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[On his end, Constantin hears the sudden utterance of a sigh and then, seemingly, nothing at all. He wonders for a moment if his bracelet has stopped working - there's a shuffling noise as he turns it over in his hands, but no, it seems to still be connected, or whatever one calls it - so, what now?

He waits a polite ten seconds or so before he taps the side of the bracelet meaningfully, which has the auditory effect of tapping on a window, more or less. Helloooo??]

Are you there, mystery contact? Perhaps you meant to reach someone else, in which case I've no idea why you'd prefer to linger here listening to me any longer...

[Is this a Prank Call... he isn't even really sure what a prank call is.]

[Oran is ever so close to hanging up on the man, and in fact he's next to pressing the button, but...

An yet.]

Constantin.

[He adopts the same kind of aloof tone that he's heard better-practiced assholes use, if just to mask the deep-seated fear that won't let him speak more freely.]

Can we meet?

[This is stupid. He's being stupid. He should have hung up when he had the chance.]

Oh.

[Well, so much for mystery caller. Oh, Constantin says, and that single syllable drops the temperature of this little call by a few degrees all on its own. He ought to have expected something— after all, when has anyone ever wanted to threaten him only once— but he was enjoying, mm, not thinking about it.

But, alright. He's quiet a long moment before flatly offering:]

The beach, I suppose. In about ten minutes.

[The ocean may very well be a huge body of water to throw a person in, but he figures it's harder to drown a person in low tide, so. The beach. He'll be there.]

[After that initial 'oh', Oran had expected to be shut out. But no, Constantin is actually willing to talk.

Now the panic really sets in.

Oran has no idea how to deal with this kind of betrayal, so when he reaches the beach he is too busy stiffly sitting on a piece of driftwood, picking at a loose splinter to occupy his stupid, racing brain.]

[At least once on his walk to the beach Constantin considers going back to his apartment and not doing this, actually. Saving himself the headache if nothing else. But no - soon enough he's there, standing some handful of yards away, arms crossed and frowning out at the sea.

He'd look very serious and stern if his frown wasn't more petulant than anything else. It's an extended moment that he stares at the waves before, finally:]

Now, you did attempt to drown me, and believe me when I say it is as shocking to me as it must be to you that I would get to that second, but I am still attempting to figure out if you've been harboring some terrible, violent resentment against me this entire time. I daresay we should start there.

[He hears Constantin's steps before he sees him, and then when he spots the man looking to sea, Oran, too, diverts his gaze.

He feels genuinely nauseous, thinking back over their fight yet again. Yet, forcing his fears down, the tiefling says only,]

Nothing I said... like that...

[the snake hair, yes, but what was going on under the dome, more importantly]

None of it was real.

[There is a faint tint of bullshit to that, considering earlier insecurities, but Oran is having a hard time choking out a full sentence, let alone an eloquent response. Is it hot out here? Just him? Freezing sweat for anyone else??]

[Constantin's frown deepens-- despite himself, part of him wants to take Oran at his word - just that word, like that's enough. But a greater part of him is still angry, and an even greater part is confused, and so-

Well, so.]

How do you expect— [Mm, no.] It was fairly specific!

[And that's just it. Oran can't take what he dishes out, because his facade crumples and he droops like a wilting flower.]

It pulled things out of me. Little... seeds of things I was afraid of, or... or things it knew could hurt. And then it made up the rest to get a rise.

[Placing his face in his hands conveniently hides the way that his vision is blurring up and all the consequences thereof.]

Half those thoughts yelling, 'love me!' and the other half yelling, 'I hate you!' and... there was nothing I could do but watch!

[He swallows a lump in his throat and takes a deep breath, trying to salvage his meltdown, knowing it's an excuse, it's nothing. When he forces himself to look at Constantin again, his lips are pressed in a thin line and he's maintaining a blotchy but otherwise fairly poker-face expression.]

I considered you a very good friend and... and I'm sorry it ended that way.

[Constantin stiffens, all of his discomfort tightening to a single point. Get a rise, Oran says, like whatever influence had spat that vitriol at him had only been a little bothersome and not— well, what it was. He can live with being called weak and petty and violent, or whatever, he did start a stupid slapfight, but to be accused of the rest is...

Mm. Constantin glances at him, brow furrowed and uncertain; he doesn't believe these dramatics are a front, at least, Oran has never struck him as the kind of person who would lean on crocodile tears to get out of an affront of this kind, so— he sighs and looks down at the sand, kicking at it idly.

So. Okay.]

I have not had many friendships in my life, [literally just one before coming here, but details,] and I am loath to lose yours, despite... well, despite.

[He waves a hand, like, all that.]

But your fears regarding my sincerity are not a problem I can solve, I think, and so I fear I must ask of you the terrible burden of being honest with me. I don't want to be left for dead in a forest spring again anytime soon.

[Ha ha! The fun! But here, an olive branch, or at least the general shape of one: he cannot dismiss this, out of principle and Oran's own admission that his insecurities still exist much as he might insist against them otherwise, and so some measure of reexamining this thing is in order.

