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Who: Harlan Halliday, Michael Munroe
What: Harlan is still a silent movie and Michael is still an angsty teenager so the city's water crisis is definitely something they want to deal with rn.
Where: Michael's apartment
When: Jan 3
Warnings: domestic abuse, suicidal thoughts/discussion, drug use, embarrassing overinvestment due to lack of chill, discussions of child sexual abuse

[Enough time has passed since their deaths that life is mostly back to normal. Sort of. Harlan will never get used to being deaf, and he admittedly liked Michael better before he got spliced with the Visitor, but both of these things are temporary. Hope just needs to hurry his ass up with this recovery process.

In any case, all they can do is wait, so it's back to business as usual. Which means a late dinner after they've both been up to their own shit all day, and then trying to find some way to entertain themselves until it's bedtime. That's tough enough in this town, but it's only gotten more challenging with these fun new quirks of theirs. And with the wreck of a city the Null left them with. Shit sucks these days. Even the food is boring. Hurry up and get your house in order, gods.

Harlan is at the sink doing the dishes and trying to think of shit to talk about. It's not going well. So, time for the same question he's been asking pretty much every night since he came back.]

Anything interesting happening on the network?

[Everyone is all about that voice and video chatting and it's left him very out of the loop.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Having to initiate conversations is one of Michael's least favorite things. Even when it's with someone he likes, he's just bad at it. Normally that's because he gets nervous, trips himself up over what to say and if it'll sound weird or if he's calling at a bad time, or something like that. Lately it's because he's just not in the mood.

But even with all that, there's something infuriating about not being able to start conversations. Not without reaching over and touching Harlan, which he knows Harlan doesn't like, or waving to get his attention. It's even more awkward than a phone call or a text, and when it doesn't work immediately, he finds it hard to locate the motivation to try again. Which means, for the most part, he just has to kind of wait for Harlan to want to talk to him. Which, of course, often comes when Michael doesn't feel much like talking himself.

He hears the question in his head, which is worse, because it gets all jumbled up in his own thoughts, like a stick caught in a bicycle wheel. It takes him a few seconds to rearrange it back into a sentence. At least the Visitor's screeching was always easy to keep separate- it didn't make words.]

Nothing you can't read.

[Shit, he didn't mean to sound angry. Does that translate through the spell? He never means to snap like that and it always happens anyway. He'd apologize, but Harlan's probably sick of it.]

There was one video and it was just- [someone talking about how their death fuck-ups got fixed-] someone asking about food.

[Harlan does notice the snapping, but he tries not to read too much into it. A lot of things about this situation are annoying. That's long since been established. This is probably just... more of that.]

What about it? Not like anything's changed since Fear moved the city.

[He doesn't really care--if it was more interesting than that, Michael would say so--but it's something to talk about. It's sounds that aren't silence, even if it's just in his head.]

[Ugh, he does not want to do pointless smalltalk right now. It doesn't help that he has to respond fairly quickly because the spell wears off.]

Nothing really. Just wanting to know what's edible or something.

[Like he paid attention. He saw that it didn't concern him, got bitter about her problems being solved, and moved on. Is he supposed to list off everything people say on the stupid- God. Fucking chill. This is not a big deal. He needs to let this go. He knows that. And yet.

It feels like something is burning under his skin, raw and festering.]

[Harlan sighs, finishing up at the sink. Okay, so Michael isn't interested in playing telephone today. Fair. No one's up to anything worth reporting these days anyway. So what now? He spent the day sifting through the ruins of the library and playing the guitar he can't hear. That's not worth reporting either.

But it's been quiet all day and he's going crazy. He reaches for Michael, though stops short of actually touching him just in case he's not in the mood.]

You doing alright?

[It's been quiet all day, and Michael has found himself enjoying it. It reminds him a little of his personal rituals, back home. Those first few days after the Visitor stopped screaming, he'd mostly just hole himself up in his dark apartment and recharge in the silence while his neighbors were all at work.

But he can't do that here. He died and then there was immediately a war to clean up after, people to worry about, a city to rebuild. They have to practically hunt for food now, and they have to cart their own water back from the pools. It's hard to even take a bath, and it's hot all the fucking time.

