Panem PSL with leiche & weaintashes

[voiceinthephone]

Phil discovered there were a few perks to being a mentor in Panem: the main one currently being the bigger suite and the rather small but significant privacy measures. It was no secret that he remained close to friends and loved ones but these two were more than that. Maybe Celebrus was onto something when Gray began to allow Daryl and Jeremy come into his room. He claimed it was for counselling: neither had someone to talk to and they mutually knew each other. But they were getting closer than that, a sweet undercurrent of bonding. They were damaged, their worlds and their actions in Panem tore invisible scars onto their minds and bodies. Maybe Phil missed physical contact a lot more than he thought but he kept his own stirring feelings down for not one but both of his now-regular suitemates. Hell, the press had a field day today, Phil let the two stay as long as they wanted, and was that hand-holding? 

"My place is your place," Gray chirped up as soon as the door closed, "Thought I couldn't lose them. Are you guys okay?"
 

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[voiceinthephone]

"Funny, I'd say the same thing about you and Daryl," Phil might be the teasing type but there's sincerity in his voice. He tended to speak his mind at home, leaving the more acrid barbs for the press and the Capitolites who thought he or his roommates were pushovers. No, far from the truth, even Jeremy had some bite to him if pushed. But they were so...guarded, even around Gray, they were in every right to be so. What little Phil saw of Daryl's profile, the man was admirable in staying together and Fitzgerald's damage was intertwined with Phone Guy's inaction.

No, it's time to think about a sort-of happy present. He can either keep himself in the endless loop of self-loathing or make progress towards a better day for each of them. Heck, he's already got the ball rolling by letting both men know his true thoughts about their appearances.

Foxy was a little scamp, gently tugging at Daryl's pant legs and ruining what was probably a very expensive suit. Ah well, that's what the Stylists can work on.

[weaintashes]

Shirts are always left for last due to his torso being where the worst of his scars are concentrated, and having his back exposed is still a source of intense discomfort. Deliberately avoiding his reflection in the standing mirror, he quickly changes into what he'll end up sleeping in: plaid pajama pants and a comfortably worn t-shirt that he's at least mostly sure is his. If it isn't, he'll just have to apologise for the stretched-out shoulders.

He's glad to be out of the room when Phil makes the comment about him and Jeremy, so neither can see his reaction. It's kind of funny — the media can fawn over his appearance and it doesn't mean a thing to him, but one offhand comment from his friend and he feels his face flooding with heat, like he's some kind of awkward teenager being complimented by his crush. That thought only makes it worse.

"You don't have to say that kinda stuff when it's just us, ain't no sponsors listening," he says gruffly in an attempt to mask his embarrassment, but it's a futile endeavour with how red his face still is when he reappears from the bedroom. Noticing a distinct lack of clothing on the floor as well as Charlie now proudly wearing his tie, he can't help but smile. "And you," he says, reaching to take the gathered clothing from Jeremy, "don't have to do that neither. But thanks."

Charlie gets another good rub between the ears from him before he touches Jeremy's shoulder, then the nape of his neck in a slightly apologetic gesture meant to offer comfort as well. Jeremy shouldn't feel obligated to pick up after him any more than the Avoxes should, though it's kind of him. With Foxy in tow still nibbling on the suit, Daryl deposits his discarded clothing on the bed to be sorted out later. He figures Charlie can keep the tie, maybe have a tug-o'-war with the foxes.

In the kitchen, he pulls himself up onto a clear counter space and takes a seat there, looking expectantly to Phil as though awaiting instruction. "You know I got asked today— of all the shit they could come up with, they asked whose hair I prefer petting. They're never gonna let me live that down..." Getting drunk at Crownings has perhaps not been the wisest decision, since it tends to lead to him becoming overly friendly with Phil and Jeremy both, but the disturbing ceremonies are too much to handle sober.

[leiche]

He should start expecting Phil to blurt out things like that by now. It's not an uncommon occurence, but it still manages to catch him off guard and Jeremy finds this time he's stunned still when he hears it, arms full of clothes and a red colour spreading across his face. He's not sure if that's something he should answer to, or if he should just pretend he didn't hear and try to ignore. But either way, he looks like a dumbstruck idiot when Daryl approaches to take the pile of clothes from him and his brain catches up a moment too late, largely due to the gentle touch to his neck that sends a shiver down his spine and Jeremy has no idea what to make of what all just happened.

Maybe Daryl's still a little drunk. And Phil ... just doesn't know when not to say something. Perfectly logical reasons there.

"... s-sorry." But Daryl's gone into the kitchen and already started talking to Phil, so his awkward apology is unheard in the otherwise empty hallway. He takes his time then to think about all the other, better ways that could've been handled - he could've told Daryl that he didn't mind helping out, or he could've teasingly scolded him about leaving laundry on the floor - but everything required a confidence he didn't have, and it's simply just his lot in life to be the quiet, helpless and annoying one everyone had to watch over.

