I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas plays {OPEN}

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred would definitely have been more concerned about the position they had woken up in if a) he didn't have the hangover from hell, confirming how drunk he'd been, and b) the pain in his jaw and hand hadn't just increased with his full consciousness. He chuckled humourlessly at Tristian's comment, not really noticing the way he had pulled the covers with him (which was probably for the best).

"Doubtful Tris, very doubtful. I haven't spoke to Meredith yet." Oh God, Meredith. He wanted to go back to sleep again so he didn't have to deal with it all, with the guilt, with the thoughts, with what was still to come.

And also with the agonising pain he was in.

"Gods, Tris, when did you learn to punch so hard?" He asked with a groan, tenderly feeling his jawline and getting up to look at the dark purple bruise that had sprouted overnight.

"Breakfast... I think a hair of the dog might be better..." Mordred muttered, turning from the mirror to unwrap the scarf Tristian had bandaged him with the previous night and study his hand. It was a mess. Swollen and bruised knuckles from his fight with the wall, and covered in scabs and still oozing wounds from the glass.

"One day I'm going to wake up from a night out in the same condition I went out in..." He muttered, looking up at Tristian.

"Look... thanks, Tris." He said sheepishly.

[Tristian]

Tristian wanted to bolt from the room, there wasn’t really anything stopping him from doing so but he just seemed frozen to the spot, watching as Mordred slowly seemed to wake himself up. It seemed that whilst he found the situation awkward he wasn’t nearly panicking as much as Tristian was. He started to try and reign it in a little, it would be even more weird if Mordred caught on how panicked Tristian was. It was just one of those awkward slightly embarrassing situations between too friends, that was all, that was all it needed to appear to be.

There was a stab of guilt as Mordred brought up the punching, the bruise did look a little nasty. He tried to reason that Mordred had deserved it and it had all been in the defence of his sister (if not a little out of his own selfish reasons)…still…the guilt was still there. “I always punched that hard, it’s just before I’ve always gone easy on you,” said Tristian, however he followed it up with a quiet, and genuine, “sorry.”

He calmed down a bit more as Mordred began to unwrap his hand. He felt guilt at that, he should have done something better for that earlier in the night, but instead he had decided to just lie down and enjoy Mordred’s arms. Idiot. “I’m going to call a doctor round to take a look at that,” said Tristian, pointing to his hand, “in the meantime I have a first aid kit in the kitchen, while I’m making breakfast you can clean it up with proper wipes and put a bandage on it.”

He was just about to make good his escape when Mordred started speaking again. He stopped and looked around at him, smiling as genuinely as he could manage, “anytime.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He couldn't help but laugh as Tristian told him he always hit that hard, even though the smile stretched the cut on his lip and hurt his jaw. "Sure you have," He smiled at Tristian as he waved away his apology. "Not necessary, Tris. I deserved it. I deserve a hell of a lot more." He muttered with a sigh. Hangover and injuries aside, Mordred couldn't remember ever feeling this bad after a night out, and he knew it had nothing to do with the night he'd had. Tristian's words from the night before were running through his head and he knew he had a difficult conversation ahead. But he also know he had to do it, he had to swallow his pride and arrogance and talk to Meredith. He had to fix this before it was too late.

He really hoped Tristian was right, and it wasn't already too late.

Mordred waved away Tristian's offer of a doctor. "I'm fine, you did a pretty good job - for a prince." He grinned at Tristian. "I should go. I need to find my phone and make a call."

He walked towards Tristian, wrapping his arm around him and pulling him into a brief hug.

"Wish me luck," he said with a small smile, before heading out of the flat to make his way home.

[Tristian]

He was leaving, he was finally leaving.

There was a part of him that wanted him to stay, that wanted to make sure those wounds got checked out by a professional. However, he knew that once Mordred had set his mind to something there was no changing it.

‘Like with Meredith’ he thought bitterly.

The hug was a surprise, he wasn’t expecting it, but managed to pull himself together to briefly hug back. Keeping it short and sweet, and making sure not too linger too long…even if he wanted too. Tristian forced a smile and said, “Good luck.”

When the door closed behind Mordred Tristian shuffled over to the sofa and flopped down on his back staring at the ceiling, and finally allowed himself to fall apart.

-End-