[oh god, barry was my friend. this coma thing's been hard.
he'd said that offhandedly when he'd thought barry was dead, that he'd made another connection just like he had with ramon only for them to fucking drop and leave him behind like they always do. like malory did when he was young, like woodhouse and lana did--
(maybe one day he'll be more consciously aware of how he drives them away, instead of lodging himself into denial and pretending they leave him out of spite.)
it's an old song and dance for him, to have a bucket shoved into his hands as he empties his stomach contents into it. predictably, it's all alcohol -- when did he even last eat, anyway? figures he'd be lucky enough to be able to maintain his muscle mass without needing to care about it. everything always works out for archer, doesn't it? he slumps a little towards barry when he's done, plopping the bin back down onto the carpet for now. upright! he's being that considerate at least. or maybe it was just another little perfection for the man who gets everything he wants.
a deep sigh escapes him and he shifts his arm a little in a way that could be construed as trying to put his arm around barry's hips while they're sitting on the edge of the bed... or just trying to get more support so he doesn't fall forward. could even be both. his head lolls onto barry's shoulder and he slips forward slightly, languid enough that it seems for a moment he's passed out sitting upright.
whatever line of thought that had pushed him to go from laying around in the other room feeling sorry for himself and up into breaking into barry's room is less clear and more like a fly catcher that's been swung around into everything in the room and tangled up on itself. a little groan escaping him indicates that he's come back to reality from wherever he went.]
Ugh... [he's still seeing double, triple, feeling like he's whacked his head real hard, maybe he did, maybe he's just coming down to an uncomfortable level of lucidity after throwing up most of what he spent the last few hours drinking.] Some idiot puked in your bin.
[attempt at a stupid joke or is he genuinely that out of it? unclear.]
I dreamed about you, [he says after a moment, snorting a half laugh.] God, you stole some biker's get up and looked so fucking stupid in his leather cap.
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he'd said that offhandedly when he'd thought barry was dead, that he'd made another connection just like he had with ramon only for them to fucking drop and leave him behind like they always do. like malory did when he was young, like woodhouse and lana did--
(maybe one day he'll be more consciously aware of how he drives them away, instead of lodging himself into denial and pretending they leave him out of spite.)
it's an old song and dance for him, to have a bucket shoved into his hands as he empties his stomach contents into it. predictably, it's all alcohol -- when did he even last eat, anyway? figures he'd be lucky enough to be able to maintain his muscle mass without needing to care about it. everything always works out for archer, doesn't it? he slumps a little towards barry when he's done, plopping the bin back down onto the carpet for now. upright! he's being that considerate at least. or maybe it was just another little perfection for the man who gets everything he wants.
a deep sigh escapes him and he shifts his arm a little in a way that could be construed as trying to put his arm around barry's hips while they're sitting on the edge of the bed... or just trying to get more support so he doesn't fall forward. could even be both. his head lolls onto barry's shoulder and he slips forward slightly, languid enough that it seems for a moment he's passed out sitting upright.
whatever line of thought that had pushed him to go from laying around in the other room feeling sorry for himself and up into breaking into barry's room is less clear and more like a fly catcher that's been swung around into everything in the room and tangled up on itself. a little groan escaping him indicates that he's come back to reality from wherever he went.]
Ugh... [he's still seeing double, triple, feeling like he's whacked his head real hard, maybe he did, maybe he's just coming down to an uncomfortable level of lucidity after throwing up most of what he spent the last few hours drinking.] Some idiot puked in your bin.
[attempt at a stupid joke or is he genuinely that out of it? unclear.]
I dreamed about you, [he says after a moment, snorting a half laugh.] God, you stole some biker's get up and looked so fucking stupid in his leather cap.