YURI PETROV 🔥 LUNATIC (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
insinerate) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenacelogs2016-05-08 09:43 pm
insinerate) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-05-08 09:43 pm
Entry tags:
but trust me to take you home
WHO: Will Graham and Yuri Petrov
WHERE: Yuri's apartment in Nonah
WHEN: Backdated to April 23
WHAT: Licking wounds.
WARNINGS: Angst and blood! Mentions of murder and probably cannibalism, too.
[A message, short but not at all sweet, had been left by Yuri for Will late Saturday night. From in between fierce gusts of wind and far above the low roar of a city several hundred feet beneath him, he had delivered a desperate request for help that sounded as though it had come from a man teetering precariously on the brink.
Then, trusting that Will knew precisely where to find him, Yuri had returned home.
His thoughts were racing, unsteady, and made all the more turbulent by the onset of a delirium wrought not only by physical pain and his body's response to how much blood it had lost, but by the realization of just how greatly he had transgressed. His zealous pursuit of justice had led him down a path that had put others in harm's way. Innocents, people who'd had nothing at all to do with his conflict with Ken Kaneki, had been caught up in that monster's violent rampage, but the blame for their broken limbs and sheared flesh didn't fall to anyone but him.
Upon letting himself into Yuri's apartment, Will would stumble upon what was no doubt a familiar scene to him by now, though not one he was likely to associate with a judge as customarily self-restrained as Yuri Petrov.
In a shambling trail from the living room in back to the bathroom nearest the front door was a mess of torn curtains, broken patio glass, and blood, the latter of which shone a distinct and vibrant shade of red in the lone light pouring into the hall from the bathroom. And from within that room, immediately to the right of the front entrance, there was not silence, but a hoarse groan of pain and a crash: the sound of the mirror above the vanity shattering in the sink followed by the wet crack of a human's weight hitting porcelain tile.
And then, quite softly and in anguish, though perhaps not directed towards Will at all...]
This is—what you've always wanted, isn't it?
[How happy the spirit of his father must be now! To see that his idea of justice had failed so miserably. To see him brought so violently to his knees, not unlike the way Yuri had brought down the Legend himself.]
WHERE: Yuri's apartment in Nonah
WHEN: Backdated to April 23
WHAT: Licking wounds.
WARNINGS: Angst and blood! Mentions of murder and probably cannibalism, too.
[A message, short but not at all sweet, had been left by Yuri for Will late Saturday night. From in between fierce gusts of wind and far above the low roar of a city several hundred feet beneath him, he had delivered a desperate request for help that sounded as though it had come from a man teetering precariously on the brink.
Then, trusting that Will knew precisely where to find him, Yuri had returned home.
His thoughts were racing, unsteady, and made all the more turbulent by the onset of a delirium wrought not only by physical pain and his body's response to how much blood it had lost, but by the realization of just how greatly he had transgressed. His zealous pursuit of justice had led him down a path that had put others in harm's way. Innocents, people who'd had nothing at all to do with his conflict with Ken Kaneki, had been caught up in that monster's violent rampage, but the blame for their broken limbs and sheared flesh didn't fall to anyone but him.
Upon letting himself into Yuri's apartment, Will would stumble upon what was no doubt a familiar scene to him by now, though not one he was likely to associate with a judge as customarily self-restrained as Yuri Petrov.
In a shambling trail from the living room in back to the bathroom nearest the front door was a mess of torn curtains, broken patio glass, and blood, the latter of which shone a distinct and vibrant shade of red in the lone light pouring into the hall from the bathroom. And from within that room, immediately to the right of the front entrance, there was not silence, but a hoarse groan of pain and a crash: the sound of the mirror above the vanity shattering in the sink followed by the wet crack of a human's weight hitting porcelain tile.
And then, quite softly and in anguish, though perhaps not directed towards Will at all...]
This is—what you've always wanted, isn't it?
[How happy the spirit of his father must be now! To see that his idea of justice had failed so miserably. To see him brought so violently to his knees, not unlike the way Yuri had brought down the Legend himself.]
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Will assumes Yuri has a first aid kit in his home. However, he also assumes if whatever happened was so bad he's calling Will for help, then it's a bit worse than that. There was bad, shitty, and then near apocalyptic levels of "fuck awful." He quickly assumed this was the latter. So after giving April a brief explanation while hopping into a threadbare pair of jeans and tossing on an equally old plaid shirt, he grabbed up the fully stocked personal first aid kit he'd taken to keeping in the bathroom after his first trip back home and made his way out.