And then there's Harlan. He can't fault Harlan, because it's not like he chose to get fucked up any more than Michael did. And he doesn't want to tell him to go away or deal with his own problems, but it's a lot of work trying to make someone else feel not-alone when you kind of want to be alone. He tries to remind himself that he chose this. Is choosing this. He could tell Harlan he needs the space, except he can't because that would be fucked up, wouldn't it?

The question- in his head, of course- doesn't help.]

No, of course not. [He snaps it while he turns to face Harlan from where he was cleaning up the table.] Why the hell would I be?

[Some part of him recoils from his own words. Before, he would never have said that. At worst, he might've said "not really" and then waited to see where the conversation went from there. It's like he's not himself anymore, like he is possessed now, except the person possessing him is... him.]

[Whoa. Harlan lets his hand drop. Good call on not connecting there. Something's up, obviously, but it's difficult to tell whether it's something worth getting upset about. Michael's a loose cannon lately. He could be mad because something is actually up, or he could be mad because he didn't feel like cleaning up after dinner.]

Okay, so what's going on? [He tries to keep his tone even despite the fact that he's losing his patience for this kind of thing. More than likely, this is over nothing. Harlan likes solving problems, but it's tough to solve a problem that doesn't actually exist.

That's not fair, though. It's not like he has a leg to stand on when it comes to rational responses.

But also: Fuck, man. This kind of shit is just stressing both of them out.]

I'm trying to help.

[He doesn't know why (he never fucking knows why) but that question in particular pisses him off. Like, really? He has to quarantine himself in his apartment so he doesn't accidentally hurt people, and Harlan's asking what's going on.

Maybe he's sick of dealing with this. Well, join the fucking club. Everyone's sick of dealing with this. Michael is sick of dealing with this. Maybe Harlan gets snapped at from time to time, but at least he doesn't have to deal with the constant urge to throw something through a window. Why doesn't Harlan just leave him alone if he doesn't want to deal with it? Why doesn't he just leave him alone?]

If you want to help, then stop- [He makes a frustrated gesture around his head with both hands. Talking is not the right word. He doesn't want Harlan to stop talking. He just wants it to not be like it is.]

First the fucking monster, and then the stupid anger bullshit, and now I can't go five minutes without someone else talking in my head. You know how rare this quiet is?

[He doesn't even know if Harlan can still hear him. He doesn't care. He doesn't know why he's zeroing in on this particular issue right now when there are a million others. He doesn't care about that either.]

[As Michael rants, Harlan wonders, not for the first time, if this is really a product of the Visitor's lines being blurred. Yeah, he's saying it because of the Visitor, but what if Michael would be thinking it regardless? Maybe it's less that he's prone to anger and more that he's willing to voice it. This all certainly sounds like Michael, even if it's more aggressive than he would put it otherwise. So which is which? He can't fucking tell anymore. He hates not being able to tell.

He swallows and stays quiet for a moment. That would be the smart thing to do, right? Michael doesn't want him talking, so okay, he can do that. Easy.

It's not easy. The silence is immediately too heavy. He tries to think of a song and then he tries counting the lines on Michael's arm aloud in his head, but none of it works. It's just thoughts, not sound. He drums his fingers against his leg and the very slight but rhythmic vibration helps a little. Only a little.

What if they're both just stuck like this? Permanently?]

Quiet is bullshit. I'd fucking trade you if I could. You're lucky I can talk to you at all.

[Which is which? Michael doesn't know either. That's the whole fucking problem. He can't tell anymore where he ends and the monster starts and that's why it's such a nightmare. He thinks the thoughts are his, but the emotions aren't, but then sometimes they are and it's the thoughts that don't feel right. He's starting to wonder if that stupid mirror really was a premonition, just not the way he thought it was. And it fucking sucks.]

Quiet's only "bullshit" because it's not a luxury for you. You want to trade? Gladly. I don't want to hear anything right now anyway.

[On some level he knows that later tonight, he's going to lie awake wondering why he said any of this and wishing he could take it all back. But if it's anywhere in his mind, it's certainly not the front part.]

[It would be easy enough to let this go if it didn't feel like everything in the known universe was working against him right now. If he could hear, the silence wouldn't be so suffocating and he could give Michael some space without spiraling out himself. If it wasn't so fucking hot and always daylight on this shitty planet, both of them would be less tired and crabby all the time. If he could talk, they could bypass this issue entirely. Then again, maybe not. Does Michael have a problem with Harlan using Message, or just Harlan?

