Rufus's smirk instantly fades when he sees the scar, his expression becoming almost impassive. This scar is different than the one he knows all too well in the future. The scar he had spent hours touching, kissing with care. It was a reminder of how close he had come to losing Tseng.
This one- he's not sure where this one comes from. The fact that Tseng had vanished for over day makes a heavy pit settle at the bottom of his stomach with the implications. There are only so many possibilities and after what happened to Reno he can start to put the pieces together. It wasn't a surprise though, given how the Turks were. Anger surges inside of him though and it's a struggle to keep that off his face even though his eyes are cold.
He sits up, reaching up to touch the scar as he traces where it's different from the one he was familiar with but his eyes are on Tseng's.
"Explain."
He needs to know. He needs to know if there is a chance that he's wrong but he's prepared for Tseng to confirm what he already suspects.
It takes most of his resolve not to wince at Rufus's touch. The scar tissue there is newly-sealed, Curaga-fresh, and still livid with open nerves. The slightest brush of Rufus's fingers invokes a throb of pain that extends far too deeply into his gut to be comfortable. But Tseng remains solid and unaffected, at least on a visual level, his eyes as clear and focused as ever.
"I am a Turk and one of my men fell." However Rufus attempts to conceal his anger, he knows it's there, has anticipated its presence in the wake of his brief absence. It wouldn't be enough for one of him to remain; Rufus would demand them all if he'd demand any. His hand slips over Rufus's knuckles, pressing in, no matter how strange and sickening it feels.
"So you decided to exact your revenge upon Sephiroth alone." Rufus knew he wouldn't have been able to stop Tseng, he also couldn't make him promise not to do it again but it still sits heavily on him. Emotions he couldn't quite identify welled up inside him but he carefully sets them aside the best he was able to. Getting ridiculously sentimental wasn't going to accomplish anything.
He would lose Turks- he had always been prepared for that but it didn't make it any easier, especially when it came to Tseng. He suddenly yanks his hand away from Tseng's, reaching out to grab a fistful of black hair to pull Tseng down on the bed roughly and closer to him.
"Don't ever forget who I am. And don't you ever forget who you belong to. Am I understood?"
Tseng owes him softness and reassurances. He would have no Turks, no organization, perhaps not even his life were it not for Rufus. Why his wretched fool of a father did not realize what an unbreakable bond that would form between the two of them, Tseng will never know. The point is, Tseng owes it to Rufus to be kind, and he knows Rufus well enough to take this mood beyond what it is at its surface level. He ought to be patient.
Instead, his eyes darken. He surges forth—not to the proximity that Rufus decides for him, but closer and closer, with a quick motion of his hands that lays Rufus flat on his back. The hand fisted in his hair is torn away, quickly enough to leave Rufus with several strands of dark hair still clutched in the grasp that Tseng is pinning down to the mattress.
"You knew what I was when you laid claim to me," he says, and bows his head, not out of reverence, but to suckle a halo of bruises across Rufus's throat. His teeth skid over the slender hollow of his throat. "I can only ever be this."
Rufus finds himself flat on his back before he can process what's happening. He does his best to bite back soft gasps that threaten to escape his lips as Tseng's teeth and lips leave marks across his throat. He's not going to give him the satisfaction so easily tonight.
"Do you think I've forgotten? I know exactly what you are, Tseng." Tseng may have his hand pinned but that doesn't stop Rufus from grabbing Tseng's shoulders and dragging his nails into his skin as hard as he possibly could to leave red, bloody tracks.
"I'm not fucking playing pretend anymore, Tseng. I won't be handled and I won't be coddled."
Whatever pain Rufus inflicts with his nails, Tseng routes it right back to him. There's a tab of skin between his teeth, and he grinds them together as Rufus shreds him soundly, a quick pressure, an abrupt pop, and then a flood of that metallic taste of Rufus's blood in his mouth.
"You need reminding," he corrects. His free hand clutches into the meat of Rufus's ass, lifting and opening him wide with one quick jerk as he slips between his president's thighs. "Not everything is revenge plots and grandiose displays of power."
Now. His fingers trail down the elegant curve of Rufus's throat. Blood is flooding his senses. They both know that it would be so easy for him to press, and the insult here is that he pets those spaces that would end him in an instant, rubbing whorling circles into pressure points, against the soft pulse of an artery.
