shouldn't feel so hurt.

"We're Bonded too," he admits finally, after he's turned on the stove and started to get out supplies to make the coffee.

"It was a safety concern."

Nothing more.

The cold shoulder doesn't bother him -- not much really does seem to bother him. He's passive as Waver passes him, moving to follow him after a moment. The way Waver snaps at him gets no reaction. Cold red eyes watch him from a short distance away, arms crossed over his chest. The mild annoyance grows into a brief rage at the admission, just a flash, his lip curled into a snarl, before it's replaced with the ever-present apathy.

It's not like Diarmuid really had a chance to explain anything to him. It was a decision made out of necessity and haste -- because he had a need for control, especially over his own mind, bonding with someone he could trust was a priority. Convenience, he told himself, and nothing more. They hadn't spoken much since the night of their bond -- a certain embarrassment surrounded their actions, so they simply stayed apart. They didn't refuse to talk about what happened, more like they just wanted to avoid it as much as possible for different reasons.

Berserker stands in silence for awhile before he responds. It's a lot for him to take in and leaves somethings he needs to speak with Diarmuid about privately. He can probably feel the irritation through their bond.

"I don't care why you're Bonded." Blunt, cold. "He never said anything about another to me."

He pauses for a moment as he considers his next words.

"You have nothing to fear from me, though."

There's more he could say than that, but he chooses not to. That should be enough to assuage any lingering doubts of his intentions.

"If you want me to leave, I'll leave."

Even though they're not the ones Bonded to each other, Waver can sense Berserker's flash of rage across the room. It's almost a scent in the air, a violent energy, and he winces faintly despite himself. It seems he's more sensitive to such things lately.

The coldness of his I don't care makes something in Waver's chest twist painfully. His clawed fingers tighten on the bag of coffee beans as he's taking it down from the shelf, but he continues what he's doing with carefully too-measured movements. The slowness isn't calm; he feels all too tense, visibly on-edge. His anger is explosive too, but this isn't quite it. He doesn't know what this is.

"He said we needed to talk. I assume about this. If you and he--"

Waver trails off again. The coffee beans are in the grinder, but he just sort of stands there, eyes distant, trying to figure out where to go from here. Where his place is in this.

It's business. Convenience. Safety, practicality.

That's it.

"I don't care what kind of relationship you two have. If he invited you, stay if you want. Just tell me next time."

He's not afraid. Despite Berserker's appearance and Waver's initial alarm at his class, considering, nothing is really that frightening about him right now. Mostly, he just feels suddenly, uncomfortably, like an outsider in his own home. Not that this place was ever really home, of course. It's just a place to stay.

He looks back up at Berserker, resigned. Waver knows he's never anyone's first choice. It shouldn't have been a surprise.

"...do you drink coffee?"

Berserker told himself many times that his choice to Bond with Diarmuid was nothing more than convenience, done for his sake to protect his mind. It grew far, far more complicated than that, well beyond the original intent. The nature of the Bond was far more intimate than he anticipated and it affected him more than he could say.

Waver's actions speak louder than words; he notices each little bit of body language giving away hints to his true feelings. Should he dig on it or leave it alone? Eviscerate this person he just met on an emotional level or not? It's just his nature to find weakness and seize on it.

"Some part of you cares. Do you feel betrayed because you weren't told?"

Again, as if he had to ask.

"If I'd known about you, I would have said something."

At the question, he goes quiet. Despite everything that the Grail took from him to fulfill one selfish woman's wish, there are parts that couldn't be erased. He couldn't refuse hospitality. Berserker shrugs.

"Not normally, but I will take some if you're offering."

"How I feel is none of your business," Waver snaps too-quickly, his teeth baring for just a moment in a snarl that reveals his sharp eye teeth.

Berserker is right, of course. He hadn't realized what this feeling is, but it's true: he feels let down. And the disappointment hurts.

It's not even that he thinks Diarmuid was wrong not to tell him or should have gotten his consent. The fact is, now that he's thinking about it, Waver actually realizes he shouldn't be surprised. Diarmuid doesn't owe him, and it's not as though they're actually Master and Servant, or anything more intimate than acquaintances who share an apartment. It's the realization of his insignificance that disappoints Waver the most. The feeling is familiar.