He should shut up. He knows he should shut up. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do after that.]

So tell me to fuck off. You're being pretty damn passive-aggressive considering your head's all fucked up with that monster.

[What is that even supposed to mean? Micheal spends like, a nanosecond even thinking about it before more words are coming out of his mouth.]

Fine. Fuck off! I just want my head to myself for a while, is that a goddamn crime?

[They're already close to each other, within arm's reach, but he can feel himself closing the gap. His shoulders tense up, hands balling into fists.]

[He doesn't really notice the movement, maybe because he's too caught up in this stupid argument over nothing or maybe because the idea of Michael actually trying to hurt him is too ridiculous to register. Either way, he's firing back before he dwells on anything for too long.]

Christ, I never said it was. And it's not like I can fucking read your thoughts, which is why you have to actually tell me shit. It's no different than talking.

[He'll fuck off like he said he would, but... In a minute. He's gonna get the last word in, so help him.]

[God, why is Harlan still talking? Or not talking, actually, because it is fucking different. It is. Talking is outside, you can think through it, you don't get caught on someone else's intrusion, you don't mistake it for your own. And what happens when the Visitor comes back? He won't even be able to hear Harlan anymore. He won't be able to stand two. He can't even stand one. Fuck it. He's so pissed.

Michael can't even form his anger into words, not that he's ever been good at it. But instead of just getting caught in his throat like before, the rage manifests, as physical action.

He lunges forward, seizing Harlan's shirt in both fists and shoving him backward into the edge of the counter.]

You don't get it! Why don't you get this? It's not fucking hard!

[It happens too quickly for Harlan to react. He manages to take half a step backward before Michael grabs him, too bewildered to do much else, and then he's slamming against the counter. He thinks he knocks something onto the floor as he catches himself, maybe a pan or some dishes, but he can't hear it and his attention is laser focused on Michael.

What the fuck was that?

He's not sure which thought is scarier: That Michael's situation is more serious than he thought, or that this good thing they had going for themselves is now irreversibly damaged. He wants to tell himself that, no, it'll be fine because these two things are mutually exclusive. More than likely, the former is true, which means that their relationship won't suffer because this wasn't Michael. He wouldn't do that.

But he just did, is the thing. Visitor or not, this is Michael. Everything they have has been built on one universal truth: They are responsible for their actions, no matter what fucked up thing drove them to do it.

Harlan cautiously rights himself, keeping his eyes on Michael, watching for his next move. He's scared, but more of what this might mean than of Michael hurting him. Harlan has magic. If Michael tries anything else, he can evade it easily enough, but it wouldn't change the fact that he tried.

He stays quiet this time though, just offering a small nod in return. He gets it.]

[The instant it's over, Michael feels like a black hole. A star that exploded and then collapsed in on itself. He should apologize, he should try to make it better, but he knows he can't. He can't undo what he just did, and he doesn't deserve to, either. He should have to live with this, just like everything else.

Was that really him? He still doesn't know, but really, he does. It wasn't the Visitor that snapped and almost killed somebody all those years ago. He is capable of this, all on his own.

The best he can do is make sure it doesn't happen again.

He backs up slowly, his hands creeping up to the sides of his head. He knows Harlan won't be able to hear him, but he mouths something anyway, and it might be sorry, he isn't sure. Habit would suggest that it is. Before he can do or say anything else, Michael removes himself from the situation, moving out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he plants himself on the couch.]

[Harlan can't make out the words, but he knows Michael, and this is the Michael he fell for in the first place. Harlan watches him go, but stays put for the moment. He needs to figure out what to do with this.

Is this relationship the best thing for him right now? For either of them? Harlan's been asking himself this question a lot lately. He's been asking it since before he told Michael how he felt, but that's about par for the course. This kind of shit echoes in the back of his mind constantly, whether or not it's logical. Before, he was able to justify his decision easily enough. He and Michael already know each other's secrets. They can support each other in a way Harlan's not sure he'll ever find in another person. They've both made mistakes and they both want to do better. Similar enough, but not the same, so they won't break down into a feedback loop. Michael won't encourage him like James or make excuses for him like Panna.

How much of that is still true? How long are they going to be stuck like this, with barrier after barrier between them? At what point does this shift from a temporary rough patch to the new normal? If this really is temporary, their foundation is still strong enough to justify waiting it out. But what the fuck does temporary mean, even? When will it have been too long to salvage anything?

