The tears hit him like a great, big rogue wave. No sooner had the door shut than a soft, pained whine escaped him and the waterfalls began. He bit his lips hard to try and stifle the sound though, already too afraid of being accused of further dramatics and childish attention-seeking antics.

His heart hurt. He was absolutely overwhelmed by lack of sleep, confusion, frustration, betrayal, and heart sickness. He still didn't know what he had done, last night or more specifically in that moment to warrant this. And Fletcher wouldn't tell him. He got yelled at plenty for not believing Fletcher or listening to him. But how could he listen to a man that didn't speak to him or tell him what he needed, wanted, felt?

Theo's eyes darted about the room, desperate for something to ground or distract him. Nothing. This room that had been his sanctuary from the world was now a prison. The chair where Fletcher sat. The balcony where he smoked. The bed where he slept. The room next door that was his. The bathroom where he had bathed Theo.

He needed to leave. He wanted to run, to flee, to get as far away as possible only to make another pained sound knowing the one he wanted to run from, the one he wanted to run to was stood just on the other side of his door. There was no escape. For Theodore Archer, there never would be. 

Still, he darted into his bathroom and got cleaned up and changed. Then, it was out into the hall. His eyes slid over Fletcher, still wet with tears before he looked away and wordlessly made his way through the house. There was no clear destination, just aimless wandering the mostly unused section of the house that was his. At one point he stopped before a window opening that overlooked the small forest he and Fletcher had once fled into on their night of revelry all those months ago. It seemed like an eternity since then.

"How much have you had to drink today," he asked quietly, turning his head just enough to see if the other man would respond to him.

Not a word of it got through to him. All he saw was a man throwing a child's tantrum, and all he heard was a fight. His heels dug into the proverbial ground, and he sat there and allowed the cold silence to fall between them until it became unbearable. "Right," he said at last, and stood slowly and calmly from the chair. "I'm done. I'm not doing this. Go catch a chill on the balcony, then. Get really good and sick. Lose me my job. You want to talk? You want to fix this? You know where to find me when you're finished with this childish, attention-seeking bollocks."

With that, Fletch rounded the chair and left Theo's room to finish his shift in the hallway. He did so calmly. He didn't stomp or slam the door. He didn't betray just how much Theo had struck his heart and made him bleed.

"I'm sorry what? Bizarre stuff I pulled? I'm sorry expressing my feelings and giving you the space you wanted in the first place is so damn horrible for you. I'm not the one that intentionally silenced me and shut me down though so maybe look in the mirror before accusing me of things.

"And that's another thing. You want to talk dramatics? Who is the dramatic one: the one that was sat peacefully on their own bedroom balcony for the day, or the one that aggressively dragged them off it so violently that my bones hurt from how loud it was? You feel good about yourself now? You showed me who's the bigger man? I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment this time but I certainly didn't something so horrible as to have you treat me the way you did last night. You know better than to do that."

Theo shook his head again looking utterly betrayed and hurt. He pursed his lips and attempted to take another resetting breath. "Are you going to talk to me and tell me what this is all about or are you going to play games with me and leave me guessing until we're both too miserable to manage?"

"Then stop fighting," Fletch countered coolly. "Don't start it if you can't deal with the consequences. I'm not taking the bait this time, Theo. I'm not getting sucked into dramatics. Not after the bizarre shit you pulled last night. So stop it. If you need sleep, fucking sleep. Your bed's right there. No one's keeping you from it but yourself."

He scowled and stared as if expecting Fletcher to continue. But when he did speak it was in short, clipped words. 

"And how was I hurting myself by SITTING OUTSIDE? Am I so incapable of caring for myself that I now warrant dragging about like an unruly toddler having a tantrum in the middle of the street? I must now what? Be protected from myself?"

Theo took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. "I have not slept all night and that was the first sleep I'd gotten since the night before last, which was itself in turn limited, as was the night before it as well."

He sighed and shook his head sounding utterly exhausted and with no fight left in him. "I can't do this with you right now. I'm...I hate fighting with you. I don't even understand how we got here AGAIN. I'm just so tired."

Fletch scoffed and shook his head. He leaned back. "Nah," he grunted. "Not getting reeled into this. I'm just here to make sure you don't hurt yourself doing whatever the fuck it is you've decided to do today."

He disentangled himself from his blankets with a huff and looked over to glare at his partner. So the man was not going to speak to him but was going to sit and sulk in his presence. Fantastic. 

"Is there a legitimate reason you woke me up and dragged me inside like that? Are we actually under attack? Or are you just continuing shutting me down and shutting me out like yesterday?"

Fletch dragged him all the way back in, set the chair down on all fours again, and strode around it to shut the balcony doors. He left Theo sitting there facing out across the grounds. It was clear the man didn't want to talk to him — though whatever cry for attention this was screamed that he wanted to be seen in spite of it. That was fine. They didn't need to talk about it. Between his hangover and his festering anger at what he'd realized the night before, Fletch didn't have the patience to play this game.

He turned to leave. Halfway to the door, he scowled and thought better of it. If Theo was in the mood to self-destruct even the slightest bit, he'd need someone to stay and watch him. And as Tiff had just finished his shift, it was going to have to be him that did it. He swore beneath his breath, pivoted, and dropped down into a chair by the fire.

Theo had fallen asleep in the afternoon sun with his legs thrown over one arm of the chair and his back curled up against the other. He didn't realize Fletcher was even on shift let alone on the balcony until he was suddenly and rudely awakened by his equilibrium being thrown off by the chair tipping backwards and the vibrations of it being harshly dragged back inside.

He squealed and flailed violently in surprise before looking up at Fletcher in wide-eyed alarm and horror. The blanket tangled around him making it impossible to just jump up and away but his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Upon recognizing his nap-disturber, he settled and dropped his gaze, refusing to look at the other man. Two of them could play the ending communication game if they wanted. 

Fletch awoke to too-bright sun and eye sockets that pounded shards into his brain. As with all mornings that began with a hangover, he regretted how much he'd drank the night before. The feeling only deepened as he recalled why he'd done it in the first place. Sleep had brought him no fresh perspective on it at all. He'd passed out hurting and alone, and now he'd woken up that way, too.

It didn't go away at breakfast. His cigarette afterwards didn't clear his mind, either. When he turned to head in, he glanced up at Theo's balcony out of pure habit, expecting to see closed doors and drawn shades, but to his surprise, there he was: all bundled up and hunched like he was miserable. "And whose fault is that?" Fletch muttered to himself, and then he felt horrid for even thinking it.

He left the house again for sparring practice, and again for another smoke, and then for a third. Each time, he looked up, and each time, Theo hadn't moved from where he sat. By his fourth smoke it was early afternoon — nearly the start of his shift. He'd been dreading it. He'd been dreading being forced to face the man who'd turned away from him when he'd most needed him to stay and be a comfort. But now, as he stared up at the nobleman and finished his cigarette, he began to grow irritated. 

This was so childish. It was absurdly dramatic. It had gone on long enough. 

He marched back towards the house and up through the servant's entrance, startling the maids as he stomped past them. He made his way up the stairs, and down the hall, and to Theo's door, pausing long enough only to relieve Tiff. "Now excuse me. He's making poor choices," Fletch informed the man as he pushed through Theo's door, shutting it behind him. He strode determinedly to the balcony, opened the doors, grabbed the back of Theo's chair, and began slowly and loudly dragging it — and its contents — back inside.