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After taking the second to last sip of what was left of the once full bottle of whiskey, Figaro sank further, deeper into the water.
His senses were so weak he could barely control himself when Faust walked into the bathroom to find him, giving him a disappointed look in contrast to the foolish smile and wave Figaro gave him.
There he found Figaro sitting in water, some of which splashed onto the floor and nearly filled the bathtub he laid in so carelessly. His turtleneck was gone, thrown to the side somewhere between the toilet and the sink, if Figaro remembers correctly. He probably doesn’t.
The buttons to his white dress shirt were almost entirely undone, and his pants were submerged & soaked. His attire was clearly as disheveled as he was.
When he drinks, he always wears that stupid grin.
He does this to forget, Faust knows it. Figaro never told him directly but Faust can assume the true reasoning behind his habits considering he also does the same... only in slightly lighter doses in much less public places. Any other wizard in the castle could have waltzed into this room and found this old bum washing himself nearly fully clothed, smelling like booze and cologne. God forbid one of the younger ones came inside... that would have caused a scene Faust definitely would’ve had to clean up later. This southern wizard never fails to cause a problem for him, he’s such a handful.
He came to squat next to the bathtub, raising his hand at Figaro. The soaked wizard flinches— as if Faust were about to hit him.
“...What's been on your mind this time?” Faust asked as he caressed Figaro’s face with his hand cautiously.
Figaro laughs boisterously. “What are you, my shrink? Nothing is on my mind. Drink with me, old friend.” he nods his head towards the bottle he set aside.
Faust lifts it to find just the slightest bit of liquor left in it. “You know there’s not much left in this...”
“Drank the rest. My bad.” Figaro says the final two words with a tinge of sarcasm. The easterner chooses to ignore his jabs and take the final swig of the remaining whiskey, moving the empty bottle away somewhere Figaro can’t possibly break it later.
Figaro is clumsy when he’s intoxicated. He becomes more careless, stupid, overall happier and out of touch with reality. He must like that bit a lot, considering the amount of times he has tried to escape from it. Faust isn’t sure what to do with him. Take him out of the tub? But then he would have to drag Figaro back to his room, dry and dress him, get him in bed, and physically pry Figaro off of him so he doesn’t do anything they’ll regret when Figaro’s tongue is coated in the taste of alcohol. On the other hand, if Faust were to leave him... that would just be pitiful. He also doesn’t feel like being responsible for Figaro’s actions if he were to take it upon himself and begin wandering around the castle like he’s having his own parade.
He stares at the southerner with concern, and sighs.
“What am I going to do with you...”
“Gonna join me for a swim...?” Figaro smirks as he forcefully tugs on Faust’s arm, trying to pull him into the tub.
“Hell no. You’re crazy. Let go of me, I’m not getting in the stupid tub with you.”
“Pretty please? Do an old man a favor and waste some of your precious time on me? I don’t feel like getting on my knees to ask you nicely, so could you listen to me?” Figaro jokes through practically every sentence he slurs out, yet no matter how sober (or not) he may be, there always seems to be the slightest tinge of melancholy behind it when he says something to Faust. It doesn’t happen with anyone else... not even Oz, whom Faust knows he has a long history with. He never understood why.
He grunts, annoyed under his breath— but he can’t help feeling bad. “Only for a little. Don’t try to touch me, and don’t come to my room once I get up. Go to your bed and sleep when I tell you to.” Faust tries to stand up slowly since the booze is still rushing up into his head, only to be roughly pulled onto Figaro with his face in his chest.
Faust wants to snap at him, he really does. “You idiot! I just drank two shots worth of whiskey, maybe give me a minute?”
“I just wanted to have my precious Faust in my arms already... got carried away, sorry.”
“There you go again....” Faust wants to derail the conversation but doesn’t know what else to say. He tosses his wet glasses out onto the floor somewhere— it’s not like he can see much out of them now anyway. He can’t think of how to continue anything, or what to do, at all. He just moves to curl up on Figaro as he lays still on him, with his head on his shoulder.
This robe is going to be disgusting to clean later.
