Torn, he glances left and right rapidly as if looking for an escape, unable to look at Blitzo in the face because if he does... fuck knows he won't be able to keep his resolve.
"No. I can't-- just stop."
He turns on his heel and starts to stalk away, but-- Fuck. Fuckshitfuck! He can't fucking do it, not now he knows, not when he has the echoes of their friendship walking these streets with him. So he pauses, not looking back.
"I get off at midnight. Dollar House in Ransom, apartment 16."
Is he going to regret giving Blitzo his address later? Fucking maybe, maybe he already regrets it. But he's going to walk away before he can second guess it, and he'll worry about if Blitzo will be in the shitty rat-infested apartment building later.
An address. Holy fuck-- right. He has a whole day, he can-- he can scrounge together everything possible to make tonight not absolutely shitty.
Flowers. A card. Everything he should've given Fizz in the hospital as well as his time and presence. And-- it's so fucking late, no way he's getting anything good for dinner. He-- he was gonna blow his last twenty on something else, but fuck that!
Midnight. Right. So Fizz is getting home a bit after midnight. Blitzo doesn't think twice about breaking in or waiting to be invited - he just gets in with a little old-fashioned lock-picking and sets up in the kitchenz. So once Fizz actually gets home, tonight, he'll be treated to some hashbrowns and eggs, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut in the shape of a horse. And, of course, Blitzo in his kitchen trying to hurriedly wash the pan and dishes he used before Fizz opens that door.
Fizz's apartment is easy to break into because it's a pile of shit. Basically one medium size room with a kitchenette along one wall, a bed on the opposite wall, and a tiny boxroom of a bathroom. It's pretty empty, there's no sofa or TV or anything like that, instead there's some juggling equipment and a couple of large colourful balancing balls.
He's spent the whole of his shift thinking about what happened, so much that he'd made some really stupid mistakes and taken an earful from Mammon about it. Rightly so. He already owes so much to the King of Greed, he can't let him down by being less than perfect.
Stiff and aching, in pain all over from using the shitty prosthetics all day (he swears he'll commission good ones from Asmodeus' factory if he wins the pageant), he stumbles in the door and--
--right. Of course Blitzo is already in there, why the fuck wouldn't he be?
"Hi! Hey! Was, uh, was work okay? Oh, I made you dinner! Or, breakfast, or whatever--" Blitzo rambled, hastily drying off his hands to scurry to the plate he'd made for Fizz, picking it up and presenting it with all the energy of a dog that knew it'd messed up already.
It makes his heart hurt a little to see how eager Blitzo is, how clearly desperate he is for Fizz's forgiveness... or maybe even just his presence. It's uncomfortable.
"...right. Thanks."
He puts his hand out to take the plate, which turns out to be a mistake. He's pushed these shitty prosthetics too far today already, and the metal fingers fumble it, sending sandwich and plate tumbling to the ground.
Blitzo's reaction time is still pretty good - even if his coordination is still ass. He can catch the plate, but all the food gets everywhere-- that's fine. He glances at the fussy prosthetics briefly, but only just before he hurries to the sink and grabs the roll of paper towels he'd gotten.
"I got it! You can eat mine, I'll make more," he assured before using paper towels to clean up the mess.
"But I'm-- I mean-- it's not about buttering up or anything!" Blitzø babbled, struggling to explain. It wasn't about winning Fizz over, it was more like...
Fuck, that hits a bit harder than he wanted it to, digging under layers of betrayal and hurt into memories of two boys who had been utterly inseparable.
"You can't."
Maybe that's harsher than he intends it to be, but it's still true.
"That time is gone, so just-- let it go. Fuck, I don't even know if I want to see you again after today, so don't start talking about making up for shit. Not yet."
Shrinking in on himself, Blitzo didn't answer. He... he didn't know what else to do. Wordlessly he cleaned up what got dropped, finding the trash can and tossing it. And then just... fidgeting with his hands.
"If... if you don't, then. That's okay," he eventually croaked out. Fizz was alive... he could live with that, right? That was enough? But his heart was pounding anyway, scared to lose someone else.
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"No. I can't-- just stop."
He turns on his heel and starts to stalk away, but-- Fuck. Fuckshitfuck! He can't fucking do it, not now he knows, not when he has the echoes of their friendship walking these streets with him. So he pauses, not looking back.
"I get off at midnight. Dollar House in Ransom, apartment 16."
Is he going to regret giving Blitzo his address later? Fucking maybe, maybe he already regrets it. But he's going to walk away before he can second guess it, and he'll worry about if Blitzo will be in the shitty rat-infested apartment building later.
no subject
Flowers. A card. Everything he should've given Fizz in the hospital as well as his time and presence. And-- it's so fucking late, no way he's getting anything good for dinner. He-- he was gonna blow his last twenty on something else, but fuck that!
Midnight. Right. So Fizz is getting home a bit after midnight. Blitzo doesn't think twice about breaking in or waiting to be invited - he just gets in with a little old-fashioned lock-picking and sets up in the kitchenz. So once Fizz actually gets home, tonight, he'll be treated to some hashbrowns and eggs, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut in the shape of a horse. And, of course, Blitzo in his kitchen trying to hurriedly wash the pan and dishes he used before Fizz opens that door.
no subject
He's spent the whole of his shift thinking about what happened, so much that he'd made some really stupid mistakes and taken an earful from Mammon about it. Rightly so. He already owes so much to the King of Greed, he can't let him down by being less than perfect.
Stiff and aching, in pain all over from using the shitty prosthetics all day (he swears he'll commission good ones from Asmodeus' factory if he wins the pageant), he stumbles in the door and--
--right. Of course Blitzo is already in there, why the fuck wouldn't he be?
"Sure, make yourself at home."
Jerk.
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no subject
"...right. Thanks."
He puts his hand out to take the plate, which turns out to be a mistake. He's pushed these shitty prosthetics too far today already, and the metal fingers fumble it, sending sandwich and plate tumbling to the ground.
"Shit."
no subject
"I got it! You can eat mine, I'll make more," he assured before using paper towels to clean up the mess.
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This is making him fucking twitchier than he was before, and he's already more than half regretting giving Blitzo his address.
"Stop being so-- You don't need to try so hard. I'm going to hear you out, you don't have to butter me up."
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"...I've got... a lot of time to make up for."
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"You can't."
Maybe that's harsher than he intends it to be, but it's still true.
"That time is gone, so just-- let it go. Fuck, I don't even know if I want to see you again after today, so don't start talking about making up for shit. Not yet."
no subject
"If... if you don't, then. That's okay," he eventually croaked out. Fizz was alive... he could live with that, right? That was enough? But his heart was pounding anyway, scared to lose someone else.