Ah, right. [Corry settles in beside Iggy, arm around him, stroking his hair again and again.] And you can't express any opinions, because they might be the wrong ones, and making that particular customer upset means you won't eat or have enough for rent or bills. And you especially can't ever say "no".
I remember, Iggy. I've been there too. [Very gently, but firmly:] But here's what you need to remember: nobody tells me who I can like. I decide that.
Mmm, I'll take it as a compliment, regardless. I'm very weak to flattery.
[Corry nods slightly, part of him counting on the fever to make Iggy not really remember any of this. But another part wants him to remember. To know.]
I did. For a long time. In the 90s, so much less high tech. No streaming for me.
Mmm, should still be warm. I had Ramon make it fresh. [Who is Ramon. What.
No time to explain, because Corry’s getting to his feet, calling over a shoulder:] I'll ponder my brutally honest questions for the moment. Make a list, perhaps.
Corry is... different. He hates to think it, it smacks of romanticism, but none of Iggy's other guys would have come to his aid. He's not sure how to feel about it besides grateful.]
[There's a soft conversation, a higher, petulant voice insisting that they want to come inside and make friends, and then a short "absolutely not, go away" from Corry before the door closes. Then he returns with some fancy Michael-Kors-esque tote bag, out of which he produces a steaming to-go container of soup, copious amounts of cold medicine, water, Gatorade, the whole nine yards.]
You're the least shrill person I know, baby. [Not true at all, but it's a nice compliment. So is the soup -- hot, steamy, full of chicken and veggies and spices and very clearly not from a can. There's a spoon too and yes, Corry is going to spoon-feed Iggy. Hush, he's caretaking.]
His expression softens a bit -- goes a little sad.] Not everything is transactional, love. Sometimes I do things because I want to. Not because I expect you to pay me back.
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I remember, Iggy. I've been there too. [Very gently, but firmly:] But here's what you need to remember: nobody tells me who I can like. I decide that.
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[His eyes close and he leans into Corry's comforting presence.]
...see, this is why you're my favourite. Not that you have any reason to believe that.
[He's quiet a while, not quite dozing.]
You did what I do?
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[Corry nods slightly, part of him counting on the fever to make Iggy not really remember any of this. But another part wants him to remember. To know.]
I did. For a long time. In the 90s, so much less high tech. No streaming for me.
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Jeez. [He has to think about that - he wasn't even born yet.]
That's a lot more dangerous. And now you're hella rich paying for twinky dipshits life me to get Prada bags.
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It was, yes. And now I'm rich and old. Giving back to the community, in a way. In memory of the twinky dipshit I once was.
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[Iggy bursts into a laugh, quickly smothers it, and it turns into a coughing fit. He has to drink water once he recovers.]
Oh my god, sorry, sorry. That nearly killed me. You're going to kill me.
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Sorry, sorry, I'll turn off the genius charm for a few minutes.
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[He smiles, very nearly shy.]
You're actually really funny. No shit.
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[His phone buzzes, and he straightens a bit.] That's my assistant. I'll buzz them up, hm? Don't want the soup to get cold.
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I'm not flattering you. I'm too sick. If you ever wanted a brutally honest answer to anything, now would be the time.
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No time to explain, because Corry’s getting to his feet, calling over a shoulder:] I'll ponder my brutally honest questions for the moment. Make a list, perhaps.
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[But off he goes. Iggy sighs and settles back.
Corry is... different. He hates to think it, it smacks of romanticism, but none of Iggy's other guys would have come to his aid. He's not sure how to feel about it besides grateful.]
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Sorry. My assistant is -- shrill.
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[Iggy sits up, actually interested in the soup.]
People think I'm going to be shrill, you know. And then I'm not and it fucks them up at first, heh.
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[Iggy has no shame - he opens his mouth for soup.]
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Oh, like a little bird. Cute. It's almost the perfect temperature, too, not too cold.] Good?
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[He nods.]
Very good, thank you.
...you know. You're really very good to me. I owe you whatever you want.
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His expression softens a bit -- goes a little sad.] Not everything is transactional, love. Sometimes I do things because I want to. Not because I expect you to pay me back.
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[He catches that look and immediately feels awful.] Sorry. It's not you. It's me. I'm just... used to it.
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[Corry shakes his head, putting the lid back on the soup and moving to settle beside Iggy again.] No, babe, don't be sorry. I know, remember? I know.
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Yeah. But. Ugh.
...I have always made other people happy. I think maybe it's why I'm good at what I do. So it's weird to not like... reciprocate. Or something.
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[But he gets it. He remembers.] I like taking care of you. That's reciprocation for me. Think of it that way?
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Sorry.
Yeah? Okay. I can handle that. You're very good at it.
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