There is only a sharp intake of breath when Tseng pops his lip, blood pooling in the corner of his lips and coating his tongue. He lays still for a moment as Tseng's fingers trail down his throat, his eyes never leaving Tseng even when he feels Tseng carcass an artery or press down on his windpipe.
He knows exactly what Tseng is capable of but there isn't any fear in his cold eyes. He only indulges Tseng for so long before he shifts his weight, hooking a leg against Tseng's hip to roll them over without warning. Blood drips from his lip onto Tseng's chest but he doesn't make any attempt to stop it. He thought it rather suited him.
"I don't need you to teach me that," he growls, grabbing Tseng's hair once more as he leaned over him. "I've changed a lot since that night when I stood with you on the rooftop that night."
They agree on one thing tonight. The splash of crimson across his skin is a thing of beauty, much like the image of his president, hovering, bloody-lipped, conveying nothing but coldness in his glacial gaze.
"Not with me," he asserts. His fingers find the wrist of that hand in his hair. They swerve and find a nerve to press into, firm and deft and practiced, until Rufus's fingers slacken. The rest Tseng will let him have, for now. There's nothing that people who love power hate more than to watch it be chipped away—he knows that to be so very true.
"Am I so unfamiliar to you that you would question me?" He has half a mind to stress the tendons in Rufus's hand until they snap. He won't, but the thought worries at his mind, compelled by all those by now rote instincts invoked by Rufus's pin. He cannot stop himself from snarling when he speaks, though. "What the hell did you think I would do?"
Rufus can't help but be disappointed when Tseng only applies enough pressure to make him let go instead of just snapping anything. Even now he was holding back with him which just made Rufus even angrier.
He doesn't stop himself from raising his hand and just backhanding Tseng across the face with all his strength.
"It doesn't mean I have to approve of it," he snaps as he grabs at Tseng's throat to pull him up a little then. Even though he knew Tseng could make him let go whenever he wanted to, he still dug his nails in hard without holding back. Tseng was holding himself back but Rufus wasn't going to return the courtesy. "What the hell do you expect me to do when you get yourself killed?"
The outburst is sudden, as jarring as the sudden strike to his face, as the sensation of his lip breaking through his own skin. He can barely register the hurt of it when he is so busy itemizing the hurt in the things that Rufus is saying.
It isn't that it never occurred to him; he would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not understand what it is between them, even if it's been kept largely unspecific. And he isn't without guilt, though the shock staved that off until the morning after, when he realized on that cliff what a daze he had been in when he'd done all the things that precluded his temporary demise. But it has been a long time since he's hurt Rufus, who knows how long on Rufus's end of things, and the language of it has changed.
How troubling it is, to feel sorry and unrepentant all at once.
His first strike is far more gentle than it ought to be. Rufus is the only person he knows that he's never lifted a hand against; he changes that with a swift blow to his stomach, to pour the breath from him, to leave him reeling. His legs entangle with his lover's and cast him on to his back once more. They roll, and he's careful to snatch Rufus's deadened hand away from where it might be crushed beneath them. His fingers feel Rufus's skin and they forgot the force behind them, all they know of him is care.
His words are what brings it back, ringing in his ears like a siren. Tseng clasps his jaw tight, digs it into the mattress. The wrist that struck him is easily dislocated; Tseng puts weight on it, there is a soft sound, and that is that.
"You should have been proud," he says, and snaps at Rufus's bloodied lip and then devours it, his mouth opening to silence him with a kiss that is too hard to be endearing. His weight drops solidly atop him, between his thighs, immovable.
The wind is knocked out of his lungs when Tseng hits him and ht hits the bed hard. He needs this though, he needs to know that he's no longer falling apart bit by bit as he had been for the past two years. The pain he wants to feel now is pain that is on his own terms and not being at the mercy of something darker.
He can't stop himself from letting out a soft cry of pain when his wrist snaps so exquisitely and his hand goes limp, now useless. "I would have been if I had been there with you to see what you did to him."
Tseng has him pinned and with one hand, it would be all but impossible to change their positions again. All he can do is shift against Tseng, grabbing his hip hard with his one good hand to bring him flush against him with a pleased smirk even though his eyes are dark with pain. "Your life is mine and not his to take."