He frowns out at the water again, then, mildly:]

Your other half, [or whatever you two crazy tief kids are,] told me that you told him quite the opposite manner of things you shouted at me. Did you?

[Oran snorts at that; he hasn't seen Even in days, despite messages, despite best efforts that don't involve actually going back to that accursed place. He's as scared of what's happened to him as what's happened to Oran, this sadsack right here.

But, oh, he's going to give a terrible impression, and it's a surprise to hear that Even had gossiped about him at all. Oran can't help but bring his hands up to scrub his face again. This is so difficult...]

I don't know that I've ever had such a wonderful time with a person. I... like you quite a bit, Constantin. Enamoured of your company. It was... very good to be with someone who seemed to genuinely enjoy being with for no reason at all. Nothing felt transactional.

[Now, Oran isn't sure. But he knows he has a debt to pay and he is eager to pay it off. Terrified, yes, but no less eager.]

[Oh, and that is a whole bunch of words, isn't it. His expression twists, he kicks some sand again, and then he just— just sits, just straight up drops and sits in the sand, arms still crossed tight and more petulant than ever.

Because, see, it's a whole bunch of words that are good, and as potent as his ability to hold a grudge is, his hunger for any scrap of earnest affection he can get is just as strong. It's all at once very frustrating, and so he is going to sit here and sulk in the sand for who knows how much longer.

Not very, but enough.]

None of the time I've spent with you has been transactional. You should know that.

[Just... to confirm. After certain things that were said. And he's already made it clear, he thinks, just how much being accused of the opposite was, hm, upsetting, so he supposes he can lapse into silence briefly after that.

... He's got nothing; it was a lot easier to get past these personal slights when he wasn't invested in the other person, huh. Damn.]

I am... I don't know. Distraught, I suppose.

As am I!

[Oran grabs at his tail, which has been flicking around and is likely to whack him. Holding it in his lap keeps his hands from his face, and gives a good look at the utter failure of a poker face after all. His eyes are leaking and his lips are pursed, giving his already large jaw a rather prominent jut that isn't pouting, okay?]

I would have rather rolled myself into that pool than say a single hurtful thing. And... and that is another thing. I don't use spells on people, like that, unless there's nothing else and... I've never been puppeted like this, I don't know what to do. I don't want to hurt you again.

[Ohh, don't cry, he cannot handle boys crying, stop that at once. He glances at Oran only for a second, looking down hastily again and uncrossing his arms finally to stick his fingers in the sand for something to fidget with, keep himself occupied. Hmm.]

Though it is by no means comforting, you're hardly the first person who's hurt me. [Probably not the last, either, because that's just how things go--] But you are the first to want to make things right. As a result I am navigating blindly into the storm, as it were— I couldn't say what happens next.

[If there were a simple solution he'd have taken it already, whether that meant leaning into upset or olive branch or something else. Alas. He knows this: that Oran's remorse is as genuine as he'll ever know for sure, and that must mean something for how to proceed.]

What do you think?

I'm... afraid. What I did to you was unforgivable. Everything I did that day was unforgivable.

[He's looking down, picking idly at the keratinous edge of one of his tail ridges. He'd heard Constantin come to a sit, and it makes him both heartened and extremely nervous. He still has a bruise from one nicely aimed punch, and he's afraid this will dissolve again into fighting, somehow, some way.]

It would probably be safer to keep our distance, one way or another, wouldn't it?

[The words coming out of his mouth are a hard sell, even to him. He's an impulsive creature and he doesn't want to stay away from Constantin. He's only afraid of the consequences.]

Well, it isn't exactly your forgiveness that's in question here, is it?

[Not that he's given any, not definitively. Belief in Oran's remorse and the ever-mounting need to accept it as genuine are not the same thing as forgiveness, in the traditional sense. Not really. But still, what he can and cannot forgive is only for him to decide.]

I'm not afraid of you, [he says, not defensively; just a fact, that he is unafraid of being here, in Oran's presence, even after what happened. What measure of trust had existed between them has been shaken, certainly, but he can sit here on the sand and not fear being attacked again, at least.] And I don't know if you're right or not. But I would miss you.

[And therein lies the element of selfishness, the question of whether he could forgive for the sake of keeping the thing that makes him, arguably, happy. Or is that just how forgiveness is supposed to work? He honestly doesn't know; he's never tried before.]

[That's a truth they can both share. Oran drops one hand to the driftwood and fidgets more, fingers playing over pools of sand caught against one time-worn knot of wood.]

I would... I would, too. I really would.

[He looks over to Constantin again, trying desperately to temper his hope. He likes this silly man. He likes the way he talks, and the way he goes casually forward into everything he does like it's a good excuse for some fun.

He very much likes the way Constantin had treated him in bed, with breakfast, with walks on this self-same beach. Really, throwing himself into solitude is the stuff out of bardic tragedies. Is he really interested in becoming the subject of one of those?]

If something strange occurs, I'll make sure to be nowhere near you.

[A halfcocked compromise he's hoping passes an olive-ish branch back. He even says that last almost as if in question.]