He arrives as soon as humanly possible with said kit tucked under his arm. Letting himself in, yes. This is all too familiar a scene for Will Graham. Only he hopes there isn't a corpse at the end of the trail, hopes Yuri hadn't been in such trouble he'd really needed a hospital and now Will would be finding that out firsthand.
His usually even, steady steps hurry when he catches sight of a particularly worrisome pool of blood, rushed further when he heard man versus tile sound off as a victory for said tile. Yuri's accusation registers but Will dismisses it as meant for someone else. Someone not Will Graham. Someone possibly not even here. Or he's just in so much pain he's babbling and managed a coherent sentence, it could be any number of things.]
Yuri. It's me. Will. I'm here. [He sets the kit down in the corner, squatting like he has so many times before when seducing stray dogs to his place. When he reaches out, it's only to lay a gentle, calm hand on Yuri's shoulder. Comfort instead of any real grip. The last thing either of them need is Yuri to lash out because he isn't aware of reality and believes Will is here to hurt him further.] See? You see me?
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[Ah, yes. Through a near-paralyzing fog of pain that erupts in his side as he shifts, Yuri remembers having sent a call for help. He had reached out to Will the way he'd once reached out to Miles Edgeworth in a time of need. Had reached because he trusts in Will, whether those feelings are mutual or not. But it seems to him like his plea was sent so very long ago, like the conversation he'd been having with his father's ghost in the interim could have, and perhaps did, carry on for hours, even days—but only in his head.]
I see you...yes.
[Sees a man with many faces, some kind, others not, some with fangs or horns or...days old stubble he'd forgotten to trim. An honest but very deceptive man with as many layers as the skin he wears, and beneath them all—sins that Yuri had agreed to turn a blind eye to, had forgiven. Because Yuri had grown fond of him, Will had become the exception to the rules. Not a monster Yuri would kill the way he kills all others, but the one he chose to coexist with and to befriend.
And he wonders why as the weight of the other man's hand falls gently upon his shoulder, acts as a barely-there tether to their present. Why should he be so fond of this person who has in common with him so many of the things he hates about himself?
His bloody hand rises and falls heavily upon Will's wrist. In Yuri's mind his grip is fierce, warning even, but in reality, his fingers barely close at all.]
Before you... [His smile is bitter as his chin lifts, glazed eyes landing on Will but struggling to stay there, torn between his figure and the specter looming behind him.] ...things made sense.
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I know how that feels.
[Some days he woke up and was convinced that being unborn made more sense than his life. But, more seriously, yes. He'd felt that way before he met more than one person. And even though there could be some insult to that, he doesn't appear to register it as such. No, he's here for a reason. He's going to see that reason through regardless of whatever harsh truths get thrown about and hope that doesn't result in things making even less sense. Is it the exhaustion? The blood loss? Tends to loosen the tongue, in Will's experience.]
Will you let me get you cleaned up? We can talk about what doesn't make sense once you're. Off the floor.
[Even though he asks, he's still gathering what he needs to start it all off with. He'll fix him up on the bathroom floor if that's what he wants, move him only as needed, heft him up later on. He asks permission even as he rips open one of those moist cloths to clean and prevent infection while doing so. It's quite clear that he's only asking to be polite, his actions taken into account.
Today he wears a kind, stubbly face, fangs and claws retracted, reserved for being stern and uncompromising when it comes to taking care of Yuri's health. Nothing more and nothing less.]
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And they are friends, aren't they? For better or worse...though, right now, Yuri's much more inclined to think it the latter.
How much better off would he be if he'd never met Will Graham? If their paths had never crossed and his judgment had never been impaired? He would be, at the very least, less confused. And perhaps the illusion of the man behind him wouldn't still be there, whispering in between Will's own words about the need to reassess an idea of justice that would leave him or anyone else so broken. Where is the good in that? How does the world benefit from being torn apart?]
...stop talking.
[Again, it's unclear whom he's addressing, but what goes without question is his willingness to comply with Will's methods. A willingness, perhaps, that isn't advisable, for as he forces himself to his knees, and then slowly, and much more awkwardly to his feet, the severity of his condition should be much more obvious to Will. Along his right side, which had previously been turned toward the vanity, a large portion of his costume has been ripped away. The fabric is stained thick with blood, the skin beneath...shining with the stuff, where there is skin left. And the rest? More closely resembles the uneven and gruesome tearing of a shark attack than it does a neat carving, for the wound goes deep and explains Yuri's loss of color and the shaky way he supports himself against the sink.]