"Do you feel that way? As a Berserker, I assume you were a Servant once. It's not a betrayal for a Master to contract a second Servant. It would be a matter of practicality, wouldn't it? It keeps the Servant from fading and binds another ally to you. Why should I care what you two do? It's not like I'm bound to you."

Waver is not a very convincing liar. Nor is he great at making coffee distracted; the water is boiling, and the beans haven't even been ground.

"You're transparent. You keep lashing out at me, your denials and excuses for your behavior are giving you away. You're a terrible liar...," he looks to the boiling water, "and you're failing at making coffee."

Berserker shifts his weight a bit. He refuses to just let this go -- he can't ignore the weakness presented to him. Like a dog shaking its prey, he won't stop until he's satisfied with the ending.

"You care because you're not important anymore. My presence minimizes your significance. You've been pushed out of your comfortable spot."

Wrong or right, he's not backing down. Each word is delivered with cold indifference, detached from the situation. It really doesn't affect him one way or the other, but Waver's weakness can't be left alone. He has to learn from it. This is why he does this, not out of cruelty or malice, but out of purpose: force someone to confront what makes them weak. How they react isn't his problem -- whether or not they choose to deal with it only affects them, after all.

As expected, the accusations land with the heavy weight of truth, like a punch in the chest that staggers Waver's breathing. His lips peel back, the snarl clear and threatening this time, all teeth.

"This is where I live! You are the one intruding here. You're the one in my spot."

Waver reaches back to click off the magitech stove agitatedly, his blanket sliding off his shoulders and onto the floor in the process, but he doesn't even try to catch it. The offer for coffee had been an attempt at a truce, at being civil-- and Berserker had just rejected it, no matter what he'd said a minute ago.

"You think you have any right to tell me how I feel? You think you know me already?"

Waver -- nearly a full foot shorter, tiny and wearing only his pajamas -- stalks toward Berserker fists clenched, chin up. His Monster characteristics have barely started coming in. He has teeth and claws and attitude, and that's about it-- but he doesn't give a damn right now.

Just because Berserker is right doesn't mean it's fair.

"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be turning into this." He gestures, agitated, at his own body and glares pointedly at the horns that he's pretty sure Berserker didn't originally come here with. "I don't want to have to bind myself to Lancer just to keep my sanity. Or to anyone!"

Anyone who isn't the one man he's already bound himself forever to, that is.

"But I made a promise to survive, and Lancer made a promise to me. I don't have to be important. And you don't have to be a- a huge prick!"

Waver's determination surprises him. He doesn't budge when he's approached, letting the smaller man get it out of his system. Good, this is exactly what he wanted.

"Do you think I want to be turning into this any more than you do? I know what it's like to have control pulled out of your grasp. Thoughts you can't control, instincts forcing you to do things. Fighting for control of your own mind. The only reason I agreed to a bond was to stop those thoughts and regain control. This is not my battlefield to die on."

Berserker straightens up and drops his arms to his side.

"I understand your anger, but don't let that weakness consume you. Don't let it fester inside. That will make everything that much worse...I forced you to confront your weakness for your own good. If that makes you angry, so be it. Be angry, but understand it's not me you're angry at."

There's no emotion behind his words, the same apathy coming out as before.

"You're angry that I saw through you. And you're angry at Lancer."

"I didn't say you did," Waver snaps back, but he listens without interrupting for the rest, even though he still looks indignant and skeptical at first. But he too had felt firsthand what it's like to lose control. He's lost hours of his life in ways he doesn't know. He wakes up checking himself for injuries and blood in a panic too many mornings these days. He's terrified of the next full moon in a couple of weeks.

Berserker, by his nature, must understand some of that, though. He's a Monster here, and a Servant summoned to madness before; even if Waver doesn't know who he really is and he appears lucid enough here, his words ring true, and he realizes quickly enough where they must be coming from.

It had been unfair and uncalled for the way Berserker had so coldly thrown Waver's fears in his face, but now that he's had a chance to vent, Waver can acknowledge that what Berserker is actually saying isn't wrong. It isn't even unreasonable. Doesn't mean Waver has to like it, anyway... but it isn't Berserker's fault.

His fists loosen, and just as quickly as the anger had flared up, it seems to dissipate. Waver takes a breath, telling himself to calm down, closing his eyes for a moment longer than a blink. Even if he still feels manipulated, Berserker's got a point. And if they're both Bonded to the same person, it's probably not in either of their best interests to be at each other's throats.