[It's a solution that holds water about as well as Constantin's own "eat the aphrodisiac-doused food and then just stay home alone" solution to, well, that other thing— which he supposes is the best any of them can do in this place to truly avoid the island's crueler tricks. He runs through it again, mentally-- if he believes Oran to be sincere here, then this much should be... a good start. It's not pretending it never happened - that he knows he couldn't have agreed to.

Something still feels off, though, but he wonders if that isn't just how this place is after long enough. If the Augur's apparent lack of understanding - as surely the island does not simply do things without the Augur's push, he assumes - is only going to sow the opposite of what it wants every now and again.

Fun thought. He sighs, eventually, and then nods.]

Alright. Then should something strange indeed occur, I shall... patiently await the return of my friend. And I will trust in my friend to tell me if his old fears are creeping up on him again.

[...Yeah, it doesn't sound like a rock solid plan, but he supposes it's the best they'll get without turning back time a few weeks.

He leans forward some to peer at Oran, squinting a little. One last olive branch, then, if he can cinch it--]

Are you still crying? Come over here. [A beat.] I promise I've gotten all the fighting out of my system.

[Oran turns away, touching his own face at first in disbelief and then in embarrassment, wiping a sleeve across his face and his eyes and maybe his nose as well.]

Ah, it's nothing. It really...

[Though of course it's not, and he's not putting any effort into pretending. He looks Constantin over before he joins him on the sand. He makes a reach for the man's hand before he draws it to his chest, head bowed over it.]

I vow never to do you harm again, to the very best of my ability.

Constantin...

[He pauses, trying very hard not to let any of the glistening idiot tears in his eyes go over the edge again.]

You really are a truly excellent friend.

[Oh, hello— Constantin blinks at him, surprised by the sudden, ah- the sudden vow? Bowed over his hand like that? It's something he might have expected from Oran in jest, at any other time, and so now to have him do this so seriously in this moment, Constantin can't help the color that rises in his cheeks. Even in this less than pleasant context, this is so...

Well, dang, sir. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, briefly at a loss.]

You, ah... Well, you've certainly surprised me.

[He wiggles his hand out from Oran's grip to cup his cheek, heedless of any errant tears that might yet fall.]

I... forgive you, then, which is rather new for me, so I shall do my level best.

[The tiefling gives a little huff, a laugh or a snort or a failed attempt to stop a sob. It's hard to tell.]

I dropped you in hot water. So stupid.

Do you ever have moments where in the back of your mind you are just screaming and screaming and the rest of you gets on with whatever thing it is that you're doing... I've never felt so...

But... it's done, there are no snakes. I won't go near one again if it means I don't have anything like that experience. Nor green water, for that matter.

[Absinthe? Right out. Oran leans into Constantin's palm and then, a moment later, throws his arms around him in an awkward hug.]

You did, yes—

[But let's not have him think about it any more than he has to, that sounds like a nice plan! If he's truly to forgive this thing and believe that Oran had no ability to stop himself from obeying whatever the water put into his head, then good gracious, he cannot keep thinking about being kicked face-down into water.

He hasn't time to respond before Oran goes in for the hug, and it takes him a second or two to wrap his arms around him in turn. Yes, yes, it's alright. Probably. Credit him this, the weight of Oran in his arms is a relief, with no snakes trying to bite his face again...]

I don't— I don't know what it's like, no. I am sorry that you had to learn.

[He shuts his mouth, remembering the trouble it's already gotten him in. But... he nods, and he eventually he shifts to a more comfortable grip.

Pulling back, he seems at least to have gotten his face under control.]

I should hope that... that we're safe for a time. Thank you for this.

[He's feeling desperately awkward, but he's trying.]

I may need a few days. I'm still trying to, ah, put things back together.

[And Even hasn't even come home, yet. Things aren't all well in the tiefling household. Oran gives a tight grin.]

But, if you need me, you can always throw pebbles at my window?

[Oh, it's awkward indeed, but in a different way than it was before. There's a distinct difference between the two that's enough to make Constantin smile, just a little, strained as it may be. They should be... alright, he thinks. Eventually.]

I might. In a little while.

[After, ah, everybody has some time to digest all that's happened and make some kind of peace with it. Or something.

He hesitates a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to Oran's forehead that is, honestly, more like just a bump. It's affectionate, at least. Hmm.]

I do care about you, you know. Still.

[It will take more than one island madness fight to change that, which— well, perhaps it helps both of them for him to say it out loud.]

[That little admission makes Oran duck, and the tiefling swallows a sigh; it's embarrassing to admit that he is just a little bit smitten. Yet still, that statement leaves an impact on him.]

I'm glad. You... have been a good friend.

You almost sound surprised! [Ah, but he chuckles, despite himself--] If you'd like to know a secret, no one is more surprised than I.

[How does one even have friends, let alone intimate ones? He's been wildly hoping for the best and marveling at his luck the whole time.]

Mm— well, I'm sure you'd like... to get back to it.

[To whatever he's doing to work things out, that is, here phrased as delicately as Constantin can think of.]

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