Will...?
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So he occupies his mouth with another bag that needs to be ripped open, only lifting an eyebrow at the comment. It's not until Yuri starts getting up that Will does more, lifts a hand to his side. Not touching him, not just yet, there in case of slip, fall. Will might look a scrawny thing underneath all that plaid, but he's confident in his abilities to tear a man apart. He's confident in his abilities to bodily keep Yuri from making sweet sweet love to the tile again.
That eyebrow goes as high as possible at the last, Will finally breaking the lack of contact to gingerly push aside some shredded costume in order to see how far up and down all this gruesome tearing goes. He wastes no time in yanking one of the towels off the rack, shifting to his knees as he does so, and then pressing cloth to Yuri the same way one would with a fussy child not yet certain about the idea of "cold cloths" doing anything on a feverish forehead.]
That's me. [Casually on his knees in close quarters with Yuri; Fanport knew what was up.] You wanna say what happened?
[While he goes about the process of getting him fixed up like he's a doctor, damn it, not a bait shop owner.]
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[He cringes as he takes a breath and feels the soft fibers of the towel irritate his open wound. Unlike a child with a fever, however, Yuri tolerates the discomfort the same as he has all the pain that has come into his life, his threshold for such things often quite remarkable.]
Ken Kaneki. [A monster with a human mask, whose true face was more horrific than Yuri's own.] I couldn't stop him.
[The explanation is vague, but Will knows Yuri wouldn't target anyone he didn't think a sinner. Which can mean only one of two things: either Ken had killed someone, or something he had done was preventing justice from being carried out. Probably, given Ken's nature, the latter was most likely, for the young man wasn't volatile most times. Was cautious and kind. And Yuri knew as much, but it hadn't been enough to keep him from becoming a target.
And Yuri's idea of justice hadn't been enough to bring him down...]
...can—can you turn on the television in the other room?
[He needs to hear the news. How many were hurt? Has Kaneki been stopped yet?]
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He's not sure if Yuri's question has some hidden agenda, of wanting a moment's peace, but if he thinks Will is going to get up and risk Yuri falling again, he's dead wrong. Will raises an eyebrow as he looks up at Yuri, the only bit of sass provided while he continues to clean, and then he's looking down. In a heartbeat, his shadow shifts and bubbles, rises...
The stag that appears is no bigger than what might be kept as a book end. It shakes out like a wet dog, hooves quiet against the tile, and then it's all but prancing out of the bathroom. It will find the remote. It will turn on the television. If Yuri believes this is something completely normal for Will to use his powers for, he'd be right. Can't find the remote, don't wanna get up to fetch something? Well hot damn, he'll just make a stag big enough to do what he needs and that's all there is to it. The stag can hop on or over furniture to get what it wants, and shortly thereafter is the sound of the television coming to life...followed by smooth jazz. Will lets it play a few seconds before he calls out:]
Find the other news. [Fisherman at his core, of course the weather channel is what "news" Will so frequently turns on. He doesn't need to verbally communicate with it, but doing so feels right. Yuri's not too familiar with him and his shadow's bond, no point in making him feel even more out of the loop while he's not in a great state. The channels change, little blurbs of sound escaping, and then there's something with sirens, with reporters. One tiny hoof punches the volume button to Loud Enough and then One Too Loud. But that's okay, Will figures. One Too Loud is better than The Neighbors Are Gonna Hate Me Loud. All the while, Will goes about playing nurse on his knees without break or hesitation or concern about his hands growing steadily more and more unclean. Any concerns about knowing Yuri well enough to get this close to him, vulnerable, and to just know what he's looking for with that television request are also ignored. They were ignored when the call came, when he walked through the door. He's ignored their similarities for a while in the way he's aware of them but doesn't let it tear him up. Not today, not ever.] You need stitches.
[A blood-smeared hand reaches out and gracelessly smacks the toilet seat down.]
Sit. I'll stitch you up. You can tell me more later if you want.
[Because it's easier if Yuri's sitting and, at least that way, he'll be grounded enough he can hiss through the pain and hear the television...and Will can sit on the edge of the tub if his old man joints start bugging him enough.
His shadow is just going to flop on the couch in front of the television and watch because why wouldn't it?]
