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Sinclair wasn’t sure if this came from a place of need, boredom, curiosity, or something else entirely. Out of all people Sinclair expected to find himself sharing a bed with, Ishmael was by far the last one, he felt he had a better chance with Outis of all people than her.
It seems like it was a “drastic times require drastic methods” moment. Don Quixote was busy with Yi Sang that night, a heated match of chess she would most definitely lose awaited her. When it came to Outis, she was too busy studying and researching whatever she could land her hands on as a means of preparing for the next mission, something Ishmael would find admirable, so she would not dare interrupt the sole sinner besides her that dares read the guidebooks. Finally, Heathcliff was entirely out of the question, since they seemingly wound up in yet another big explosive argument. Not uncommon, but always stressful for everyone around them.
He barely had time to think when he heard a little mutter of “this one will do” followed by a hand grasping his suspenders and dragging him into a room, almost like he was a toy or tool of some sort.
He got tossed into the bed with surprising force too, which shouldn’t have shocked him considering the fact that to Ishmael, who swung around that massive harpoon and sailed the great lake, he probably weighed nothing. Just about as much as a sheet of paper. He barely had time to enjoy how surprisingly soft her bed was before she crashed onto him, face first onto his chest, hands grabbing his shoulders wiggling him back and forth as well as side to side in distress.
Had he not known Ishmael was dangerously out of it, he would have probably made a shot in the dark that she was drunk. In the end though not only can a sailor hold their liquor much better than everyone else, they also had not gone out to eat, everyone choosing to, for dinner, return to their own rooms and scarfing down on leftovers from their last outing. Ishmael’s food was still on the top of her desk untouched. Sinclair at least had a shot at eating his, before leaving to find the manager to talk to, but running into a disgruntled ginger instead.
“...Is it that bad?” He didn’t know what to say, but he certainly knew that asking if she was okay would only result in more passionate complaints and maybe even curses on her part.
“You tell me.” A dry remark was definitely better than a crude one.
He tried to talk, opening and closing his mouth multiple times as he tried to piece how he could help her in his mind, but that task became harder as his arms began to fall asleep due to her weight on him. He was not about to ask her to move, that would be rude in a moment as such, but with his circulation growing fainter and her weight crushing him into the soft mattress, it was hard to think.
He had an idea, maybe this would work.
“Hey, wouldn’t it be good if you ate your dinner..?” It was an honest attempt at cheering her up, but also an honest attempt to try and get her off him. “Food is supposed to make you feel better, no? Besides, you got one of your favourite dishes last night.”
She pushed herself off him, yet kept him pinned via straddling him.
“It’s not my favourite,” she grumbled with a glare that felt like it was not gonna die any time soon, “and I’m not hungry.”
Genuinely what could have happened for her to be throwing such a tantrum? This was entirely unlike her. When she found out they had been going to UCorp, she still at least had energy in her, lashing out and all that. This low energy profile was entirely unlike her.
The air was knocked right out of his lungs as she collapsed on him again, this time holding him in a tight squeeze. “Don’t act like you don’t need this too, you know.” Her voice was muffled by his chest.
He couldn’t really deny it, he was very needy when it came to affection. He would ponder on why, but he would end up acting mopey just as Ishmael had if he did so.
“...Was it Heathcliff?”
She snorted. “Please, him? He was probably the one that was more upset after our last bicker, he's still acting all annoyed about it today.” Her words felt light for a second, almost as if she cheered up briefly before returning to her previous state of gloom. “No, it’s not him. It’s just…”
She groaned, probably in embarrassment based on how she shook her head back and forth against Sinclair’s chest as if trying to bury herself into a hole.
“Do you ever think… No. This is a stupid question, you’re you. Of course you do.” She started, turning her head to look to the side. She looked cute with her cheek squished up against his chest like that. “You think about your past all the time too, so you must get it, right?”
Guess he would be acting mopey after all.
“Now, definitely a lot less than I used to,” Sinclair started, Ishmael nodding her head in agreement, “But… There’s not a lot that I can do about what happened. Nothing to bring my parents and town back. And it’s shit to think about. It hurts. But…”
He found himself running his hand through Ishmael’s long mane of a hairdo, twirling his fingers around her hairband’s ribbon.
“Well. Yeah. I still think about it. Often. But I don’t feel as powerless anymore. I just think about what I would have done differently.”
She let out a quiet hum in agreement, rolling from laying on Sinclair to laying beside him on her small, cramped bed.
“It must suck you didn’t get that kill, huh?” She teased him, nudging his shoulder with her elbow. “I get that, though. I do sometimes wish I… What did you say that time… Tore up that bitch myself.” She laughed a little, now Ishmael herself played with her ribbons as she talked. “But I didn’t wanna end up like her. Best to let her die buried in a grave of her own making than stooping to her level.” Ishmael slid up the bed so her legs were more comfortable, no longer dangling off the edge. “I still catch myself acting like her sometimes, it infuriates me,” Turning to her side, she threw an arm over Sinclair, yanking him into her arms just like how she did when she dragged him into her room, “But thankfully I feel like I’m getting better. Like soon enough she’ll just be nothing more than a thing that just happened.”
It was his turn to silently nod in agreement, hoping for the same.
The two laid there in silence for a while, and before they knew it, the sun had been rising as Ishmael’s alarm went off, proudly and loudly blasting a lake shanty while she reached for it, flustered, frantically trying to shut it down as fast as possible.
Maybe getting dragged in there wasn’t so bad after all, they did have a nice conversation.
Sinclair just wasn’t looking forward to explaining why he had slept in her room, and to hope the other sinners believe him when he tells them that he slept in an uncomfortable position in a grip not too unlike that of that blasted teddy bear EGO corrosion.
That aside though, it was hard to believe how similar they were to each other.
They did both need that, just like she said.