"It wasn't your place to force me to confront anything." That part is also a growl, but then he sighs, shaking his head. "But yeah. Fine. I'm angry. At Lancer. But also at you." And also at himself, for allowing himself to actually care more than he'd realized. For allowing himself to get comfortable in a situation like this.

Tensed muscles. Beared teeth. A guttural growl of voice.

They're fragments more than any distinct feeling, an impression that creeps up on the corners of his mind like something happening in a distant room, the sound muffled by a locked door. But they're there and Diarmuid doesn't like them one bit. Waver might not be looking for a fight but he knows that Berserker isn't one to shy away from it, even verbally. He's been on the wrong end of that stiletto-sharp tongue before and it wasn't pretty.

The plan had been to leave early, grab something to break the ice and then make it back before either of them knew he was gone or that the other was there. In retrospect, it was one of his stupidest but navigating the conflicts and pitfalls of interpersonal relationships has never been one of his best skills. Confronting Fionn, making himself clearer to Kayneth- both of those things could have saved some grief and yet here he is, doing it all again. There are so many reasons he's held his tongue but-

Diarmuid sprints back from the bakery, skidding on the morning ice in his hurry to get back to the apartment. At least it's still there, he rationalises, as he takes two stairs at a time. By the time he stumbles into the apartment he's breathless, scarf half trailing off of his shoulders and the bag tucked under his arm crumpled. Even if the paper didn't have runes on the inside keeping the cinnamon buns inside warm, the speed with which he had bolted back would have probably stopped them going cold.

Panting, he looks between Waver and Berserker. Okay. There's a definite hostility in the air- he can feel it off of both of them now through the bonds it's a little dizzying- but everything is in one piece.

"... I can explain."

What an opener.

Berserker watches the anger leave Waver with the barest hint of satisfaction. His nature is to tear and tear until there's nothing left, ripping away at anything he can get his hands on. Revealing his own weaknesses about the situation may not have the best idea -- bursts of emotion cloud his judgement. It's a side effect of this transformation, more prone to lashing out than before. Another piece of control wrenched from his grasp.

The boiling point may have been reduced to a simmer, but there's no such thing as de-escalation when it comes to Berserker, either; the only way to go is up. He can't -- won't -- let go now, pressing the point further.

"Be mad at me, then, but be mad at yourself, too. You grew complacent..."

Diarmuid making an entrance is the only thing that makes him stop. He turns his focus to the Lancer now, eyes narrowing for just a moment. The damage is done, any residual anger and irritation leaving him as quickly as it came. He takes a step away from Waver, a desire to create space between them now. There's no point in continuing this fight.

"What's left to explain? I know all I need to know."

You think I don't know that? Waver wants to snap at him, but he doesn't quite get the chance. There's a vague sense of Diarmuid coming closer, the Bond like a string pulling taut, but he wasn't paying attention to it-- not until the door bursts open and Diarmuid steps through, breathless and frazzled.

The look on his face sparks a mean little twinge of vindictive satisfaction. Oh, good. He can explain.

Waver rounds on him, Berserker's latest jab already having undone any small bit of smoothing over resulting from Waver's attempt at accepting it wasn't really his fault. Choosing to continue pushing is Berserker's fault... and now also Diarmuid's, for bringing a jerk like him home without even talking to Waver.

And so, to Berserker, Waver only snaps: "Shut up."

And to Lancer: "Get to it, then. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-"

Uncharacteristically, he stumbles. With both Berserker and Waver watching him, the gravity of his mistake hits him like a freight train- one that he's suddenly very afraid might be one way. He's not sure who to look at first and his gaze is left bouncing between them with almost comic restlessness.

"I don't know. I didn't expect either of you to wake up before I got back," he admits eventually, "I've been meaning to introduce you two for a while. I thought it would be a good idea to do it here."

On territory that Waver feels comfortable in. Now that they're here, though, he can see the folly in that assumption; canine instinct might give him more confidence on home turf but he hadn't accounted for wanting to protect it.

But that's not really the main issue here, is it?

"I had no intention of deception. Things got out of hand and..." He shakes his head. Get to the point, Ua Duibhne. "I've gravely insulted both of you."