Harlan can't trust his own barometer for a healthy relationship, if the past is anything to go by. He's hoping like hell that this was a one-time mistake, but it might not be, and he's not sure where to draw the line. Maybe he shouldn't even let this one go. He doesn't know how much he's supposed to tolerate according to industry standards.

He runs his hands through his hair, picks up the pan he knocked over, rubs at the spot on his side where he wishes he had a scar. Michael didn't hurt him, not really. Nothing is broken. And Harlan should've shut up the first time Michael told him to, anyway. Or is he just fudging details to make excuses? Falling into that "no, I deserved it" trope? Christ, this is so stupidly complicated.

Harlan loses himself in a spiral of rhetorical questions for another minute or so, but he just keeps confusing the issue. He's distracted. What about Michael? Harlan wants to make sure he's okay.

Eventually, he appears in the living room. He's not sure what to expect, but behaving like it's business as usual is probably a safe bet. He doesn't want Michael thinking he's hurt or afraid of him, if nothing else.

Instead of using any spells, Harlan pulls out his phone and shoots Michael a text. This is probably a better way for them to communicate, anyway.]

do you want me to go?
its ok.

[Michael sort of curls into himself on the couch, bringing his knees up to his chest so he can bury his face in them. God, he hates this, he hates everything, but it's not the vehement, flashing rage he's been dealing with lately. It's more like the gaping hollow in his chest after the Visitor kills someone. He isn't angry at anyone else, he's angry at him. Ironically, this is the most he's felt like himself in a while.

He has to fix this somehow, but none of the options are great. He could let Harlan go, it would be safer that way. He might actually hurt him next time, and even if he didn't, he would've tried. He doesn't want to be that person. Harlan deserves better.

There's the advice from Lance, of course, but that kind of thing only works when you fucking use it, and it's not like he can take back what he just did by claiming he'll do better next time. He can't make that promise. He doesn't know.

And then there's the other option. He could fix this- fix himself, at least, for a while. He thinks Harlan would be upset, but it would be better in the long run. Maybe he'd stay gone long enough for Hope to figure out his shit. Or maybe he'd just come back even worse. Missing something else, or even more integrated with the monster than he already is. Fuck, it's not a solution. It's just an escape.

Harlan appears in the living room, and Michael tenses. He isn't ready for round 2. He isn't ready for Harlan to tell him he's leaving. He isn't ready for anything except for Harlan's voice in his head, but that doesn't come. Instead, the phone in his pocket vibrates. He's planning to ignore it, but it occurs to him that not many people contact him, and Harlan still hasn't "said" anything.

He drops one hand and uses it to wriggle the phone out, peeking up enough to see the screen. It makes his chest hurt, that Harlan's going out of his way for this. On the one hand, it's very sweet, but on the other hand, he doesn't deserve it.]

You don't have to.
If you don't want to.
I'm sorry.
Did I hurt you?

[Seeing Michael like this breaks his heart. He wants to go over and sit with him, but he resists the urge for now. That might be too much. It's better to take this slow.]

no. im fine.
im sorry too.
and that wasnt my question. what do u want?
ftr id like to stay but its ok if u want some space.

[He doesn't know what he wants. That's not true. He knows what he wants, but he knows it's not necessarily the best thing. He also knows he isn't strong enough to refuse it.]

I don't want to be alone right now.
I don't know if I trust myself.
I should've seen this coming.
I knew I was mad and I kept arguing anyway.
It was stupid.

Edited 2018-01-09 07:08 (UTC)

[Harlan knows what that means. In all honesty, it's not that much of a leap. Harlan's considered it more than once himself since waking up in Hope's temple. He doubts it would solve anything, though. He'd still come back fucked up in one way or another. And maybe this shit stacks and he'd be deaf on top of some other fun bullshit. It's tempting, but it's not a solution. Even if it was, it's not the only solution.

So: Under no circumstances is he about to let Michael hurt himself. Fuck that.]

dont. i shouldve listened to u in the first place.
anyway shit sucks lately. were both stressed and tired. wed prob be fighting abt other shit if we werent fucked up anyway.

[Maybe. It's probably true.

