Want It All Back - Chapter 2

Want it all back
Chapter 2: glass

The next morning Gren awoke uncomfortably, he had forgotten to close the curtains and harsh white light invaded his bedroom. His arm was aching and stinging, and had continued bleeding some time during the night. He was still wearing the clothes he put on yesterday, although he didn’t remember why or when, and after sleeping in them for a second night in a row they started to feel dirty. The past day felt blurry and he only remembered parts of it. He slowly lifted himself from the bed and found his way into the hallway and to the bathroom. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d used drugs yesterday. But yesterday he had… He had shot a man, had fled here and Vicious… He knew he didn’t kill Vicious, and suddenly he remembered how he’d dragged the unconscious man here. He groaned and stepped under the warm water of the shower. Why had he brought Vicious home, there didn’t seem to be  clear reasoning behind it and Gren began to consider if he had drank too much, even though he knew he hadn’t. Still lost in thoughts, but now in a clean set of clothes, carrying a hairbrush and a pair of tweezers to get the glass out of his arm, he made his way back to the living room. He looked at the empty couch for a moment before realising Vicious was standing at his picture wall, one hand against his head, looking at the many pictures he’d pinned up. Apparently Vicious wasn’t feeling very well either, he didn’t even notice Gren until he sat down heavily in one of the low chairs, rolling up his sleeve. Vicious turned around and just looked at Gren, who was now removing pieces of glass of various sizes from his right arm.
“You got me fooled yesterday.”
Gren winced as he finally managed to get out a piece that had gotten  particularly deep, and wished he’d brought a towel, but didn’t react to Vicious’ statement.
“I never thought you’d own a dress.”
Gren wiped his arms with his sleeve, since it was already red anyway.
“I don’t.”
“You don’t?” Vicious let no emotion show on his face, as usual.
“No.” Gren’s answers were short, as he concentrated on his arm until his hand was shaking and he had to look away.
“I borrowed it.”
Vicious nodded and a deep silence crept back into the room, not seeming to bother Gren at all but irritating Vicious to no end. He sighed quite audibly.
“I never thought you could be quiet for this long, either.”
Gren pulled the towel from around his neck and wrapped it around his arm, walking to the tiny kitchen to get something to drink.
“I’ve changed.”
Vicious smirked.
“You don’t seem that different to me.”
At this Gren whirled around, dropping his towel on the ground and almost started yelling at Vicious.
“I’ve changed in ways you can’t even imagine, don’t think I’m still the naive little sniper I was on Titan, I’m not your Grencia anymore, Vicious, you killed him.”
It was quiet again and Gren stormed off into the kitchen, furiously making himself a cup of tea. He reminded Vicious of Julia in one of her bad moods. Even so, he could still see the same Gren he had known, hiding behind this superficial anger. Moments later Gren walked back to the living room, considerably calmer and letting his right arm hang by his side. He sat back in his chair and put the tea down. It was still too hot to drink, so he picked up his hairbrush and just looked at it.
“I can’t believe I got you here yesterday… I can hardly carry a cup of tea now.”
Vicious nodded.
“The glass.”
Gren turned towards Vicious, looking very confused, but not saying anything. Vicious sighed.
“You made that bomb, you should’ve known a whole bag of red eye would explode in your face.”
Gren looked at his arm again and it started to make sense, his behaviour yesterday and the hangover like feeling today. It hadn’t been his intention to let the bomb go off that close to him, or at all, but he now remembered the red haze, and it probably wasn’t just the dust. He could blame the fact he’d taken Vicious home on the drugs too, and it made him feel a little better.
He picked up his tea and managed to forget about the man sitting on his couch, still staring at him. He slowly sipped his tea, trying to forget about the pains in his body as easily, but they wouldn’t go away. After a while Vicious got up again and walked back to the picture wall, fascinated by the faded pictures of memories, even one with him on it. The pictures were in no particular order, a photo of a two year old Gren next to one from his high school days, which was hanging under a picture of him under a tree on Titan, in one of the few oases. There was only one picture of Callisto on the wall, which was already two years old. It potrayed Gren and another man, looking vaguely familiar to Vicious, in front of the building he was now in. It was a picture made when Gren had just gotten here, after a fleeing from the prison of Mars, smuggled out by his best friend, disguised as woman. Vicious looked around when he heard Gren hissing softly, his hairbrush in his lap and holding his arm. He thought nothing of it and turned back towards the pictures. There was one of a woman who looked exactly like Gren, probably his mother, with a small child in her lap, sitting by a window. It was bright and sunny outside, but the woman looked sad, almost melancholic, as if she knew she would never look out that window again. Behind his back, Gren let out a curse Vicious would never have thought to hear from him and he looked around to see what it was this time. It appeared that Gren, after trying unsuccessfully to brush his hair with the brush his right hand, had decided to try it with his left, only to pull painfully at his hair when the brush hit a knot. Vicious shook his head.