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He has witnessed some unusual things in his time, has learned to accept in this world the existence of powers and people who never would have appeared in Sternbild, but there's something uniquely strange and difficult to process about a wild animal black as pitch strolling so casually from his bathroom to his living room to put on the news. Had Will not spoken to the creature, Yuri might have thought it a hallucination...
...a hallucination not unlike the one he'd been talking with earlier, that seems now to have disappeared. The relief he feels at that realization is staggering. Enough that briefly, Yuri must use a hand upon Will's shoulder to hold himself upright.
Escorted towards the toilet where he takes a seat as instructed, Yuri listens to the news from the other room. If it's too loud, he doesn't seem to notice. All that matters is that he hears both how many people have been sent to the hospital and that he hears Will tell him at the same time he'll need stitches.
He holds out his hand before him, in the short distance between him and Will, and a small fire envelopes his palm.]
...that will take too long.
[He knew as much. The wound was too open and too deep, besides. Stitches wouldn't be enough. But he could close it. Cauterize it.]
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The news drones on as background noise. There will be repeats. Over and over, they'll focus on the big picture and ignore all the small details. Ignore what really matters. And what helps Will, by ignoring where Yuri went after. Who he called. Who saw him directly after and tended to him...but who was tending to Ken? Certainly not Will.
Those messy red hands were spreading that red, already going for surgical needle and thread. Until an all-too-familiar sound hit his ears, had his interest. Ah, fire. Destroyer and creator, something Will had used for both, even if by proxy. He stared for a few seconds, respectful but fearless. This flame was not made to force atonement on a cannibalistic murderer. Not today.]
All right. [Will's just going out on a severed limb here and guessing Yuri has some experience with this particular tactic, he isn't pulling it out of his ass. The best he can do right now is provide support. Which he does, gently taking a hold of Yuri's non-fiery hand so he could squeeze the ever-living snot out of it throughout what Will assumed would be another painful experience. And if that's not enough, well, he's half-sitting just in front of Yuri. He can catch him. Maybe roll him into the tub and turn the shower on. Clear out some of that burned flesh aroma. Only the most dignified for Will Graham and his murderer pals.] Then we'll take it from there.
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Heavens, no. That would be responsible, Will. Does the man sitting before you, a bloodied mess in his own bathroom, teetering precariously between wakefulness and passing out, look like a responsible human being to you? Hint: if you answered yes, you need your eyes checked. Or a therapist. Possibly even both.]
From there.
[Yuri agrees and, seeming almost to laugh at Will having taken his other hand, closes his eyes and wastes no more time. The small fire in his palm is applied directly to his injury where the flesh responds at once. Yuri sucks in a hiss of air through clenched teeth, stops, and then starts again. Short bursts to minimize further damage to the surrounding tissue. Short bursts to keep from biting his tongue or digging fingernails too deeply into the back of his friend's hand. And after what seems like several long and torturous minutes, the wound is sufficiently closed, the bleeding stopped, blisters formed, and the bathroom filled with the foul odor of charred meat.
These two...they're always cooking something together.
Of course, by the time it's done, Yuri is a little beyond words and breathless. The blue flames that have left him with yet another scar upon his body vanish, along with his grip on his reality. Sagging against Will, the former judge listens to the news, the steady stream of reports from the other room that seem louder and louder still every second louder than his own thundering heart in his ears...but not louder than his conscience.]
Will? [He's still there, isn't he? Such a terribly good friend. And him, a terrible person for putting Will in this position. He never should have...never should have...] Am I evil, Will?
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A therapist might be helpful, yes.
Yuri listens to the news and Will remains a steady spot to lean against, safe harbor in the raging storm. For a few moments, it's all he can provide, mind a mix of how odd it is to see Yuri this vulnerable, the unique honor of being trusted this much, the scent of something he shouldn't immediately associate with a monstrous kitchen, the underlying fact that if Yuri knew the full extent of Will's sinful ways this may never have happened. That if he found out later, despite Will's coming when called tonight, it may not matter. He may face atonement anyway.
So when that questions hits...is Will the best person to ask? Is he evil, too? Would evil move to stand, slowly supporting Yuri with a smile on its face, intent to get him cleaned up and in bed so he can rest?
Yes, evil would. Will knows evil would. Hannibal would have done the same to and with him had he not abruptly signed them both up for synchronized swimming.]
