The Martyr is dressed in his comfort outfit of his old Shriekback shirt, the blue plaid flannel pajama bottoms that look suspiciously like Dare sized copies of Danny's old ones with fuchsia bunny slippers and an addition of what appears to be a particularly decadent wine coloured bathrobe. He knocks softly in case this is too early or he's interrupting something.
"'min." It's not particularly loud. The door's unlocked, so it's easy enough to comply. The room's rather nice inside, and most of it's currently even reasonably neat. The bed is pretty thoroughly rumpled at present, but unoccupied; near a corner, there's a swing that emerges from a hole or trapdoor in the ceiling, and that's where Fizz is, sitting on it and swinging a little. Even less standard for a room here, there's music. Scott's boombox from the Lodge is on the floor near the swing, and it's currently playing Pictures of You, one of the tape carriers lying there half-open as well. BV himself is wearing a pair of black silk pyjama pants -- not the navy ones he wakes up in -- and an extremely soft-looking, long-sleeved grey shirt. His hair's cut shortish today, and he's shaved. He's also got an unlabeled bottle of probably-whiskey, and no glass, but on the other hand it's mostly full. There's an ashtray on top of the boombox, but he's not currently smoking. When he sees who opens the door, there's a quick little smile, and an upnod. "Hey."
The Martyr's eyes go wide as he sees what's behind Fizz's shoulder. "They gave you the deluxe suit, I see." Still he won't be detered from his mission by what definately is the nicest room he's seen so far by a hug extent. He closes the door behind him. He returns the greeting, the shuffles over to offer him a hug. "It's not as bad as you think."
The Bon-Vivant glances around, and half-smiles. "Yeah, it's not bad, huh?" he says, "Bathroom's pretty cool, too. Oughta check it out. Why, what's yours like?" He's not doing the worst version of normal he could, though it's a bit subdued, and it falters slightly at that last remark, uncertainty showing in the furrow of his brow and betraying unhappiness with it. It's just for a moment, then there are hugs, the swing coming to a stop for the purpose, though he doesn't immediately get up. Instead of commenting, he just offers the bottle. "Drink? Sit wherever." The swing's closer to the bed, nearer the back of the room, but there's seats near the fireplace also. Options, he has them.
The Martyr gives him an extra squeeze before letting him go. "My room? It's subtly odd, like someone was trying to be really dramatic and gothic romantic and someone else was used to designing dorm rooms or hospitals and the sentimentalist drama queen and the neat freak utilitarian were forced to compromise." He squeezes his narrow butt in next to Scott, bumping his shoulder, "I had a little gin over there." He wrinkles his nose, "Does two sips count as mixing pale liquor and dark?" He shrugs and takes a sip of Fizz's whiskey anyway. "You want to talk about it? I didn't get the whole story, but I got the jist of his side of it anyway."
"Huh," Fizz says, shifting over obligingly to make room, "Let me see it sometime?" There's a small smile at the shoulder-bump, which he returns. "Nah. Two sips of anything don't ever count," he assures, though possibly Dare should keep in mind just who BV was last and how much he generally seemed worried about mixing things. The little smile fades at the rest of the remarks; he's good enough at context to sort out what's probably meant. A small shake of the Bon-Vivant's head, as the tape moves on to Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want. Presumably it's a mix. He gives the boombox a flicker of a Look, and then sighs. "I guess." Not that he leaps into doing so.
The Martyr smiles gently, "Any time you like, Fizz. You know that." If he were still Finn, he'd be very worried, but that little but of extra weight he has here gives him a little more wiggle room with alcohol. He watches the smile fade from his friend's face, "I can't help either of you fix it if you won't talk about it."
The Bon-Vivant is quiet a moment, resting his head against the supporting cord beside him. "I dunno what there is to talk about." It's tired, mostly, though it feels as though it /could/ become any number of other things properly pushed. "Can't make someone still want to kiss you. Just have to get over it."