Rufus's cry echoes in Tseng's ears. It's very wrong, absolutely sickening. His job is to take whatever pain is intended for Rufus, even if it kills him. Rufus says as much.
But this isn't a job, is it? This is Rufus pushing him, and Tseng standing his ground. It is probably the most that has ever been truly said between them in as many years as they've known one another. He supposes it is about time.
"You'll see what I do to you," he says, and rubs his thumb across the bridge of Rufus's cheekbone. Pain transforms his gaze; he looks absolutely lovely. There is a knife clipped to his belt, spring-loaded and jolting alive at the stroke of his fingers. He replaces the soft touches he's spreading over Rufus's face with the sharp edge of it. The thin line he draws across Rufus's cheek takes its time weeping blood, but Tseng's tongue is ready to collect it, to sting into the space that he's opened.
This is the furthest he's ever been able to push Tseng and now he's in uncharted territory. Just the possibilities that this promises is enough to make him hard despite the pain radiating up from his broken wrist.
Chasing this high is addictive and intoxicating- he's not sure he'll be able to tell Tseng to stop if things go too far for him to handle. He had held himself together for so long a part of him wanted to let himself break finally. It would be a sweet release.
"Are you going to mark me as you did him?" He shudders as Tseng licked the blood from the cut.
Tseng's tongue stops abruptly. He pulls away, searching Rufus's eyes for the answer to the suddenly pressing question that he has. His own expression is nothing, a mask of nothing, with eyes gone black and void. There is hardly anything of Tseng left to speak of.
What remains behind is rote, all those years spent in service to Shinra, raised by drills, fed the same motions again and again and again. He lifts the blade to Rufus's carotid artery, holds it flat, elegantly angled so just a slip, just a shiver, will nick the tip of it clean through his pretty flesh.
"How do you know about that?" he demands. His head is never clearer than when he is in this place, but trying to recall other instances within it tends to confuse him. They bleed together, fuzz out at the edges. Is he talking about Sephiroth? Or Reno? And how does he know?
He's a breath away from death and he lays perfectly still. The pain radiating up from his wrist seems to be distant, an afterthought right now as he looks up at Tseng. He knows exactly what Tseng is capable of, he's seen the pictures that accompany reports that were filed away with the hope that Rufus wouldn't get his hands on them and see the truth of what the Turks did in the shadows. While he couldn't join them in the field, Rufus wanted to know everything he could instead of hiding from the truth no matter how unpleasant it was.
This was the first time he wasn't sure if Tseng was actually going to kill him. He had fought for life every single day for the last two years but now laying here he didn't struggle or try to put distance between his throat and the blade. Rufus had put his life in Tseng's hands years ago and it was fitting that it would be Tseng would be the only one to actually kill him when others had failed.
He's not afraid even as he meets Tseng's dark gaze. "I know you, Tseng. I know you would have left a brand that he would have to look at and be reminded of what happens when he comes after a Turk." He nearly asks if there is something else that Tseng is hiding from him- he knows there is something but he's not sure how to ask those questions.
Rufus's fearlessness is not surprising. Of everyone in this world, they both know that Tseng could never do the job, not if it was Rufus. It's so ingrained in who he is, was so difficult just to get this close to it. Protecting him is Tseng's greatest honor. The knife at his throat is more of a cue than any substantial compulsion to bleed him out, and it slips away just as quickly.
He flexes his fingers along the blade's handle, lets it worry that scar tissue that spans the width of his palm. Of course, Rufus knows him. Their coupling is sealed by exactly one such brand. He's not exactly unpredictable, is he?
"I'm the one who wears your mark here," he says, head bowed as he drags the flat edge of the blade over Rufus's chest, drawing whorls that never cut. There's so much skin here, bared all for him. Some scars, but such great open swaths that are pure and undriven. It ought to be a delight. He still feels sick just thinking about it, and that sickness only makes him angrier.
Rufus watches Tseng run the blade across his stomach, over smooth white skin that had not too long along had been blemished with black marks. Was he so different than he was two years ago? He's not going to cover up, there is nothing he can do the hide the scars that weren't going anywhere, but he watches Tseng's expression carefully.
"Tseng." He reaches up with his unbroken hand to catch strands of black hair between his fingers. It would be an affectionate gesture but there is little emotion on his face. He feels the pain from his wrist even more now but he didn't pull away as Tseng ran the blade across his chest.