It wasn't exactly helping that he was getting a headache already as is, and he hated complaining about something he was already accustomed to dealing with on a regular basis. But Alby approaches and paws at his pant leg, his usual sign of concern, and Jeremy lifts the white fox up in one arm as he joins the other two in the kitchen. He leans against the counter, using his free hand to rub at his forehead, only just catching the last bit of conversation between the two. Hair-petting ...?

"... Charlie's?"

[voiceinthephone]

Jeremy walked in at the best possible moment to catch Phil break out in laughter. "They'll never let that one go, will they!" he exclaimed with the same candor as both men would have with him. That crowning was drowned out with so much alcohol, that what little memories Phil had of it came in part through a subsequent viewing of the whole thing.

He turned his gaze towards Fitzgerald, his cheeks just a little red what came next, "I met Daryl during Tony Stark's crowning way back in a while, I think a year now. He thought my hair was, uh, pettable so it happened. The Capitolites took it as proof of...well, just don't look up the words pizza on an unsecured internet browser."

The pizza fornication fanfics have at least slowed down since then. Now what has replaced is best left to the imagination.

"...Just as my fainting...we're a fan writer's dream."

[weaintashes]

"Phil sort of — caught my eye and smiled at me, from across the crowd. You know, just being friendly," Daryl recalls with a small smile of his own as he ducks his head, the memory bringing a little heat back to his face. It had been disarming (and still is), being smiled at like that by someone who wasn't working some angle or trying to get something from him. Kindness for the sake of being kind.

"Thought he kinda looked like this guy my brother knew and decided I'd chat him up." A guy who had once made an extremely awkward proposition to him in exchange for cancelling the debt his brother owed, but that part's better left out of this story. Phil's nothing like him, looks aside. "Was shitfaced, mind you. Phil gave me water, told me to sit down, fussin' like a damn mother hen. And..."

The gesture he makes isn't the typical sort of uncoordinated, rough patting one might expect from a drunk. It's more along the lines of literal petting, as though he's petting an invisible cat; an innate gentleness that has always surprised the people who judge him by his looks alone.

"...That happened. Now they wanna know whose hair I like feelin' up more, Phil's or yours," he concludes, glancing up to eye Jeremy's hair with an appraising look that's meant in jest. It actually has occurred to him before, in another context — thoughts of pulling Jeremy in and holding him against his chest during one of those particularly bad episodes, and stroking his hair to calm him. Not knowing whether Jeremy would appreciate it or be insulted has prevented him from acting on those thoughts. "They seem to assume I spend my time here pettin' you guys. In one way or another," he says before covering his face with a hand, shoulders shaking a little with suppressed, embarrassed laughter.

[leiche]

"... oh."

It's probably not the most appropriate time to be thinking of it, but he is very briefly reminded of a time when he was a much younger child asking his parents how they first met. He wasn't allowed to hear that story until much later, and had promptly been shooed off to his room because that question had apparently caused trouble. But there's still that feeling lingering there when he imagines what it must've been like, Daryl's hand affectionately brushing through Phil's hair at a fancy Capitolite party, that just seems like it's the sort of story someone tells someone else about special first meetings.

Jeremy almost asks why his name would even be brought up in the first place. He knows his memory is unreliable at best, but Daryl's never been like that with him, or at least he's fairly certain he'd remember something that important. Hell, the first time they met, he was in the middle of a panic attack in the Arena and doing everything imagineable to make a bad first impression. Where Phil's concerned, the guy's so worried about setting him off that it's like he's walking on eggshells around him, friendly and encouraging but keeping his distance.

He realizes he'd spoken a moment too late, regretting that single word slipping past him and sounding disappointed, of all things. Maybe it was quiet enough they didn't hear? Maybe he could explain with a little fib that he thought the story would've been funnier if he'd answered with one of the pets instead?

Bailing out ends up being the right response.

"... u-uhm, save some for m-me, yeah?" he gestures quickly to the dinner before his hand returns to his head, rubbing his temples. The headache is starting to get worse, so Jeremy takes it as his cue to step away for now. "I-I'm going to lay down f-for a bit."

[voiceinthephone]

Phil caught sight of Jeremy's gesture and stepped away from the kitchen to put his hands along the other man's temples. He motioned Daryl to help their friend settle down. They were in this together, press be damned.

"Have you been taking your medicines?" he asked, a tell that he had been in chats with Jeremy's District 1 mentor. The man had a competitive streak the size of Texas and it was no secret that neither Phil and Daryl dislike his ways of treating his Tributes. It took a bribe and a bid for Phil to even get access to Jeremy's medical files, well worth what he had to do for his two close roommates. No, they were more than that.

Was this was love felt? Phone Guy had only had flings and short-lived disasters in his past, but this was different. This felt like gravity, all-encompassing and drawing them all in.