You...are suffering from blood loss and in a lot of pain. [There's a break in the news. Will hears some obnoxious medley for a car dealership and a few seconds later hears the volume turned down. Even his shadow can't tolerate that shit. With one arm around Yuri's back to prevent unnecessary contact with his scarred flesh, his free hand moves to his face to get a good look at it. All extremely close and personal, yes, but he's checking out the color of his skin, his eyes. If there are signs that he needs the hospital or something more, he's going to have to heed that. But there aren't, that he can see. Just a tired, pale, bloody, sweaty man with way too much hair on his head because it sure is clinging everywhere.] I don't think you're evil. I think you're hurt and exhausted and need to lie down.
[Currently, yes. There's something more to that, though. Yuri's been doing this Lunatic business for a while. Yuri is not Lunatic on the weekends or part time, however. Yuri and Lunatic are one in the same. Can one die without the other suffering? Seems to Will they're both suffering equally as it is now. How can the arrangement be changed without that suffering continuing in less obvious ways?
What a mess. Nonchalantly, that hand pushes a clump of hair out of Yuri's face before it drops to get a better grip on him while still avoiding that brand new scar. And now that the GET YOUR BRAND NEW CAR commercial is over, the volume goes up a little more.]
Come on. Let's get you into bed.
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Not evil. Will doesn't think that he's evil. In pain, yes, and suffering from significant blood loss, even tired, but not the beast he lives to hunt. This answer...feels like a lie. Not evil sounds like not guilty, and Yuri knows that he's both guilty and ridden with guilt for all that he's done, all the accidents he's caused. He is evil. He is wicked. And he has been since he came into his powers, since he used them to take his father's life and hide the truth from the rest of the world—a truth he hadn't divulged in its entirety to Will.
No, he'd spoken of the murder, but not of his mother's imprisonment. Locked away in his own home for twenty-some years, Yuri had kept her isolated so that he might protect himself, so that the world would never know what he could do or who he had become. A devil, his mother called him. And how right she was.
These thoughts accompany him as he silently allows Will to escort him from the bathroom and to his room. They accompany him while he takes pain killers with water, the shape and size of which are uncomfortable in the back of his throat, like objects that wish to cut off his airways, and they accompany him into his sleep, a sleep as filled with self-loathing as his waking moments had been. He dreams and he sees familiar faces, some of them friendly, but most of them not. He dreams a long time, long enough for Will to have seen to cleaning and dressing his wounds, and long enough for Will to have fallen asleep himself at the foot of the bed in a chair he must have dragged in there from the other room...
When Yuri awakens several hours later, daylight is seeping in through the bedroom window. The apartment is silent now, as though the chorus of bad commercials and news anchor voices from the other night were also part of a bad dream. But what happened was not. As he sits upright in bed, Yuri can feel the blistered skin beneath his bandaging protest. He can still smell it...or perhaps that's him? However good a job Will did cleaning his wounds and changing his clothes, blood and sweat still mat his hair. A sweat that has grown cold, unfortunately, and though he ought to stay in bed, Yuri slides himself out from under the sheets and starts for the bathroom to freshen up...not that he's ever had to worry about offending his guest's senses. Will was far from a delicate man.]
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The bed moves. He can feel the room's air moving differently now, having a living creature change place and direction. But he remains just as he is, apparently asleep. Or at least not awake enough to care about anyone else being awake. It's a position he holds until he hears water running, believes there's enough other noise to cover his tracks...his tracks of quickly and quietly stripping the stained sheets to ball up so he can sneak his way to the laundry room. He's sure Yuri has other sheets, yes, but at least these will be clean if he decides to keep them or toss them out. From there, it's an easy next stop. His shirt is not neatly tucked in, everything he wears is sloppy and wrinkled, a physical manifestation of tiredness and not giving a damn about appearance.
He does, however, give a damn about a healthy and nutritious start to the day. Breakfast is the most important meal! So it's not long before Yuri's place is being filled with the smells of said important breakfast. Eggs, toast, he's even forgoing his usual meat aversion by tossing bacon and ham in the mix. Yuri is the last person in this world who'd have human meats in convenient pork packaging in his space.
And, honestly, nothing goes better with scrambled and hash browns than bacon. Even a man who's avoided meat for ages due to deep-seated issues with cannibalism can't deny that.]
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But what's done is done, and Yuri, despite stumbling upon a few 'missed spots' in the bathroom that failed to receive Will Graham's loving attention to detail while cleaning, is deeply moved that his friend should have stayed so near while he slept. Grateful enough, even, that once he has concluded tending to those missed spots, he washes up without complaint—an awkward task to accomplish while attempting to also keep his bandages from needing changing, but he manages.