The trouble is that nothing is different at all. No matter how many years stretch between them, no matter how different their timelines can ever prove to be, he is still Rufus. Defiant, brilliant, sharp-eyed, and beautiful. He'll never in any incarnation be anything different to Tseng.
The last thing he wants to do is look. It makes his head swim, seeing that thin, shallow cut he left on Rufus's cheek. He can feel the pain from Rufus's wrist radiating through him.
When he does lift his head, his hand goes to Rufus's face, aglow with spelllight. His fingers trace the cut and seal it. Rufus can see the conflict in his eyes, he is sure, so he says nothing.
Rufus had seen that conflict in Tseng's eyes before not that long ago. It had been a request made in a moment of weakness but he says nothing as Tseng's finger traces the cut on his cheek.
He doesn't look at the swelling on his wrist or care about how his fingers are starting to feel numb. His eyes never leave Tseng's as he wraps black hair around his fingers, sitting up slightly. He knew he couldn't assuage that conflict in him even if he said he forgave him.
Instead, he just leans up to press his lips against Tseng's, hand moving to the back of his neck to pull him down closer to him.
The kiss is too much. He feels it like the song that glass makes when it is on the verge of breaking, and what is threatening to break free within him, he cannot let loose. It feels too good, too right, too comforting, it feels like his breath catching in his throat, his body on the verge of shuddering.
"No," he says, pushing Rufus down. One more quit hit of that Full-Cure materia, to Rufus's wrist this time. He's not even gentle about it—expedience is more important. He needs to be far from here as soon as possible.
Maybe he never should have come at all. His anger is twisted now, and he's not sure how to combat something that makes him want to cut and hurt and drop to his knees and cry all at once. He can bring himself to do none of those things, so his only option is to leave Rufus there, trying so hard not to look at him, to consider the consequences of leaving him like this. To slip out the door as if it means nothing when all it means is everything, everything he's always been and ever wanted for himself, left behind and all alone.
Rufus is too surprised to say anything when Tseng pushed him back, letting him work on his wrist. He's not sure how to react to the way Tseng isn't looking at him as he applied the materia. It would be stiff for a few days but at least he would be able to use it.
He says nothing as Tseng suddenly leaves the room, leaving him lying there on the bed alone. It makes something in his stomach twist hard and he feels the need to get off the bed and pull on his robe as quickly as possible, wrapping it tightly around himself. They had fought before but never like this, he had never pushed Tseng so far so recklessly. He climbs into bed once the lights are off, pulling the covers over himself to at least attempt to get some sleep.
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no subject
This one- he's not sure where this one comes from. The fact that Tseng had vanished for over day makes a heavy pit settle at the bottom of his stomach with the implications. There are only so many possibilities and after what happened to Reno he can start to put the pieces together. It wasn't a surprise though, given how the Turks were. Anger surges inside of him though and it's a struggle to keep that off his face even though his eyes are cold.
He sits up, reaching up to touch the scar as he traces where it's different from the one he was familiar with but his eyes are on Tseng's.
"Explain."
He needs to know. He needs to know if there is a chance that he's wrong but he's prepared for Tseng to confirm what he already suspects.
no subject
"I am a Turk and one of my men fell." However Rufus attempts to conceal his anger, he knows it's there, has anticipated its presence in the wake of his brief absence. It wouldn't be enough for one of him to remain; Rufus would demand them all if he'd demand any. His hand slips over Rufus's knuckles, pressing in, no matter how strange and sickening it feels.
no subject
He would lose Turks- he had always been prepared for that but it didn't make it any easier, especially when it came to Tseng. He suddenly yanks his hand away from Tseng's, reaching out to grab a fistful of black hair to pull Tseng down on the bed roughly and closer to him.
"Don't ever forget who I am. And don't you ever forget who you belong to. Am I understood?"
no subject
Instead, his eyes darken. He surges forth—not to the proximity that Rufus decides for him, but closer and closer, with a quick motion of his hands that lays Rufus flat on his back. The hand fisted in his hair is torn away, quickly enough to leave Rufus with several strands of dark hair still clutched in the grasp that Tseng is pinning down to the mattress.