Berserker ignores Waver's bite back at him. It doesn't bother him nor does it surprise him -- he's tormented enough people to expect that reaction. Lashing out is normal and expected. It's when someone doesn't react that way when he might pay attention -- then they're interesting and potentially useful. That's not the case right now, however. He turns his attention to Lancer for now.

He's not angry, he's not much of anything. It's not a grave enough mistake for him to count it against Diarmuid. It's an oversight and an annoyance, but nothing malicious nor outright dangerous. There must be a reason he bonded with the small yappy dog, whether out of a sense of duty or pure necessity. It matters little to him whatever the reason.

Berserker just shrugs. Waver can be angry all he likes.

"You just weren't thinking. Careless...You know better," he says, "I don't have to tell you this, though."

He'd already laid bare all of Diarmuid's failings and shortcomings, he didn't need to do it again.

Insulted doesn't quite cover it. There's trust broken here, and Waver shows it. Their Bond feels it, his hurt and anger spilling over, echoing down the thread of it in an anxious, sustained buzz.

"You should have told me you invited someone over. If for no other reason than basic common decency. I get it. You don't need my permission to make your own decisions-- fine."

He can make other Bonds if he wants. Berserker is right, and it is a reminder of his own loneliness and lack of value, but at the end of the day, it's Diarmuid's choice who he wants to share his magic with.

"But this is my home too. You agreed to this. Don't I get a say?"

Maybe they aren't talking just about inviting people over anymore, not really, but that's the easier part of the conversation to face.

It's a two pronged assault- but at least the two of them seem to be somewhat united by it. Not that it's much comfort when he can feel every ripple of hurt even as Waver tries so hard to cover by changing the topic. Yes, that's an issue too but-

"Waver..."

Another shake of the head. Painful as it is, the most grievous wound is the one that first needs attention; cauterizing it will probably hurt more than receiving it in the first place but it's the only way to close it. Hard as it is to meet either of their eyes, he forces himself to keep his head up. This is his problem to fix and he's going to do it even if it stings.

"It's more than that: I've betrayed your trust. As a knight, that's despicable." With a slow, deep breath, he moves down onto one knee. "And as a friend... as a friend, it's even worse. You're right- I should know better. I'm sorry."

Berserker maintains his silence. This is not his problem nor is it his place to say anything. As opposed to Waver's open emotion, he's unreadable, steely and cold. The only one who has earned the right to see such things is the knight kneeling on the floor. No one else will see anything beyond his cold apathy.

His desire right now is to leave, but he knows that would make things worse and prolong the inevitable. Better get this over with now before it becomes an unapproachable monolith. With this bond, he promised to be honest with Diarmuid, to not just retreat and avoid when things became unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He owed him that much, at the very least. It's because of that sense of loyalty he doesn't run.

As Diarmuid moves to kneel, Waver's eyes widen. It's not a relief. His discomfort shows in the stiffness of his shoulders and his tail, the curl of it nearly pulled taut behind him. The spectacle makes him want to look back up at Berserker, but it feels worse to look away; besides, he can already feel the cold energy coming off the other former Servant anyway, or whatever he is.

There's a heavy expectation in the air now, the weight of it settling in Waver's lungs. The silence stretches unpleasantly.

He's supposed to say something. He's supposed to accept the apology. Let this blow over. They're waiting.

But--

Waver exhales shakily, confused and caught off-guard suddenly by more than just the new presence Diarmuid has brought into his life.

"...friend?" It's awkward, with Berserker watching, but Waver doesn't have a lot of prolonged experience with friends. He doesn't feel like a friend. He feels like an obligation, and now he feels like he's just in the way.

He remembers that night in Fuyuki City, Iskandar helping him onto his horse. Riding together. One final time. Rider had called him friend.

Waver's throat squeezes, and the words come out breathless and thin.

"You really mean that?"

The catch in Waver's voice breaks his heart. Shards of memories and emotion slip through the thread-like strands of their bond, weaving into a disparate but somehow comprehensible tapestry. Aching loneliness. A moment of reprieve wrapped in a scarlet cloak, dazzling and bold. It's not a feeling Diarmuid could ever recreate for the young mage and, while the knowledge of being the second choice yet again had once left a bad taste in his mouth, it seems absurd now.