He does move to sit next to Michael now, making sure to give him space in case he's not in the mood for contact. Harlan understands that better than anyone.]

im not going anywhere.
go easy on urself tho ok?
i promise im fine.
were fine.

[Michael doesn't get antsy when Harlan moves closer, but he doesn't move to unwrap himself from his weird little couch pile, either.]

Maybe we'd be fighting, but I wouldn't be shoving you around.
Don't just let me off the hook for that, okay?
I fucked up.
I might do it again.
That's not fine.

[He's grateful for the texting. If they were using Harlan's spell, he'd probably be shouting this stuff. This way, he has to think about it. This way, he has space to think about it.]

I don't know what to do anymore.

[Harlan sighs. Okay, Michael is right. That's annoying. It's really putting a damper on his comforting.]

ok yeah. you fucked up. that wasnt cool.
but wtf am i supposed to do? hold it against u forever? break up w. u?
not happening.
and ur not gonna do it again. neither one of us is gonna let shit escalate like that again.
and if u do well deal w. that when it happens.

[The next part is trickier, though. Harlan doesn't know what to do either, short of waiting around for the gods to clean up their mess. That's hardly doing something, though. Waiting is bullshit.]

idk either but we can figure that out in the morning.
our options for tonight are to have some rly long talk abt our feelings or to say fuck it and do what we were gonna do anyway.

[Normally, he'd be a-okay with the feelings talk, but he's not sure what that would actually accomplish tonight. Especially when they have to text. They need to find something that doesn't require talking, as much as Harlan doesn't love that prospect.

Of course, his mind immediately goes to sex because how could it not when he's phrasing shit like that, but wow are they not there yet. He blushes and stands again to keep Michael from noticing, heading to the kitchen.

He returns a moment later and sets two bottles of water on the coffee table, one marked TRANQUILITY and the other marked LOVE. This water crisis fucking blows, but at least they have choices beyond Rage and Confusion.

He settles down next to Michael again.]

i still have some weed left if u feel like crossfading into oblivion.

[It's mostly a joke. Mostly.]

[Michael wants to believe Harlan that he won't let things escalate again, but he's not convinced. He doesn't trust himself, like he said, but in more ways than just regarding his own personal safety. He does trust Harlan, though, so that's... that's something. It's not nothing, at least. He's silently grateful for the reassurance this wasn't a relationship-ending mistake.

While it might be worthwhile to hash out their feelings, he's also just kind of done with that. He can't explain himself and he doesn't want to. So he's even more grateful when Harlan seems to choose the "fuck it" option.

While Harlan's in the kitchen, Michael sort of slowly uncurls himself, so that he's sitting upright with his legs off the couch by the time he returns. He eyes the water bottles, simultaneously recognizing this as a genius idea and not knowing what to do with it. Is it too forward to take the love one? Is it took not-forward to take the tranquility one? Should he just mix them both and save himself the trouble of choosing?

He glances down at the message on his phone.]

I certainly don't not feel like doing that.

[Harlan laughs. Well, he's glad this seems to be working. As for the forward or not-forward debate that Harlan is totally unaware of, Michael doesn't have to weigh his options for too long. Harlan grabs the Tranquility bottle off of the table and hands it to Michael.]

start w. this.

[He probably needs it. The weed will help too, but the water is a better place to start. Harlan reaches for his jacket draped over the back of the couch and digs through a pocket until he unearths a joint. That he just had on his person because of course he did.

He lights it with a flame conjured in his hand and takes a hit before passing it to Michael. You've done this before, M&M, right???]

[Michael takes the Tranquility water and just sort of. Chugs it a little. Not all of it, just a few swallows but in very quick succession. He needs to mellow the fuck out. Bye.

It takes a few seconds, but he feels it. Like a sigh that goes through his whole body. The tension between his shoulders eases up. He feels... not tired, but not all amped up, either. This is good, this is nice. Like sinking into a bathtub. It's slow-moving, but it's starting to feel better.

He sets the bottle back down about the same time Harlan's handing him the joint. Okay, so, he has done this, but like, once or twice at parties in college. He does not... entirely know what he's doing. It's like a cigarette, right? He tried smoking once, too, but he didn't really care for it. Thought he could use it to replace a certain other addiction. Didn't work.

Anyway he's just going to smoke this like a cigarette because he has no idea what he's doing.]

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cw: thinly veiled suicidal ideation

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finally I get to use this icon