Room 101 - Fallout (NWS)

[traiteur]

 Goddammit, is mostly what Gene's thinking as he comes home. It's late, a dark, cold, and unpleasant night that mirrors his mood. He'd not seen Babe since Babe had walked out of the conference room the day before - since everything had gotten fucked up. Since the whole situation had fallen down around their ears. Part of him had been expecting it.

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[southphillyboy]

The night before he'd gotten drunk. Gotten drunk alone, in a bar, thinking about Gene the whole time. He'd almost considered trying to pick someone up, his eyes drawn to the self-possessed blond man everything that Gene wasn't. He'd even almost kissedhim by the end of the night. But Babe couldn't and he'd gone home, slept in his own bed, alone. First time since he'd come to this place.

He felt it the next morning, getting up and pushing through his run anyway. He'd gone to work and then just stayed out. Stayed out til he couldn't stay away anymore, hoping the place would be empty when he got back.

It wasn't.

Babe froze in the door of the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn't know what to say.

[traiteur]

Gene's not saying anything, sitting at the small table. The bottle's open in front of him, and he's made something of a dent in it already. His dark eyes are darker than usual, and he doesn't look up.

[southphillyboy]

He's still frustrated with the other man. With his inability to just say something plain. To tell Babe what he wants or that he doesn't want anything at all.

Though, Babe guesses that Gene's silence says enough.

"Though you didn't like drinking," he said, belligerent. Not giving the other man an inch.

[traiteur]

"I don,'" he says, and pours himself another drink. He still hasn't looked at him, and he's not planning on it.