Work Text:
John's drunken mind drifted between the ravaged streets of New York. Night like every other night, eclipsed with alcohol he felt more strongly solitude, which led him to such a condition. However, it wasn't the company of women, who he was sought for. Parting with his beloved, left not only a hunger of love, but also caused him to move away from his loved ones, afraid of their reaction to the autodestruction he had provided himself. He barely survived the loss of his brother, and now he had to deal with the betrayal of his fiancée. However, one person has remained unchanged in all these disasters and it was Laszlo Kreizler.
The overbearing alienist, who has been testing John's patience for years, crossing all boundaries, proved to be the most effective in bringing the illustrator back to life. Although they never made it any easier for themself. Cyrus himself once said that they sometimes resemble juxtaposition of a cat with a dog, and John could not disagree.
This evening is exceptionally pleasant for Laszlo. Absorbed in reading, sunk in his favorite chair with a glass of wine, he could not be more relaxed, he finally had the opportunity to focus on what he is passionate about without any practical contribution. Although the "evening" was not the right word here. As usual, too focused on the hypotheses distorting his mind, he did not pay attention to the hour that was now 11:37 pm.
In the background were sparks from the fireplace and a gentle rain outside the window that added to the charm of reading The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. There was no way to ruin such a special moment. Unless this possibility was an unexpected knocking at the door.
Kreizler didn't have to wonder who would visit him at this time without announcement. He folded his glasses calmly and put down the book. The rain was getting worse enough to get cold after ten minutes, which hastened him a little.
John swaying in the spot and noticing a familiar face in front of him, immediately shined with a wide smirk.
The doctor wasn't so eager to laughing.
- Laszlo! My dear friend! - John almost cought on the threshold of the door wanting to hug the person in front of him. His the only possible interlocutor.
Alienist gasped heavily, praying that the noise wouldn't wake up the rest of the household. He barely managed to hold John with one hand. The sharp smell of alcohol bit his nostrils, and the light cloak of his "burglar" was soaked on shoulders, causing cold to hit through the Laszlo's shirt. One also see a delicate dew in the raven's hair.
- John, come here - he tried to encourage with the most cautious tone he could afford. Taking care of drunk John Moore has become his new duty from several weeks. He usually came to him after his visits to public homes. Apparently he was a safer option compared to his grandmother...
He tried to talk to him about all these family tragedies not only as a friend, but also as alienist, only that every time before any sentence fell out of Laszlo, John would throw "I'm not one of your patients" and leave, and Laszlo had to confront with tiring worry about him. Though he will never admit it.
Moore, hopelessly hung by Laszlo's side, stared at the soft host profile. Appearance definitely didn't give justice to the stern character. The rounded features rejuvenating alienist, if not for a beard, he would still look like a student in Harvard. Only cinnamon eyes showed the real perceptiveness of Laszlo - nothing could ever escape them, which was just as fascinating as it was terrifying.
At last Kreizler managed to pull him into the sofa unsteadily in which John immediately collapsed inertly, cuddle to a slightly rough material, just like a fawning cat.
Alienist had to refrain from comment. The fact that nothing could reach a drunk man much more than in a state of sobriety, frustrated him to the marrow.
- Take off your coat so I don't have to become your nurse, too - he dictated, trying to control the malice in his voice.
- I wolud like to see it - Moore sighed in gruff voice. He tried not to imagine it, because it would probably end in his imminent death anyway. They would both be unbearable in roles of patient and doctor, but aren't they like that right now?
And Laszlo thought he was the one who was setting teasing at the highest step.
Standing in defensive pose in front of his friend, he raised his chin with narrowed eyes.
- Get these images out of your head or you will have chance to find out about the comfort of sleeping on concrete.
Proud chuckle come out of John.
- Your benevolence is endearing.
Kreizler gave him a tired look and other one just shrugged his shoulders.
Surprisingly, it didn't take much time for John to take off the wet material and even went without complained about his "meaningless life". The illustrator's facial expression cooled down, taking on a rather neutral form. But Laszlo had known him too long to know that it's an expression of concern.
A glass of wine that Laszlo had previously enjoyed was immediately removed from John's radar.
- Don't move from here - it was an order, even though Kreizler was convinced that even if blue-eyed man wanted to stand on his feet, he wouldn't have succeeded in doing so and would have landed flat on cold floor.
Doctor took coat from John's hand to hang it at the entrance, and Moore twisted the corners of his mouth as if with a little gratitude, still trembling the cold air of the city that stayed on him. A flash of adoration flickered in his eyes, and Laszlo didn't even want to think about what it meant and how many women he gave this look to.
Sigh was the only thing left to Kreizler.
Planning morals in his head with which he's going to flood the remnants of John's dignity with tomorrow morning, Laszlo strided into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Although a full pitcher would probably be more appropriate, given Moor's ability to absorb large quantities of alcohol. He had enough opportunities to find out about it while they were still at university, mainly after passing the tests, but it doesn't really mattered in those days every opportunity seemed good.