The Martyr starts the swing slowly rocking, "I don't think it's as simple as that. I need to ask a delicate question. It's not an attack or an accusation, but it would really help if I knew if there was a misunderstanding or not. It didn't sound like something you'd say, which made me think it might have been a miscommunication or misunderstanding. If it wasn't, we'll deal with it, but it changes some things." He asks in carefully neutral tone, "Is here anything you might have said that would have given him the impression you wanted him to choose between you and Ethan?"
Well, probably nothing Fizz said was /intended/ to give that impression, given the look of confusion that greets the question. It had been a sort of wariness with the mention of delicate questions and the neutral tone and all, but it just goes... well, confused, at the actual inquiry. "...no?" he says, but glances over toward the bed, not quite focused on it, brow furrowed. Thinking. Trying to remember exactly what he /did/ say, probably. "He asked if we were okay. I said-- I said I hope so, but I didn't know if it was still okay that I wanted to kiss him. Or if things from other lives just override this one. That they don't for me, but, like, I didn't wake up there in love with someone. And I kinda still dunno what I'm doing."
A pause, and more anguished than he probably intends it to be, looking to Dare, "And he wouldn't just /answer/. And I told him he didn't, and there are people I care about now because Scott cared about the people they used to be, but I still looked for him first when I woke up again because I'm not Scott, I'm /me/, and he still wouldn't just /tell/ me. I'm not-- /why/ do they do that? Like Christine telling Scott she'd answer about the date if they survived, give him something to live for, we're not dumb. 'Yes' would've worked even better if she meant that. Just." He looks down and away, jaw tightening and releasing. "...just tell me no," he says quietly.
The Martyr winces and rubs his forehead, "Oh Fizz, Honey, I think I almost have how it happened." He takes a proper mouthful of whiskey swallows it, and offers back the bottle. "Okay, let me run my reconstruction of events by you and see if this makes sense. Ethan and you are the most important people in his world from what I can tell. And keep in mind that like a lot of the people here including you, he's not as old as he looks. You are both really new to serious relationships of any kind. You both tend to do that classic guy thing where you don't want people to see any emotion that makes you feel vulnerable.
"Now look at it from his side. He's really freaked out right now because of Max becoming Wendy last night. I don't know when she asked Ethan, but she asked me a couple of nights ago, and I could tell she'd asked Bastian when I had lunch that day and she would have asked him first and probably me last. So Boet's likely known for days that someone he realy cared about might die for real and that maybe one of the two most important people in his world might be about to do something that was going to really fuck him up. The ground is always unstable in this place. People change suddenly and disapear without warning. Think about what his room look like and how well it suits him. What do people do went everything is falling apart? They hunker down in the safest place they can find and they hang on tight to whoever and whatever matters most. That goes extra for someone who's had as little good in his life as he's had. I didn't know Caleb, but I did know Lyle. Half of him is Lyle. I misjudged because I'm too new to this. He looked more settled then he was."
"My guess is he misunderstood what you were trying to say and panicked becuse he has two pillars holding up his ceiling and jumped to pretty much the worst thing that could be happening to him right then. So he shut down. You are a lot a like in a bunch of ways despite the obvious differences. So my guess is you see him shut down and he really can't answer you because he thinks you're asking him an end of the world kind of question when you're just trying to leave the door open for later after he maybe had time to think about it and talk things over with Ethan and maybe someone else who might advise him. To you his reaction looks like complete rejection of everything you ever had between you on any level. He literally doesn't know what to do and he just really needs a little quiet time so he can think. And, you poor Fizz, think this is it, just pull the fucking bandaid off so I can go greive it. You are having two completely different conversations without knowing it."
When you said 'Tell me no,' he thought you were telling him what you wanted him to say. He was trying to do what you wanted him too and he hasn't enough experience to figure out what's going on in your head, so he was over there miserable because he thinks he just lost his best friend and I swear he sounded so much like you the last conversation we had alone before I got electrocuted that it made me want to weep for him. He thinks he completely fucked this up. The details are different but I swear.... Neither of you are as broken as you think you are, you just need to communicate better."