Figaro plays with the water in his hands, watching it drop out and splash loudly as it hits itself. He only stops to wrap his arms around Faust’s slender body.
He smiles warmly before going on with that same conversation that always leaves Faust embarrassed... it makes him want to shrivel up and die. “You know, I always wanted to be close with you like this.”
Faust’s face starts to heat up. He hates this. “Unfortunately we were always a bit close... if I remember correctly. It hasn’t been that long.”
“No, no— you were so different back then, you know? It felt like.. no matter how hard I held onto you, you weren’t in my arms. Even if we flew up to the clouds to chase the moon and you held onto me for dear life I still felt like you weren’t completely there.”
“You’re saying ‘you know’ a lot, but I don’t know, Figaro. I don’t understand you...”
“That’s fine. I just want you to know what I’m thinking, since you’re the one who asked. Sorry about all the useless things I’ll say next. I hope you’ll take it in one ear and forget it out the other just as you used to do with me all those years ago. I have bad self control right now. I might’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“...Fair point. Go on then.” Faust tilts head slightly upwards to look closer at Figaro’s face.
“Don’t look at me like that...” Figaro says.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to start feeling bad for me. There’s no point.”
“I’ll feel as bad as I want. It’s my job. Hurry up and get on with what you were saying before.”
They bicker like an old couple. Figaro sighs before beginning what feels like a never-ending tangent.
“I’ve never felt like I had a reason to be here, or anywhere, really. Got no meaning, no family, no love life. I’ve always been the lonely kind of wizard. But when I met you, I felt as if I could make a home for myself to stay in. I thought... ‘this is why I’ve lived all these years.’ because you were like the light I could see from the surface even when I drowned underwater...”
His face grows more serious. He must be in pain, the poor thing.
“I know I didn’t have a lot to give, I still don’t, so take everything with a grain of salt, but I wanted to give you everything I had. I wished I could teach you everything and whisk you away somewhere where we could be together for the next thousand years, living in the clouds. I cared about the simple things. I wanted to be the man that would take out your hair-tie and brush your hair for you before you went to bed. I wanted to be something better than just ‘Sir Figaro.’ I only wanted to hear my name fall from your lips, no one else. I can’t help being possessive. But no matter what I did, even if I took you into a field of daisies and put one in your hair for you, no matter what gesture I made, you would change things to be about Alec this... Alec that... it hurt.”
“He—“ Faust tries to interject.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“...I’m sorry for not trying harder to understand you back then.”
“I should be the one apologizing to you. I ran away even though I knew you were having fun spending time with me. I could read your smile like it was the easiest words I had ever laid my eyes on. I left because I was childish enough to be upset that you cared more about someone you spent your entire life with... someone you had known longer than you knew me. It was only natural for you to think of him, but I was greedy, and selfish. I thought that if I couldn’t have you, I should have nothing at all. And so I left. Flew as quickly as my broom would take me until I nearly crashed and broke my body into pieces in some forest I can’t even remember the name of. I thought that if I left then— and only then, I would be able to forget that I had ever met you, or ever suffered over someone as remarkable as you.”
“I never wished for you to suffer, Figaro.”
“I never wished for you to burn, either. We all make mistakes, but do not blame yourself for the things I say. I’m only opening up because I feel nauseous enough that maybe, if I keep talking, I’ll spill my guts out.”
Faust moved his face in slightly closer to Figaro’s neck, fully resting in it. Figaro could practically feel his breath on his skin. It made him shiver as if hell had just frozen over. “You...”
“Am I too close? I’m sorry.” Faust attempts to move back to his original spot, only to be held in place by Figaro.
“...You’re really something else. It’s fine.”
Faust wants to say something. But what can he say to a man as broken as this?
“Did you ever manage to get what you wanted?” Faust asked.
“Yes. Well... yes, and no. I originally thought I wanted to forget you so that I could get rid of the pain. Then I realized that never thinking of you again would only be more painful. If you never crossed my mind again that would mean I truly had given up on the hope I had for living. That all hit very hard when I saw you, when I was summoned here. It was awkward walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of wine, only to find you and Nero already there with the bottle I had wanted.”
“You could have joined us.”
“You know I couldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry.”