Fortunately, the fire has long since been ignited, so that the room was filled with warm colors, creating a pleasant, homely atmosphere, while the only lit kerosene lamp slowly extinguished, changing the shadows on the walls every now and then.
To his delight, the alienist found the artist in the same place where he left him. The man was staring at the fire and the sparks were reflected in his eyes. He immediately turned his slightly sore head towards Laszlo as soon as he heard the footsteps. It was nice to see him in a freer clothing, without the unnecessary stiffness that Laszlo often unconsciously represented.
Whereas the two upper buttons of Moore pale shirt have been unfastened together with the vest. Wriggling around in a seat and carefully watching the way the doctor walks, who only wrinkles his eyebrows for being under such insolent observation; the artist felt rare satisfaction from causing awkwardness in a his friend. It reminds him that he still possesses fragments of humanity, which he so effectively manages to hide under the cold of doctoral stoicism.
- You should try to get some sleep so that the consumed alcohol doesn't land on my carpet - a blunt statement caused a short snorting and a dramatic roll of eyes, but John didn't answer anything. All the cheerfulness with which he came as if she had escaped. His head pulsated from every bad memory looped in his subconsciousness.
Laszlo must have noticed it, because suddenly there was no virulent remarks, or at least for the time being. Adding more needles to a man's already damaged psyche won't help, especially when he doesn't want to pull out the ones that have been there for a long time.
He was still amazed that this sensitive, optimistic artist, being a complete opposite of his personality, remained his friend, but the question remains - for how long?
Moore is one of the few permanent people in his life. Deep down, Laszlo was more grateful for his company than he could have confessed. And now that the next foundation of his life is collapsing, Laszlo tried to fulfill himself as a good friend and stay as long as he let him.
- Sleep well - he mumbled shortly, finding a thick blanket and hanging it on the elbow of the sofa. The nights have not been very merciful in their temperature lately, it would be good to make sure that the men doesn't freeze in his house.
When he was about to go to completely extinguish the lamp, a gentle pull on the sleeve of his white shirt stopped him in place.
- Could you stay?... - The desperation in Moor's voice made Laszlo anxious. The man didn't look at him, he held his head low as if embarrassed by his own request. So many fractures in one human being shouldn't have happened - Please?
Laszlo's eyes have widened in a surprisingly soft and sympathetic expression, but when the tears on the artist's eyelashes drew his attention, his body immediately became stiff along with mind, he stopped flowing away with thoughts and focused on the present moment and carefully sat down next to John, who was staring at him with disbelief.
- Is there anything you would like to tal-- the words got lost when suddenly the man cuddled up between the neck and Kreizler's healthy arm, and before he could react in any way, he heard a heavy sniff and suffocated sob. The alienist felt his heart unintentionally accelerating. He's not certain how much the way of taking care of the child will affect on adult, but he have to try.
- That's alright John, that's alright - Laszlo insecurely put his hand on the man's neck, with his fingers gently massaging the skin between this dark, dishevelled hair to provide at least a little bit of comfort. John swallowed the whimpering and moved closer to his friend, just like a small child seeking comfort from elders, and Laszlo couldn't push him away. So many evenings ended with quarrels, pointing out every wrong decision, that both of them became in some way catalysts leading each other to madness. But this time it will not end this way.
Moore, yielding to his emotions, gave himself completely to the comforting tenderness of Kreizler, having no idea why the man suddenly gave way to his grief. But it will be a mystery only in the morning, now trying to calm down the body and mind, he just adjacent to the side of the man, tilting his head so close that he felt a restless beating of heart. John focused on an irregular rhythm, trying to equalise his breath.
Tears created shiny paths on the cheeks, tiring convulsions slowly subsided, and the harassing images were for a moment faded into oblivion.
Alienist was observing the gradual release of tension in the illustrator's limbs. Now he only saw a little boy who felt like the whole world had turned against him. Complete helplessness and despair. Kreizler knew the feeling too well.
He can't let him be in that state.
Reaching for the blanket that was behind John, Laszlo managed to drag him onto his friend's shoulders, thoroughly wrapping around his chest and back. Moore, still with his head suspended, didn't react to the doctor's slight shift. He just twisted his head to be able to resist on the other again. For a second he suffered from the lack of a warm hand on his skin, but he immediately cheered up when he felt the smooth material on his body. He rose just a little bit, point eyes at Kreizler's face. He would like to thank, pour out an apology for wasting time, but felt physically incapable. As if someone had put a burden on his body, making any action impossible. But he can do it tomorrow... Tomorrow he will feel better, or at least more able to function like an average person.
The warmth of concern and the person he cares about - that's enough for Laszlo to be comforted, now and as a child. He hopes that this is enough for John too.