By sunrise of the next day, Jill has barely slept. So much for handing Torgal off to grant her some peace. She spends the night with aching knees and stinging palms, tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking of Clive in the silence of her apartment. She thinks of the pain in his voice. The hurt in his eyes.
In her weakest moments, she almost messages him.
Come back to the apartment. I miss you. We need one another. Please, come back to me.
As she heads to their agreed meeting spot with puffy eyes and dark circles under them, she's glad she never hit send.
Sleep doesn't find Clive either, even after a few hours hunting. Sleep also doesn't find Torgal; even the meaty femur of some fucked up looking monster doesn't completely distract him from pacing on and off, and whining at the door while blood seeps into the corner of Clive's mattress, as there is not enough space on the floor. Clive spends three hours slouched where the mattress bends up against the wall, surrounded by the wreckage of his former loft bed. Thinking.
They are unpleasant thoughts.
When he finally arrives at the park, the grooves under his eyes are deeper than usual, and his sweater hangs open to reveal a t-shirt that is most definitely inside out. Torgal is not on a leash. He is thrilled by this.
"Good morning," he says, joining her, shoulder to shoulder, a foot between them, to watch Torgal take off across the park after some bird.
Jill, at least, has all of her clothing on right. She can tell that t-shirt is not the right way on, but doesn't say anything. She's too tired to comment on how he's a mess, because that will open a can of worms she rather not so soon after yesterday.
"Good morning," she echoes, lacking warmth. Torgal does not catch the bird, but he does find a tree to lift his leg up beside and let out a torrent of piss.
And while it's cold, Clive steps a little too close, and Jill takes another step just to have that much more space between them.
"How was he?" She asks, though she can already tell another night back at Clive's hasn't done much to help.
He notes her coolness, her distance, and this time it does not surprise him, no matter how much it needles at him. He just nods.
"Noisy, unsettled, dissatisfied," he lists off, but there's no heat there. Annoying as it is, this is his best friend. "How long has it been? Three weeks?"
"A lifetime," she says quietly, answering a different question. She's lost all track of time since that night he told her he couldn't be with her. The ball hasn't helped matters.
"It'll be my turn again, tonight." Keeping Torgal is no punishment, but she's already exhausted. Tomorrow is going to be horrible.
“I’m going to be clumsy with a blade at this rate,” he says, partly just thinking aloud. How did he manage like this when he was younger? He closes his eyes momentarily, as if to sleep right there. He can’t. “What if he doesn’t stop? He’s never been fettered like this before. It’s not in his nature.”
“Whatever needs to be paid, I’ll pay,” he reminds her. “Though perhaps we could consider apartments in one building with a shared park, or a place with a yard for you.”
"Perhaps," Jill says, when really anything that draws them closer sounds like a bad idea. These past two days have already not been wise, as she feels her resolve shuddering under the weight of her love for him. She can't help it.
All she can do is remember the hurt, and how nothing about him has changed since. She's not going to stick her hand into the flames again and be surprised when it burns.
And yet.
"I need something to wake me up," she mumbles, rubbing her face. Her eyelids feel impossibly heavy.
"I should," he agrees. He's hoping to sleep this afternoon, but maybe –– just maybe –– he'll be forced to take an evening off of hunting. Torgal will need to sleep too. "Come on, Torgal."
Torgal barks in compliance and walks beside Jill as she starts off in the direction of the nearest coffee shop, hands in her pockets. She assumes Clive will follow, and she doesn't seem to have anything she'd like to talk about.
Jill's never been very chatty, but with him, she never had a problem finding something to say, and the silences never felt so heavy.
Clive does follow, a step behind, periodically glancing at the side of her head. He wonders if he looked hard and long enough, he could read her mind, and figure out exactly what to say. She doesn't seem to want any of it.
He says, anyway: "Do you have any other plans for today?"
At least he's not bringing up the ball. Jill keeps her eyes ahead.
"Yes." So there will be no time to linger. She's going to get her coffee, let him say goodbye to Torgal one more time, and go. "I was going to see if Dion was busy."
It's the truth. Dion has proven himself a warmhearted friend, and so Jill tries not to show up to hang about only when she's in a poor mood.
But her mood is still up in the air as of right now.
He's about as invisible as a campfire in the dead of night, but she has to keep herself contained. She doesn't want to be cruel. She doesn't want to be too emotional. She doesn't know how to be a version of herself around him that he can tolerate.
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In her weakest moments, she almost messages him.
Come back to the apartment.
I miss you. We need one another.
Please, come back to me.
As she heads to their agreed meeting spot with puffy eyes and dark circles under them, she's glad she never hit send.
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They are unpleasant thoughts.
When he finally arrives at the park, the grooves under his eyes are deeper than usual, and his sweater hangs open to reveal a t-shirt that is most definitely inside out. Torgal is not on a leash. He is thrilled by this.
"Good morning," he says, joining her, shoulder to shoulder, a foot between them, to watch Torgal take off across the park after some bird.
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"Good morning," she echoes, lacking warmth. Torgal does not catch the bird, but he does find a tree to lift his leg up beside and let out a torrent of piss.
And while it's cold, Clive steps a little too close, and Jill takes another step just to have that much more space between them.
"How was he?" She asks, though she can already tell another night back at Clive's hasn't done much to help.
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"Noisy, unsettled, dissatisfied," he lists off, but there's no heat there. Annoying as it is, this is his best friend. "How long has it been? Three weeks?"
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"It'll be my turn again, tonight." Keeping Torgal is no punishment, but she's already exhausted. Tomorrow is going to be horrible.
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"How long do you think he'll do this?"
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Which would be nearing a month. He wasn't even this troublesome as a pup, though they were often all together when he was that small.
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As hurt as she is, she'd never wish him harm.
"Then one of us needs to find a home out in the woods," she says for lack of better answer.
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“Wouldn’t bode well for anyone,” he says. “Given what happens to people here if they don’t connect with others.”
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"I wasn't serious. I can only imagine how much that would cost."
... and Clive is paying the bills. She should do something about that, because for all the time she spends at Dion's, money is still spent.
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“Whatever needs to be paid, I’ll pay,” he reminds her. “Though perhaps we could consider apartments in one building with a shared park, or a place with a yard for you.”
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All she can do is remember the hurt, and how nothing about him has changed since. She's not going to stick her hand into the flames again and be surprised when it burns.
And yet.
"I need something to wake me up," she mumbles, rubbing her face. Her eyelids feel impossibly heavy.
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"I can go get you a coffee if you want to stay with Torgal," he says. "Or we can walk together."
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It might be good for him to have them all together. If Jill gets a coffee out of it, even better.
"Let's walk there together," she says. "You should get one as well."
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Jill's never been very chatty, but with him, she never had a problem finding something to say, and the silences never felt so heavy.
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He says, anyway: "Do you have any other plans for today?"
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"Yes." So there will be no time to linger. She's going to get her coffee, let him say goodbye to Torgal one more time, and go. "I was going to see if Dion was busy."
It's the truth. Dion has proven himself a warmhearted friend, and so Jill tries not to show up to hang about only when she's in a poor mood.
But her mood is still up in the air as of right now.
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Arms falling off and knuckles stinging, he hopes.
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Jill didn't think that among the three of them, Clive would be the odd man out, but there's nothing to be done about it.
There's a silence where she would ask something in return, to keep the conversation flowing, but there's nothing she wants to know.
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"Good," he says, and he leaves it at that.
It's going to be a long walk.
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"He's happy, at least."
She nods to Torgal.
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"All he needs is some gazelle to prowl after and he'd be the most content creature imaginable," he remarks.
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