He has a duty beyond that of a vassal to fulfil. Without getting to his feet, Diarmuid takes hold of Waver's hand and, in a gesture that burns with silent but hopeful, chivalry, presses his forehead to its back.

"I wouldn't swear myself to someone who wasn't, Waver Velvet. Or to someone I couldn't trust wholeheartedly." He lets go, turning his eyes on Berserker this time with a small smile. "Fortune has favoured me in that regard."

Slowly, he gets back to his feet. The parcel he had tucked under his arm has been abandoned on the floor but he makes no move to retrieve it. Instead, he rubs the back of his neck, still repentant.

"... I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

Again, Berserker remains silent. The urge to run away just strengthens, a burning desire he can hardly ignore. Claws dig into his palms for a moment as his hands tighten into fists. It's not that he's upset by the scene that plays out in front of him, he simply doesn't know how to deal with the emotions he's being given. This bond drug out things long ago given up in the name of strength, locked away so he could survive.

That's what this bond was about, wasn't it? Survival and nothing more. He trusted no one but Diarmuid enough to take on this burden. Deep discomfort surges through him for a brief moment. A force of chaos sent to disrupt and destroy; that's what a Berserker is meant for. That's all he's meant for. Alter Servants are an aberration, things that should not exist; an impossibility given form by the corruption of the Grail. He's just doing what he's meant to do, so why does this bother him so much? The longer he considers his existence, the greater his agitation grows.

"I should leave," he says finally, far quieter than he meant to say it. None of what he's feeling show on his face nor in his body language. Waver doesn't deserve to see this vulnerability.

If he can't escape the unfamiliar, unwelcome, and uncomfortable torrent inside himself, the least he can do is escape this situation. He's done his job and thrown everything into disarray, so there's no reason for him to remain here. He doesn't know the exact nature of Waver and Diarmuid's relationship nor how they knew each other, but he knows he's the problem here. If that's his role, why does it bother him now? Why is he conflicted? He doesn't know and can't understand it.

Edited 2019-07-12 12:16 (UTC)

Despite everything, the touch helps almost instantly. It strengthens their connection, the thin echoes of their Bond solidifying, as real as the feeling of Diarmuid’s skin against the back of Waver’s hand, breath warm against his slim fingers. Waver can feel his earnest hope, his regret. It’s clear Diarmuid means every word he says; at the very least, it’s true to him.

With a soft, shaky exhale, Waver squeezes his fingers gently around Diarmuid’s beneath them, then lets go to allow him to stand. His own eyes linger on the Lancer’s face as he looks up at his other Bonded, but even if the connection isn’t between them, Waver can feel the tension in the air. He can sense the discomfort, Berserker’s awkwardness in not knowing what to say or do. That feeling of being an outsider is one Waver can understand well enough, even if he doesn’t understand the circumstances.

If Berserker wants to leave, Waver won’t stop him or ask him to stay. He’s not that selfless. But he won’t argue either if Diarmuid asks him to. He doesn’t answer, but Diarmuid can probably feel him growing calmer after the reassurance. He waits.

It's like a breath being released in a slow sigh. As the tension in Waver and Diarmuid's bond releases, so does that in his shoulders and he takes a moment to brush a silky strand of dark hair back behind the mage's ear. As much as he wants to prolong the contact, though, there's someone else just as important he needs to face.

He turns to Berserker. What a complex rush of a emotions it must be for someone who normally feels nothing to be flooded with ones even the most empathetic of people would be overwhelmed by. Two states of mind, one clear but complicated and the other clouded by proxy but no less difficult to process, alongside what he's starting to pick up on as Berserker's own, conflicted feelings. They're surprisingly delicate for such a beast of a man, almost completely inperceptible but beating with a heart of their own. They're out of his reach for now but maybe with time-

Diarmuid doesn't want him to go but he doesn't want to push an already fragile situation to its breaking point either.

In the end, all he can do is try and be sensitive. The Lancer heads over and rests one hand on his chest, just beneath his still open shirt. The touch is light enough to allow him to brush it away if he so chooses but Diarmuid's hoping he won't.

"I truly am sorry that my foolishness caused such chaos. I... won't stop you if you want to leave," he says softly, "but know that I want you here."

It's a fight not to call him Cú.

It's a terribly delicate situation. His heart pounds beneath Diarmuid's hand, though the touch does soothe him just a little bit. A dull ache throbs inside him for reasons he doesn't understand. Physical pain he can tolerate, but this is something different. A wound he can't nurse, an injury he can't deal with.