Figaro shakes his head in disagreement. “Stop apologizing. It won’t make me any younger.”
“Not apologizing will make me feel like I truly am just as empty as people say I am these days.” Faust adds quietly.
“But, you aren’t empty.”
Faust raises an eyebrow at him. “What makes you say that?”
“I can still see the man I once loved. Although, it’s wrong for me to say that in past tense. I learned when I saw you for the first time again after all those years, that even though I made so much effort to rid my mind of you, it never worked. It felt like a punch to the gut. A whirlwind. Even with all those years gone I still felt the same as I always have, the only difference between those days and now is that you seem to feel a lot more lost than you used to. But even so, just as I may be like the moon and you as the sun, I still feel for you. The moon does not stop chasing after the sun. If I could help you heal from the damage I caused you, I would.”
Figaro feels a different wetness start to trickle against his neck. The flow of a few tears from Faust.
“I’m nothing compared to what I used to be, Figaro. I’ve completely died now, I’m only waiting for my physical body to catch up and wilt just like the rest of me did. I can’t give you what you want.”
One of Figaro’s hands leaves Faust’s waist to softly wipe away the moisture from his eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re seeing the world through rose-colored glasses now...”
“I can see very clearly, thanks... just let me say this last bit.”
“Do whatever you want...”
“I went through a lot. I especially put you through a lot. I’m sorry. I don’t think I deserve to be holding you like this after everything I did to you. I can’t even feel the whiskey anymore, I feel so sober it’s disgusting. I don’t expect for you to give me anything.. that would be ridiculous. The only thing I want to ask you for is for you to have a glass of wine with me instead of Nero, sometimes. I also want you to let me take care of you.”
“You don’t need to take care of me, I’m perfectly capable..”
“It’s not that you need it, I need it. I don’t think I’ll ever have peace of mind if I let you suffer on your own for more than I already have.”
Faust carefully sat up as Figaro swiped away the last tear with his knuckle. “What are we, then? Partners in misery? Quite the shabby duo..”
“You could say that. Didn’t think we’d ever have a team name. Thinking about it makes me laugh, though.”
Figaro finally concludes, leaning farther back to have his head pressed up against the wall.
They sit in silence, smelling like wet clothes and the mixture of their normal scents as they try not to stare at each other.
“I should probably... head to bed. You should also go to sleep since you finished talking. You told me you would listen to me earlier when I told you to.”
Figaro nodded to agree with him, moving with him to stand up and slowly (finally) leave that wretched tub. He tries not to slip as he helplessly drips water onto the floor. ‘I’ll clean that up later,’ he thought.
He furrowed his eyebrows a bit, confused, as he stared at the unmoving Faust. His hand was wrapped around the doorknob like he was going to open it and let them both out to go their separate ways, but instead it was more like he was frozen in place.
“...You’ll catch a cold standing in a soaked robe, Faust. Doctor’s orders says we’ve both got to go.”
Faust turns around to look at him, with his dress shirt sticking to his chest, his hair looking like it just got hit by a tornado, his belt which was only half undone because he must’ve been too lazy to do it fully earlier, and just... can’t.
His hand leaves the doorknob and grabs onto Figaro’s collar, giving him one quick and forceful kiss. It barely lasted for longer than two seconds, yet it was full of fervor and heart. He had no better way to apologize than this.
He wanted to run after his poor decision; he turned back to the door fast only to be pulled into Figaro, who had hooked an arm around his waist to keep him from leaving too soon.
They kissed only one more time, slower. Full of apology and lost love, as if they were mourning all the years they spent apart from each other.
Faust pulled away. “You’re drunk.”
“So are you. Don’t think about it too much, love.” Figaro retorts, grabbing Faust’s free hand softly to place a kiss on his palm, his fingers and his knuckles.
The door was open only a second later and they parted ways without many words.
“...Goodnight Faust.” Figaro said just down the hall.
“Goodnight, moon.” Faust said.
If only Faust were able to see the look on Figaro’s face then. The embarrassment, and the quick state of content. There was no need for anything more.
Perhaps a bottle of booze does an old wizard a favor, sometimes.