And by the time he's done? The smell of Will's cooking is wafting through his apartment and Yuri realizes as he quickly dresses himself in something better suited for the gym but significantly more comfortable than his regular attire, that he is so utterly famished he would likely eat anything set before him.
Tying back his hair as he enters the kitchen, he scans what all Will has prepared and concludes quickly that there is one thing missing and one thing that he can still provide as a means of thanks.]
I'll brew some coffee.
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(And it's blood, right? It can be washed off surfaces hours later just fine.)
Will looks up when he hears Yuri heading over, offering a small smile as he starts finishing up the last of breakfast. Pancakes. Yuri will have his choice of breakfast buffet and nothing will go to waste, Will is certain of that. He isn't certain if Yuri remembers everything from last night, though, especially his question. Part of him hopes he doesn't. He's not going to ask right away, however.]
Good idea. [Flipping a big fluffy pancake on a plate, don't mind him. He is in his element in other people's kitchens! Especially when those other people are guilty of so much murder. It's a little taste of home, aw.] How are you feeling?
[Such a weird question coming from Will, but it feels appropriate to ask.]
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I feel heavy.
[To say the least—the very least. But he's bounced back from worse, or what was comparable impairment, even if he shouldn't have.]
You've been busy. [Yuri feels a sliver of guilt at having called Will for assistance. He could have managed on his own. Should have managed on his own rather than drag someone else into this bloody mess of his. There's not much to be done about it now, however. Kicking Will out after he's gone to such lengths would be rude. And it's possible that he might have something helpful to say about it all, too.] Thank you, you've done considerably more than necessary.
[Putting a filter in the percolator along with some dark roast and water, Yuri turns on the machine and turns to his friend.]
How much does your wife know? Enough to appreciate my apology, perhaps?
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You're welcome. [Delivered easily because of all the things last night and this morning could have resulted in, this is really at the top of the list for an ideal turn out. So Ken and Yuri had a fight, yes, that may be a problem later. He's sure it will. For now? This is as fine as can be expected. It's different from the moments of near domesticity he had with Hannibal in the way he doesn't feel like either of them are sussing out if and when an attempted life-threatening injury might just happen because reasons.] April knows where I am. I'm sure the news has kept her abreast of reasoning. I've sent her messages to let her know I'm fine and expect to be back home before lunch.
[One side cooked, flip.]
Who you are isn't a secret to her. Nor is the fact that we're... [The spatula moves to keep the cake in shape as his brow furrows, lips puckering. A bump in the road of his phrasing has cropped out.] ...on good terms. [NAILED IT.] She's more aware than anyone else besides you and I. I'll pass along your apology when I get home, if you want me to.
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[On good terms, were they? Well, that's one way of putting it.]
I can't imagine that you would ever wed a woman who didn't expect to be a little inconvenienced now and then by your habits, but that does not mean April deserved to have her husband stolen from her in the middle of the night. No more than you deserved to be stolen.
[Pulling two mugs from the cupboard, Yuri adds...]
I owe you just as much of an apology, Will. And a promise. I will not put you in this position again.
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You didn't steal me. [His rebuttal is amused, watered down. Also helps that he's currently got a towel over his shoulder and looks every bit the part of househusband, kind of difficult to be a pissy fuck when the smell of breakfast is everywhere. But still, he's always quick to point out when and where he makes his own choices, still a little booty bothered about all the times no one would give him even a single ounce of credit because Hannibal was such an enormous douche. Recognize his agency, Goddamnit.] Apology accepted, but it's not...
[Necessary. Will actually likes the trust, the trust from people who are viewed by the majority as anything but trustworthy. It's a rare, unique honor, but he doesn't express that. No. He just makes sure all of Yuri's plates and his own are where they need to be before he goes to pluck up the lesser of two mugs.]
It's what friends do. Be there for each other.
[Yuri can pour the coffee though.]
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You're too understanding, and yet...
[Finally, the water stops running through the basket and filter. Yuri pulls the pot from the burner and fills the two mugs.]
I wonder if you really understand at all?
[He turns from his friend to heap sugar into his own coffee before carrying it with him to the table and taking a seat.]