He takes a deep breath, "He told me to tll you he was sorry and that he's working on it. From context I'd guess 'it' means getting his shit together and figuring out what he wants and talking that over with Ethan. He couldn't answer you because he didn't know the answer. He's going to need time to figure that out."
The Bon-Vivant accepts the bottle, and takes a pretty good drink of it himself, listening. He doesn't interrupt, though he looks like he wants to a couple times. Max becoming Wendy, for one, and he looks notably confused about what she might have asked and who might die for real and-- that part goes right on into overwhelmingly lost, ad for now he just lets go of it. "A third," he says, "...not quite a third. He was someone else before Caleb." A pause. "Sinclair. And we're not nothing. This us isn't nothing, it's not just the sum of who we are out there." He glances at the liquid in the bottle. "And he could've just said I dunno yet. It'd still hurt. I still know the answer's yeah, it overrides it. What they arrange for us there matters a lot more than what we might find ourselves here. 'cause I note there's no fucking question /there/. But it would've been an answer."
He takes another drink, glancing over at nothing again. "I said I'd come find him later. I was gonna. Once I figured out how to be okay enough. ...why would I /want/ him to--" He breaks off, and the nothing gets glared at before the brief warmth of anger melts back into unhappiness. Pick a side of hurt. "We'd only just... it was the last day, when we kissed. And some things started making sense and then-- we fell asleep and woke up other people in Oregon. And I woke up here after and understood things I didn't before and it doesn't /matter/, it's too late. Is this going to happen every time one of me falls for someone? Get interrupted, and they decide they want someone else more? And I can't-- I had a couple weeks. Trying to figure out who I even was. How am I supposed to compete with years of hey you're in love dropped into someone's head? It's not--" He stops, and there's a soft breath through his nose that vaguely resembles a laugh, except for the lack of genuine humour in it. "It's not fair," he says quietly, a self-mocking sort of bitterness in the phrase.
The Martyr's face goes gentle, "He was scared, Fizz. You are right that 'I don't know,' I need more time would have been a way better answer. He wasn't calm enough to think of it. What he really wants is you back and time to work through stuff. I don't think he'l be able to give you a real answer until Ethan's made peace with his sacrifice."
He lightly touches Fizz's hair the way he used to touch Scott's in a particular tender and empathetic mood, "It's funny, Nettie and Star and I came to the opposite conclusion last night after Max came back as Wendy. We think that it's the love you choose that matters more than the love they hand you. If you look at the times it seems like an exception, it's usually the case that the pre-arranged connection meant one thing mut the couple affirmatively and emphatically chose each other in some particular way when they were out there. Nettie, that's Emily from the Lake could exlain it a lot better. The three friendships I had when I arrived at the lake were never as strong as my love for you or Danny or Christine or laine or Emily or Bastian or Max or Sonya. Those are loves I chose not ones I was given. Nettie and Cillian were married but they felt they had no real future, but when they started to fight back they chose each other. I think the love here is like that too, more real than scripting and more permanent. I don't know your future, but I know that love was real on both sides and chosen, whatever form it might take now or take in the future it is still strong and thinking he'd lost your friendship completely gutted him. The question is now, do you love him strong enough and wide enough to be there for him and patient fr how ever long it takes him to work out some really important things about who he is and what he wants. I can't promise you he'll love you exactly the way you want to be loved, but I can promise you he'll love you in some way. You didn't see him waiting for you to come back. I did. That is a kind of love even if I can't tell you it's exact flavour."
his eyes go wide as he finally gets it, "I set him off early in our conversation. It had to do with what someone was telling him was real and what isn't. Did you by any chance compare the realness of his feelings for you and his feelings for Ethan? Because it might have been context for him thinking what he thought later."
his face melts into a deep sorrow and he wraps his arms around Scott, "It's not fair. It's not even a little fair, and I'm sorry."