"You knew what I was when you laid claim to me," he says, and bows his head, not out of reverence, but to suckle a halo of bruises across Rufus's throat. His teeth skid over the slender hollow of his throat. "I can only ever be this."
no subject
"Do you think I've forgotten? I know exactly what you are, Tseng." Tseng may have his hand pinned but that doesn't stop Rufus from grabbing Tseng's shoulders and dragging his nails into his skin as hard as he possibly could to leave red, bloody tracks.
"I'm not fucking playing pretend anymore, Tseng. I won't be handled and I won't be coddled."
no subject
"You need reminding," he corrects. His free hand clutches into the meat of Rufus's ass, lifting and opening him wide with one quick jerk as he slips between his president's thighs. "Not everything is revenge plots and grandiose displays of power."
Now. His fingers trail down the elegant curve of Rufus's throat. Blood is flooding his senses. They both know that it would be so easy for him to press, and the insult here is that he pets those spaces that would end him in an instant, rubbing whorling circles into pressure points, against the soft pulse of an artery.
no subject
He knows exactly what Tseng is capable of but there isn't any fear in his cold eyes. He only indulges Tseng for so long before he shifts his weight, hooking a leg against Tseng's hip to roll them over without warning. Blood drips from his lip onto Tseng's chest but he doesn't make any attempt to stop it. He thought it rather suited him.
"I don't need you to teach me that," he growls, grabbing Tseng's hair once more as he leaned over him. "I've changed a lot since that night when I stood with you on the rooftop that night."
no subject
"Not with me," he asserts. His fingers find the wrist of that hand in his hair. They swerve and find a nerve to press into, firm and deft and practiced, until Rufus's fingers slacken. The rest Tseng will let him have, for now. There's nothing that people who love power hate more than to watch it be chipped away—he knows that to be so very true.
"Am I so unfamiliar to you that you would question me?" He has half a mind to stress the tendons in Rufus's hand until they snap. He won't, but the thought worries at his mind, compelled by all those by now rote instincts invoked by Rufus's pin. He cannot stop himself from snarling when he speaks, though. "What the hell did you think I would do?"
no subject
He doesn't stop himself from raising his hand and just backhanding Tseng across the face with all his strength.
"It doesn't mean I have to approve of it," he snaps as he grabs at Tseng's throat to pull him up a little then. Even though he knew Tseng could make him let go whenever he wanted to, he still dug his nails in hard without holding back. Tseng was holding himself back but Rufus wasn't going to return the courtesy. "What the hell do you expect me to do when you get yourself killed?"
no subject
It isn't that it never occurred to him; he would have to be blind, deaf, and dumb to not understand what it is between them, even if it's been kept largely unspecific. And he isn't without guilt, though the shock staved that off until the morning after, when he realized on that cliff what a daze he had been in when he'd done all the things that precluded his temporary demise. But it has been a long time since he's hurt Rufus, who knows how long on Rufus's end of things, and the language of it has changed.
How troubling it is, to feel sorry and unrepentant all at once.
His first strike is far more gentle than it ought to be. Rufus is the only person he knows that he's never lifted a hand against; he changes that with a swift blow to his stomach, to pour the breath from him, to leave him reeling. His legs entangle with his lover's and cast him on to his back once more. They roll, and he's careful to snatch Rufus's deadened hand away from where it might be crushed beneath them. His fingers feel Rufus's skin and they forgot the force behind them, all they know of him is care.
His words are what brings it back, ringing in his ears like a siren. Tseng clasps his jaw tight, digs it into the mattress. The wrist that struck him is easily dislocated; Tseng puts weight on it, there is a soft sound, and that is that.
"You should have been proud," he says, and snaps at Rufus's bloodied lip and then devours it, his mouth opening to silence him with a kiss that is too hard to be endearing. His weight drops solidly atop him, between his thighs, immovable.
no subject
He can't stop himself from letting out a soft cry of pain when his wrist snaps so exquisitely and his hand goes limp, now useless. "I would have been if I had been there with you to see what you did to him."
Tseng has him pinned and with one hand, it would be all but impossible to change their positions again. All he can do is shift against Tseng, grabbing his hip hard with his one good hand to bring him flush against him with a pleased smirk even though his eyes are dark with pain. "Your life is mine and not his to take."
no subject
But this isn't a job, is it? This is Rufus pushing him, and Tseng standing his ground. It is probably the most that has ever been truly said between them in as many years as they've known one another. He supposes it is about time.
