Moody

The TV blared in front of him, but Dante hardly saw it. He lay on the couch, wearing yesterday's clothing and surrounded by a mess of paper plates, pizza crusts, and the pizza box. He felt off today--couldn't explain it, but days like this always led to large amounts of drinking. Reminding himself of the lyrics from a Blue October song, he dialed Astrid's number on his cell phone, hoping a conversation with her might pick him up.

His attitude seemed to pervade a few miles away to her. Even though they hadn't talked yet today, she felt unsettled, even a bit moody; and she couldn't figure out why. It didn't seem to be just 'one of those days' for her. At that particular moment, she was sitting on her futon, her old-fashioned typewriter anchored firmly in her lap, a stack of typed papers at her side. Using the type writer took her longer, forced her to really think about what she was writing, examine her mistakes - it helped center herself in a weird way. She was in the middle of scrutinising a line she'd djust written when her mobile went off with Dante's ringtone, and a sharp stab of angst ran down her spine as she picked up. "Hello?"

He felt the vibe, even over the phone. "Yeah," he said, not even able to muster up his usual "hey Darlin'". "What're you doing?" He sat up on the couch and glanced warily toward the entertainment center, where he knew what was hidden behind a few choice video games.

"Writing. Is everything okay?" No sense in mincing words, or stringing things along. Something was off with him, and it was affecting her, and it was driving her insane. The typewriter was lifted off her lap, and onto the floor beside the futon; she leaned back against the ton of pillows she kept piled on her bed.

"Are you?" He stood and paced the room, occasionally glancing back at the entertainment system.

"I'm alright. You're not, though." She looked around the room, trying to find her shoes. "Want me to swing by?"

"I dunno," he admitted, not wanting her to see him so.. well, so very Dante. He ran a hand through hair that needed washing and stood at the window, separating the blinds enough to see a bit of the sunshine outside.

A soft sigh, and she sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her socks. "Is there anything I can do?" Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. She could hear it in his voice, just how shitty he felt. Astrid knew Dante was prone to bouts of depression, but certainly not as bad as her. He was her srength, her foundation, her support system. To hear him like this was almost unnerving.

He sighed into the phone and shrugged, then realized she couldn't see. Again he was reminded of the Blue October lyrics: "I called baby up / leave me alone / I'm in pain but I won't let you band-aid my wound / I am not at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own"..

"I don't even know what to do for myself." But he did. The small voice spoke up, and again he looked at the entertainment system. He hadn't had a drink in a week, the night before he and Astrid had colored. Was he really going to fuck that up now? And while on the phone with her? He sighed again, tears stinging his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?

The tears were in his voice, and she became alarmed. Forcing herself to calm down, she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. "Listen, babe. You need to just relax, and get in the shower. Clean up. I'll be there in 15 minutes, okay? I'm on my way." She closed her phone, hanging up before he could protest or tell her no. Her shoes were found, the keys and coat were both grabbed, and she flew out the door.

He threw the phone at the wall, and smacked himself in the forehead. "Fuck," he said, staring into nothing. His mind fluttered into panic-y chaos, and he grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling. "Fuck."

He came into the bathroom and turned the water on, but instead of undressing and getting into the shower he sat on the toilet seat, head in his hands. How was he going to explain himself when she got here?

He'd have to think of something, and fast, because she was hauling ass to get there! She pulled into the parking lot in 10 minutes, and jumped out the the car, locking the doors and setting the alarm as an after thought. Up the stairs and to the door, she began to bang on it. When there was no answer, she cursed - "Fuck!" - and tried the door knob. Unlocked. She pushed it open, and stepped inside. "Dante?"

Out of time. He tore clothing off and stepped into and right out of the shower, cursing at the hot water. He wrapped a towel around his waste and poked his head through the door, slowly, afraid.

She was standing at the door, looking around, dazed and confused; turning to face him when he peeked out. "Baby? .. Are you okay?" She saw the fear in his eyes, and didn't understand -- her own eyes went wide, soft with concern. Something told her to stay put, and she didn't make a move to approach him.

He looked at her for a minute and then shook his head, slowly. "No."
das kleine vogel: She relaxed her stance, and closed her eyes, before opening them again. A hand reached out, attempting to coax him from out of the bathroom. "Come here. Come talk to me."

The door opened fully and Dante stepped out, taking her small hand in his and feeling pathetic. Wasn't this supposed to be the other way around? Why was he so ever-fucking weak?

"You didn't have to come all the way out here," he said, trying for the moment to keep the conversation off of him.

Astrid pulled him into her arms, hugging him gently, pressing her face into his bare skin. "I wanted to," she mumbled into his neck, before looking up at him. "You'd do the same for me."

