blooded | ＩＮＢＯＸ．

( she debates whether or not to keep it to herself, suck it up and stomach the synthetic blood, but in the end the very human housemate kind of outweighs the weird stubborn insistence to act like Everything Is Fine Always. )

Are you at home?

Don't hurt him or I will hurt you.

[ look, he's even being Serious with Capitalization and Punctuation. because this is dick he's talking about and wally takes his status as best friend very seriously. and maybe a little territorially. and overprotectively. maybe it's not entirely heroic of him to be threatening people, but. what can he say. he's not clark kent. ]

[ so, in retrospect, there was definitely some overreacting going on. and a lot of jealousy. that's pretty much not an issue anymore, since things have been escalating with dick and -- well, really, there's never been a particularly good reason for wally to be jealous of anyone when it comes to dick because he knows where he stands in dick's life. it just happens. he can't help it. but he's definitely, mostly over it. enough to realize, yeah, he was an asshole. on purpose. dick move, wally. ]

[ so pi day seems like as good a day as any to attempt an apology, in the one way that's always spoken to him the most: food. at some point during the day, a blackberry pie will mysteriously show up outside damon's door. how does wally know where he lives? who knows. don't question it. there's a note attached to the pie box, too, in wally's messy scrawl:

maybe not the best apology, but he tried. ]

Are you doing anything later?

Hey, do you have a moment?
I finally got out of grading hell, and I wanted to talk to you about something in person.

[Even if she's been keeping her distance - it hurts, really, if she's honest - she figures she owes him a full conversation before heading back home.]

( specifically post-birthday ( dick is a detective, he has his Ways of finding things out ), there appears a box on damon's doorstep. perhaps something like a suspicious box, all things considered, black and sleek and without a card until further prodding inside. directly under the top, there sits a crucifix -- a joke, probably a cruel one, until damon gets the card underneath signed, 'Button ups are so last century. - Dick G.'

predictably, behind some dark tissue paper, there's a black, long sleeved shirt, made to hug the body and fitted to suit damon flawlessly, situated on top of an easy to move in leather jacket. buried inside there's a long debated after key before dick just said fuck it -- one naturally to the front door of his apartment, hopefully sending the you're always welcome message instead of the lets go behind her back one. either way it reads off! happy birthday, damon. )

You're not still creeping around the door, right?

Do you want to stay over for a few days?

I need help putting up my Christmas tree. You in?

[ Left by Damon's door on Christmas Eve is a large box with a very decent cognac inside and a vintage switchblade, the handle of which has been inlaid with mother of pearl. It's new, but the craft is centuries old, brought from Rafa's homeworld. Both are wrapped together with neat blue and silver paper, and a tag saying in script: 'From Rafa, for the holidays. For Damon.' ]

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Hey, are you feeling okay?

dusts this off w/drama, how apt

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i know i owe u heaps of tags but like yolo

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