The Bon-Vivant leans into the hug, enough that he can rest his head against Dare's shoulder. Handy he's tall. There's a sniffle, which BV promptly looks annoyed by, but not much he can do about it, really. "Don't think so. He said he tried to live for him and had to die and wait 25 years as a ghost. I said Lyle did. That's the closest maybe. He sounded like he took it like I was saying he couldn't like that life. I wasn't. But he's not Lyle, he's /him/. Lyle's /part/ of him. Maybe it doesn't matter to people who never didn't have a past, but it matters to me." He moves the bottle, but doesn't end up lifting it to drink. "I existed before Scott. I like him. But I'm still me. And I was me before. And it matters. That's all."
The Martyr kisses the top his head, pretending not to notice the sniffle exactly as he had just that morning across the hall only without the hugging. "Og course it matters and he's definately him and Lyle's just a part of him. And while you are scott adjacent, you are definately more than just him like I'm more than Finn. He swings them slowly and gently, "I loved Scott very much, and I love this you too, even if we're still a little awkward it spots."
He gently strokes his hair one handed, keeping the arm around him. "You can stay as long as you like." There is a lot of Finn in him just now, "Do you know the second verse?" He sings it half like a lullaby and half like a love song, "Well it won't be long before another day//We're gonna have a good time//And no one's gonna take that time away//You can stay as long as you like//So close your eyes//You can close your eyes, it's all right//I don't know no love songs//And I can't sing the blues anymore//But I can sing this song//And you can sing this song//When I'm gone..."
The sniffle is not too hard to tactfully ignore. Actual crying is possibly trickier, so it's maybe not ideal that that's what happens, with the song. It's at least quiet, more the leaking eyes and breaths that are a little too sharp and uneven sort than the full-on sobbing kind. It keeps him from saying much for a bit. Eventually he does: "Sorry." Sniff. He gives a small, wry laugh, then. "This is kinda a shitty habit to bring back. Crying on your yous. Getting you stuck dealing with my shit. So... yeah. Sorry. But thanks." Another sniff, and he lifts the bottle, but it's to wipe his eyes with his sleeve, as it turns out. This time. "...I'm still really glad you're here. And I love both your yous, too."
Finn-like he fishes a soft purple hanky with black lace out of his pocket and wordless offers it to thte former Scott. He presses his cheek against the top of his head, and eventually says, "Sometimes a man needs a really good cry. You've had a terrible time. Better to let it out, so you can go be the man you need to be right now for Boet. He's in Cali skating right now, by the way. If you're ready you might try dropping in and seeing if you can patch that fence. If you need more time there's always tomorrow. I don't mind you crying on my mes. You were there so many times when I needed you. That's what friends do, Fizz. I really will stay as long as you like. We can swing and drink. We can take nap. We can listen to you being a certified Sex God. Whatever you need right now. We take care of each other. That's what chosen family does and it's your turn to be taken care of."
The production of the handkerchief gets a small laugh, the sort that carries crying around its edges. "Holy shit, you have a hanky," Fizz says, accepting it, and wipes his eyes again before blowing his nose. A tiny wince; that always sounds particularly unpleasant in the presence of anyone else.
"Thanks," he says again, then, and turns his head enough to to give Dare a soft kiss on the cheek. "Maybe swing and drink a little more, first. ...I do have a tape of the Gods, you know. They made a demo. When I wake up, it's in one side of the 'box." A little pause, his gaze settling on the boombox itself. "This one, Scott made for Kirk after the breakup with Kim. Label says, 'Shit Sucks'." An actual smile, if a small and wavering one. It's still genuine.
He rests his head against Dare's shoulder again, and sighs, offering him the bottle. "...skating in Cali," there's a hint of amusement in the last word, "sounds fun. But I don't... I still need a little, I think. Just a bit. Then I'll go." He slides the freer arm around Dare, and squeezes. "'cause you're right. That's what chosen family does."