"I'm okay," he lied, pulling away from her and running a hand through his damp hair. "Just need a warm shower and a hot meal and I'll be normal again." Except he didn't believe that. Would she?

The look in her eyes told him that she didn't. Up went an eyebrow, and she rested her hands on his hips, opening a little distance between their bodies. "You're sure." Spoken as a statement, thought there was a slight inflection at the end, as if she were uncertain. And she was. She knew he was lying to her, and she didn't like that; but she also knew how stubborn he could be, and why he was trying to act as though things were alright.

He sighed again and threw his hands up into the air. "I give up." He managed a wan smile, although it looked feeble on him. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, but you don't need to be around it. Me." He leaned against the counter, hands taking hers and pulling her in close. He needed the contact.

"Don't say that. I want to do whatever I can. I want to be around you, even if something's wrong." She leaned in against him, pulling him close to her; eyes closing. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't care, or didn't want to help. You know that." She kissed his chin.

Dante closed his eyes too, wishing there was a better way to get the point across to her. There probably wasn't, not unless he was ready to admit a lot of things, especially to himself. "I'm just having a bad day, I guess," he said, more trying to convince himself than her.

Astrid sighed, and went slightly limp against him. She didn't know what else to do for him, and that frustrated her. He sounded doubtful, uncertain, and she was too cautious to try to pry it from him for fear of upsetting him. And so she remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip, looking away from him.

"But I should probably get cleaned up or something. It's bad enough the place is a mess." He gestured, demonstrating. "Give me ten minutes? Watch some TV?"

She bit back another sigh, and nodded mutely, dragging her bag with her and plopping down on the couch, immediately curling up. The remote was seized, channels were flipped through, but nothing captured her interest. Great.

Dante watched her for a moment, then went back into the bathroom. In the cabinet, under some towels, he found a nipper of some Jamaican rum. While he waited for the water to heat up, he took it down and buried the empty bottle in the trash.

He took a quick shower, brushing his teeth while the conditioner set in his hair, then came out of the bathroom, a new towel wrapped around his waste, smelling faintly of Axe bodywash. He grabbed clothes from his bedroom, dressed, and joined Astrid in the living room. "Anything good on?"

She knew something was going on. She didn't know what, but there was tension in the air, uneasiness. The television droned on, but she was elsewhere; staring vacantly at it. When Dante sat down beside her, her eyes blinked, and she looked at him. "If there is, I haven't found it yet." Astrid glanced back to the TV, and picked up the remote, only to toss it back down on the table. "Do you have a cigarette? I'm out."

Cigarettes? He fumbled around in the mess nearest the couch and came up with a crumpled looking pack. There were two left. Cigarette burns in the carpet explained that. He lit them both and handed one to her, wet hair dripping on his black tee shirt. He smoked thoughtfully, not looking at her.

Ugh. This was driving her nuts. This was torture for her, plain and simple. She accepted the cigarette, and smoked in silence, peering at the wall through the haze of smoke. It was a few minutes before she spoke up; cautious, quiet. "So ... you wanna tell me what's going on? I know something is wrong, Dante ..."

The truth was, he didn't know. Somewhere, deep down maybe, he knew, but the mood had just crept up on him and attacked. "I dunno. Sometime between this morning and yesterday morning I just..." What? Cracked? No, not yet. "Maybe it's the weather." He felt stupid and was getting more and more mad at himself. "What's new with you?"

Astrid rolled the filter of her cigarette between the tips of her thumb and forefinger, staring at it. "Nothing. I didn't feel right last night, though. I think I'm just catching some of your vibes, though ... " She sighed again, and took another drag off her smoke, closing her eyes momentarily. The ash was flicked into the ashtray in front of them, and she lapsed back into silence.

"I'll be okay," he assured her. "Every once in a while I just fall off of things and then after a few days I climb right back on." He took one of her hands and kissed it, though he wasn't sure if he would be okay this time.

The cigarette was set in the glass ash tray, and she took his other hand, pulling him close. "I know, baby." Her green eyes shit, and she bit her bottom lip, wanting to tell him that it was going to be okay, that she was there for him. But surely he knew that already .... right?

"I'm sorry," he said, and took one of his hands back long enough to snub out his cigarette. His hands took hers again. He kissed her square on the forehead and rolled his shoulders a bit. "Since you're here, want to watch a movie? I'll cook some dinner?" He stood and began collecting the trash, biting his lip at the cigarette burns in the rug. His landlord wouldn't appreciate that.

Yes. Change the topic, force it back. Not a good method, typically, but something was needed to lift the palor cast upon the both of them. A third sigh was exhaled as she killed her cigarette, and nodded, sitting back. 'Sounds good. You cook, I'll find something." Helloooo OnDemand. She focused her attention to the screen, and zoned out.