"You'll see what I do to you," he says, and rubs his thumb across the bridge of Rufus's cheekbone. Pain transforms his gaze; he looks absolutely lovely. There is a knife clipped to his belt, spring-loaded and jolting alive at the stroke of his fingers. He replaces the soft touches he's spreading over Rufus's face with the sharp edge of it. The thin line he draws across Rufus's cheek takes its time weeping blood, but Tseng's tongue is ready to collect it, to sting into the space that he's opened.
no subject
Chasing this high is addictive and intoxicating- he's not sure he'll be able to tell Tseng to stop if things go too far for him to handle. He had held himself together for so long a part of him wanted to let himself break finally. It would be a sweet release.
"Are you going to mark me as you did him?" He shudders as Tseng licked the blood from the cut.
no subject
What remains behind is rote, all those years spent in service to Shinra, raised by drills, fed the same motions again and again and again. He lifts the blade to Rufus's carotid artery, holds it flat, elegantly angled so just a slip, just a shiver, will nick the tip of it clean through his pretty flesh.
"How do you know about that?" he demands. His head is never clearer than when he is in this place, but trying to recall other instances within it tends to confuse him. They bleed together, fuzz out at the edges. Is he talking about Sephiroth? Or Reno? And how does he know?
no subject
This was the first time he wasn't sure if Tseng was actually going to kill him. He had fought for life every single day for the last two years but now laying here he didn't struggle or try to put distance between his throat and the blade. Rufus had put his life in Tseng's hands years ago and it was fitting that it would be Tseng would be the only one to actually kill him when others had failed.
He's not afraid even as he meets Tseng's dark gaze. "I know you, Tseng. I know you would have left a brand that he would have to look at and be reminded of what happens when he comes after a Turk." He nearly asks if there is something else that Tseng is hiding from him- he knows there is something but he's not sure how to ask those questions.
no subject
He flexes his fingers along the blade's handle, lets it worry that scar tissue that spans the width of his palm. Of course, Rufus knows him. Their coupling is sealed by exactly one such brand. He's not exactly unpredictable, is he?
"I'm the one who wears your mark here," he says, head bowed as he drags the flat edge of the blade over Rufus's chest, drawing whorls that never cut. There's so much skin here, bared all for him. Some scars, but such great open swaths that are pure and undriven. It ought to be a delight. He still feels sick just thinking about it, and that sickness only makes him angrier.
no subject
"Tseng." He reaches up with his unbroken hand to catch strands of black hair between his fingers. It would be an affectionate gesture but there is little emotion on his face. He feels the pain from his wrist even more now but he didn't pull away as Tseng ran the blade across his chest.
"Tseng. Look at me."
no subject
The last thing he wants to do is look. It makes his head swim, seeing that thin, shallow cut he left on Rufus's cheek. He can feel the pain from Rufus's wrist radiating through him.
When he does lift his head, his hand goes to Rufus's face, aglow with spelllight. His fingers trace the cut and seal it. Rufus can see the conflict in his eyes, he is sure, so he says nothing.
no subject
He doesn't look at the swelling on his wrist or care about how his fingers are starting to feel numb. His eyes never leave Tseng's as he wraps black hair around his fingers, sitting up slightly. He knew he couldn't assuage that conflict in him even if he said he forgave him.
Instead, he just leans up to press his lips against Tseng's, hand moving to the back of his neck to pull him down closer to him.
no subject
"No," he says, pushing Rufus down. One more quit hit of that Full-Cure materia, to Rufus's wrist this time. He's not even gentle about it—expedience is more important. He needs to be far from here as soon as possible.
Maybe he never should have come at all. His anger is twisted now, and he's not sure how to combat something that makes him want to cut and hurt and drop to his knees and cry all at once. He can bring himself to do none of those things, so his only option is to leave Rufus there, trying so hard not to look at him, to consider the consequences of leaving him like this. To slip out the door as if it means nothing when all it means is everything, everything he's always been and ever wanted for himself, left behind and all alone.
no subject
He says nothing as Tseng suddenly leaves the room, leaving him lying there on the bed alone. It makes something in his stomach twist hard and he feels the need to get off the bed and pull on his robe as quickly as possible, wrapping it tightly around himself. They had fought before but never like this, he had never pushed Tseng so far so recklessly. He climbs into bed once the lights are off, pulling the covers over himself to at least attempt to get some sleep.