If I was any kind of friend to you, Will, I would not have laid this at your feet. If I was any kind of friend I would turn you out of my home, not invite you to stay. [With a smile that drips as much with apology as it does regret, Yuri cuts free a sliver of ham and pulls the morsel from his fork with his teeth.] Breakfast looks and smells amazing, however—like a last meal.
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Until the idea of this being a last meal. He has not forgotten who he is with. He has not forgotten his own crimes. He has not forgotten what it means to be in the favor of someone most would consider a devil. How that doesn't mean he's immune from their wiles.]
Ours is the sort of friendship I'm most familiar with. [As telling as he'll get, but telling enough. He's comfortable spending a morning in with his face firmly stuck in April's hair. He's comfortable spending an evening in or out to drink with Jeff. He's comfortable surrounded by murder, and vengeance, madness and confusion, guts and gore. Difficult to come by that last bit without doing things on his own, of course he's going to pick up what Yuri lays at his feet. To invite himself in. To lurk in the shadows of Lunatic's flame, never moving even when he can feel the heat so intensely sweat rolls down his neck. If Will was any friend, it's likely he'd kick the gifts (burdens?) laid at his feet away, he'd refuse an open door...once again, Yuri puts too much on himself. But Will isn't pointing that out, not this time. Instead he starts with the hash browns.] If I had to pick a last meal, this would be a front runner.
[He takes a bite, watching Yuri very carefully as he chews. It could be nothing. Yuri could be intent to distance the two of them after this. Yuri could also be referring to a more lethal last meal; one must be ready for anything when dealing with a sinner who preys on other sinners.]
You wouldn't pick something classier for yourself?
[He lifts the coffee to his lips for a swig, but his eyes never leave Yuri's face. He doesn't tilt his head back, doesn't shut his eyes, doesn't blink. Just watching intensely for any sign of where this is headed and, if headed to a spicy hot sourness, he'll be as ready as anyone.]
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[He lays down his fork and knife to dab his lips with a napkin before reaching for his coffee. Not quite taking a sip, he watches Will from over the brim of the cup, a small smile finding its way to his lips.]
Besides, I'm rather fond of the irony. The first meal of the day and the last moments of a man's life—it's poetic, don't you think? [Yes, he reads you, Will. Like a book he could have written himself for how well he understands that look.] You can relax, of course. Killing you would be a poor way to repay you for your help and would make rather insincere and impossible the apology I've asked you to deliver to your wife on my behalf.
[If there ever came a time when Will's life was immediately threatened by Yuri, he would know. There would be far less pageantry than normal, no games. Will deserved his best and his worst. Something as direct as it was swift and merciless. Not that he had fantasized about killing his friend.
Well, maybe on one or two occasions.]
To be perfectly honest, I'm concerned about the sort of attention our friendship might bring upon you. It would be best if... [Here, his smile fades. And here, Will had the right of it.] ...if perhaps we were seen less frequently in each other's company.
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Why is everyone so concerned about protecting him, he's always wondered. He is an ADULT. He can make his OWN DECISIONS. Okay so sometimes those decisions are fuckawful — fine, fine, he can swallow that pill with a mouthful of breakfast, no problem. It's not like he gives a damn about his bad reputation or anything.]
It's very poetic. [Says the guy with a bit of greasy stuff stuck in his mustache. Forgive him, Lunatic, he hath sinned.] So's your concern.
[In a way, the murderer known to the world being concerned for his shady sexy nurse pal has a place in old poems. Somewhere. Probably. It's a Greco-Roman thing at some point, has to be. Those folks loved their tragic shit and their horrible people and their bestiality.]
And just as understandable. [He wipes at his mouth with a napkin, reaching for his coffee again. He stares at the contents for a few moments before inclining it in Yuri's direction; a mock toast.] To endings and beginnings?
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To endings...
[Mock toast and real toast, the perfect breakfast companions. Just like these two murder besties.]
But not beginnings. Not for you and I.
[Which is a far cry from what Yuri actually wants because, erroneously, he has allowed himself to make exceptions for Will Graham time and time again. He has grown to want him. To need him. Like a fire must consume oxygen to survive, Yuri feels compelled to consume Will, and without him there is a part of Yuri that will most assuredly starve.
After all, he's not only saying goodbye to home cooked meals prepared by a trusted friend, but he's barricading from his life his primary source of mental satisfaction and social stimulation, effectively asphyxiating himself.
But that's alright, because it's better this way. Better for Will, and better for him if hes not so dependent on someone who can't help but feed his insatiable appetite. Or shoot himself in the foot.]