“You might as well give up.” Gren ignored him, shifting the brush back to his right hand, determined not to go down without a fight. Vicious observed him as he lifted the brush, seeming much heavier than it ever had before, and slowly pulled it through a lock of hair. It caught in another knot and he snatched the brush with the hand that was not hurting, throwing it to the ground, where it slid against the couch. Gren closed his eyes, feeling stupid to have lost to a hairbrush, and heard footsteps. Vicious picked up the brush and shook his head.
“With that arm of yours-”
“I. Know.” Gren cut him off, not feeling like letting Vicious emphasise that he had, indeed, told him so. Vicious shook his head. He could see what was going on in Gren’s head.
“Why don’t you let me do it?”
This caught Gren’s attention and he stared at Vicious for a moment.
“…brush your hair?”
“I know that.” Gren was starting to feel more irritated by the second, and Vicious’ sudden grin didn’t help either.
“It might even calm you down.”
Gren had to try his best now not to start throwing things at Vicious’ head, the cup of steaming tea being conveniently close. He settled instead for glaring at the man, although it didn’t seem to help much to vent his anger. It didn’t seem to stop Vicious either, who was walking towards him and around the chair. Out of his sight, Gren could no longer glare at him and he refused to turn around. He was just trying to come up with another way to show his dislike towards the other man when he felt a hand take a lock of his hair and starting to softly brush it. He tried to keep up his anger, but it was soon gone, the hands in his hair almost caressing him, and bringing back some painful memories. Vicious felt the change in Gren’s mood and mumbled something to him.
“What’s with these mood swings of yours…?”
Gren decided to continue ignoring Vicious as best as he could, with those hands in his hair.
“Really, you’re acting like a woman in her period.”
Gren tried his best to keep his newfound calm, he knew Vicious was trying to provoke him.
“I’d almost say you’ve been taking hormones.”
This remark was too much for Gren, and he shot up, the brush clawing at his hair. He shot a final glare in Vicious’ direction and managed to keep his angry face all the way to his room, where he slammed the door shut and wished he’d never brought the other man here. He leaned against the door, knowing that in a way Vicious was right, he’d gotten used to it after almost two years, but he had accidentally taken hormones, so long ago, and he was still feeling the consequences. He felt, more than heard, a knock against his back. He didn’t move away from the door, even when the doorknob turned and Vicious pushed at the door softly. He heard a soft sigh and a muffled voice from behind the door.
“Listen, Gren. I won’t say I’m sorry, I don’t even know why the hell you overreacted like this. I didn’t ask you to bring me here, but I suppose I should thank you for that. So let’s leave it at that, you can come out now.”
Gren couldn’t help it, he sat down against the door with a thump, holding his arms against his chest. Behind the door, Vicious was silent. There were pictures on the walls here too, though not as much as in the living room. Gren watched them until they began to blur and started to move in front of his eyes. He watched them until he had to blink and felt the door at his back opening bit by bit, pushing him across the dirty blue carpet. A head with silver hair looked in.
“…this place is more depressing than your living room.”
“I’m not a happy person.” Vicious pushed the door open further so he could step inside.
“I’d have to agree with you on that. Of all the emotions you’ve displayed so far, happiness wasn’t one of them.”
Gren looked up at the man inspecting his bedroom, not really worried he’d find anything, because there was nothing to find. It was quiet for a while until Vicious looked down at Gren and wondered why he was sitting on the ground. Gren just looked back, his eyes going hazy again. The look in Gren’s eyes reminded Vicious of the Gren he once knew, at the end of his service in the Titan war, just before he’d betray him. So he held out his hand to Gren and pulled him up, pulling him along back to the slightly lighter living room where he sat him back down on the chair. Gren felt a little disoriented, being dragged all the way and simply put into his chair, all the while not seeing much with his hand over his eyes. He looked up questioningly as Vicious picked up the brush.
“I wasn’t finished.”