Stiff beneath the other's touch, he finally relaxes. He raises a shaky hand to clasp it over Diarmuid's. To be this weak, this vulnerable on top of everything else is too much. Run, his mind screams at him. He can't. He can't shut hmself off again. His expression hardens with a renewed resolve.

"...I made a promise to you as Cú Chulainn." There's no fear of Waver hearing his True Name -- perhaps it was out of fairness he offered it. "I told you not to let me push you away. But I have to hold myself to that, as well. It's an unfair burden for you to bear, my knight."

He wants to offer some kind of softness beyond taking his hand in his own, but he hesitates. Waver doesn't need to see him anymore vulnerable than he already has. A small concession he allows himself is to lean down and rest his forehead against Diarmuid's. The gentle affection soothes some of the turmoil inside him. Anything to calm that down right now is welcome.

"I'll stay for now."

Now, it's Waver who feels awkward watching their affection. He hangs back, his fingers following the motion of Diarmuid's in a belated echo as he tucks back his hair even though it doesn't need it. While they reaffirm their Bond as well, Waver takes a few steps back, quietly moves to pick up his fallen blanket and fold it, start tidying up the kitchen. Coffee can be attempted again in a few minutes.

It feels invasive to listen, but he can't help but be curious too, and Waver takes note of Berserker's True Name-- which sounds a little familiar, but doesn't mean anything in particular to him. Unfortunately, he doubts this place would have literature on old Earth heroes, so his curiosity may go unanswered for now, until he feels comfortable asking Diarmuid about it.

In any case, he also feels better with the tension easing in the room. He's noticed the smell of the pastries by now too and goes to pick the bag up off the floor and set it on the kitchen counter, pretend-busying himself so he's not staring invasively at their moment of affection.

When Berserker decides to stay, Waver looks back up. All right. Take two.

"Then let's stop standing around. Lancer, coffee or tea?"

My knight. It's fantastical indulgence to the extreme but hearing him say that again strips away whatever tension remained in his body after the unexpected relief of his agreeing to stay. It wasn't necessary. Nothing that Berserker just did was necessary- on the contrary, he was only making things harder for himself and giving a glimpse of something vulnerable to a near stranger by staying- and yet he did it anyway. For him. He did it for him. Deep as the trust between them runs, Diarmuid's still quietly amazed by the realisation that he's making an effort for his sake. That he's worth that much to him.

But to call attention to it would embarrass them both. Instead, he clasps his hand and, amber eyes wide with gratitude (and no small amount of affection), half whispers, half mouths a simple: thank you.

China clinks. Cups. Saucers. Hot drinks ready to be made. It's the sound of domesticity that, thankfully, drags him out of his daydream and stops the moment from becoming any more sentimental than he's entirely comfortable with. Diarmuid gives his hand one last squeeze and turns back to Waver. The other third of this increasingly bizarre triangle.

"Coffee- and there's no need to call me that when it's just the three of us, Waver." He gives him a small, gentle smile. "Diarmuid is fine if you prefer it."

Berserker smiles faintly at the thanks before letting apathy settle back over him. With that settled, the urge to run away lessened to a quiet nagging in the back of his mind. That he could ignore -- it's no longer screaming at him. The tension in his body relaxes and he looks the same as before: completely disinterested in the world around him.

He does take a moment to button up his shirt out of courtesy. Being considerate if not something that comes naturally to him, though he'd try to make at least a token effort for the moment. It would take more yelling and scolding for him to not walk around half-dressed on a regular basis.

"Maybe this time you'll finish making it," he says to Waver, a gentle jab. It's a joke at his expense, the only type he knows how to make.

Mostly, it's just been habit to call him Lancer. It feels weirdly intimate calling a Servant by name, in a way... but there's no need for their classes here, and if Diarmuid wants to be called by his name, Waver can oblige. They're... friends, right?

"Okay. Diarmuid." It feels odd, but not bad. Waver smiles back tentatively.

Berserker's little joke quickly makes the beginnings of that smile slide away though. Waver's lips purse, and he shoots the larger man a flat glare.

"Maybe this time you'll let me."

Am I beast or am I human? [closed]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

fml lost this tag

no subject

no subject