[weaintashes]

All traces of his prior amusement die away as he watches both of them with a worried look, sliding off the counter and likewise reaching for Jeremy, touching his shoulder. At Phil's gesture he's at a loss for knowing what he can do that won't just aggravate the situation, and wonders if it wouldn't be better to take their pets and go to his District Nine suite for the night, ensuring Jeremy'll have complete quiet here. Maybe pick up dinner after all so Phil isn't tied up doing that. As he's thinking he slides his hand back up to the nape of Jeremy's neck, then a little higher, fingers slipping through his hair and he lightly massages his scalp.

"I got you," he says when it occurs to him there is something he can do, however small it may be. "Hold up a minute."

He heads back to the bedroom area to collect some pillows and blankets, carrying them out to the main room. Tossing off the throw pillows from the couch (to their pets' confusion, and they scamper over to investigate), he arranges the bedding into a more comfortable nest of sorts. It'll be easier to keep an eye on Jeremy out here. Kneeling to quickly put the final touches on the makeshift bed, he stays there on the floor once he's finished and looks back to Phil and Jeremy.

"Come lie down," he says as he pats the pillows, and catches Foxy in mid-leap before he can appropriate the nest for himself. He boops the fox's nose with his own in 'reprimand'. "What else would help? You sure it's a good idea to be takin' meds from the doctors here? Stuff they keep tryin' to feed me just makes me sick." It's difficult, knowing he's all but useless in these kinds of situations: taking care of people outside of wilderness survival, where his skills as a hunter and tracker serve no purpose. This is more Phil's area of expertise.

[leiche]

He's never been good at dealing with confrontations, even if the other person isn't being aggressive about it. His first instinct is always to just stay quiet and try to get away as soon as the opportunity presented itself, but as much as he wanted to do just that, he found it was very difficult to when also confronted with gentle, comforting touches. Phil's quick to check him over, knowing how much pressure to apply where, but bringing up the medications he's taking-- ... supposed to be taking, that throws him off.

Jeremy's not expecting Daryl to approach him as well, and once his hand's started running through his hair, he's at a loss and frozen in place. It's too much all at once, but he can't bring himself to pull away or ask them to stop. His eyes close, tense at first, and conflicted over whether he should tell them about about his medication, or just stay quiet, or push them away and not deal with it at all. All those thoughts run quickly through his head, but when he lifts a hand to start pushing away, he hesitates. The feeling of being crowded and cornered he was expecting isn't there, and instead there's a sense of comfort and care that he finds himself almost longing for. His headache doesn't seem so bad.

So it's understandable that he feels a little disappointed when it stops, looking around and wondering where Daryl went off to and why. He meets Phil's worried gaze for a moment, but ends up staring down at his feet after, still reluctant to say anything. They both worry about him enough, he didn't need to make that worse.

The blanket nest Daryl sets up is also completely unexpected, a surprise and a kind gesture that Jeremy feels wholly undeserving of. The two of them were so concerned about him, going out of their way to look after him and make sure he was okay and felt safe with them. The thought that they'd be much happier without him being such a burden crosses his mind, and he almost voices that thought, but he keeps it to himself as he makes his way over, a hand tugging on Phil's sleeve to bring him along. He only lets go after a long moment of staring at the pile of pillows and blankets set up for him, before crouching down and crawling in, tugging a blanket over his head and curling up as small as he could make himself. There's a miserable-sounding whimper that leaves him as he closes his eyes, before he quietly admits to it.

"... I s-stopped taking 'em. Couple w-weeks ago."

[voiceinthephone]

Stopped taking them a few weeks ago was a phrase Phillip both dreaded and understood clearly. A few weeks back was probably during the last arena and as much as Phil argued that Jeremy needed the medicine, there was an element of suspicion he shared with Daryl. The Capitol needed obedient tributes and what better way to keep the most vulnerable in line by dosing them without their knowledge? It made the mentor afraid that, much like his actions here in Panem, good intentions become gutted.

"They were meant to stop the seizures and deal with the hallucinations but..." he spoke as he let Foxy have a round or two with a destroyed plush. Fat load of good the medicine did when Jeremy was faced with survival. But whatever self loathing was about come around, Phil tapered it with a caring smile towards the hunter. "Thank you for knowing the signs over at the Arena..." Daryl could help Jeremy in ways that Phil couldn't, in ways that mattered for the former Phone Guy.

Did their mutual affection, spanning three districts, undermine the purpose of the Hunger Games? Of course. Did Phil believe himself to be above his friends because he was out? Not at all. He felt human when he was around these two, as seen by the way he ran his fingertips along Jeremy's hair and the way he looked at Daryl.

"We'll just move onto therapy, you know? Can't rely on outsiders to, uh, do regular drops..." Choice words to Jeremy's mentor and escort will be unleashed tonight if Phil had his way.