inbox;

[stressors]

● "Hey, it's Shiro." ●

"Sorry you missed me. Leave me one and I'll call you right back. Thanks."

☏ call. ✉ text. ⌨ video. ☄ action.

code over at pagans

Comments

[impulsors]

did you feel a draft or something?

[stressors]

[ a laugh, not that keith can hear it. ]

Yeah, that's probably it.

Nights are getting colder.

[impulsors]

[ . . . ]

if you want a new window just say it

[stressors]

[ hard to imagine the same boy tucking his head under his chin to sleep.

ah, well. ]

I meant it. No ulterior motives. I had a dream about you, and I missed you when I woke up.

I'll try to ensure it doesn't happen again.

[impulsors]

[ but that still leaves him with lead under his tongue and an empty, mindless pull underlying every bone. the bed's too big with the way he's crowded himself against the wall, one knee drawn up. holding his place as if he's only waiting.

it isn't the fever; it can't be just that. but there're no other options. ]

can i see you?

[stressors]

[ he expected a more discouraging reaction.

a rejection, and they'd be done with it. no more broken windows; no more strange nostalgia; no more thinking about some strange boy by his side, with a small, rare smile telling him, i'm glad you're back.

better to be disappointed now than later. and yet, there's still this. ]

You're not weirded out?

[impulsors]

it IS weird. it doesn't fit.

but it feels right when you're there. like you're supposed to be

[ which conveniently skirts around any questions of missing anyone in the present tense. ]

[stressors]

[ what the fuck how is that any better than "i missed you"

. . . ]

You know, most people wouldn't think twice about someone who's been following them around for a week.

Finding out they've been rooting through your things.

[impulsors]

you're not most people

[stressors]

You're going to make me blush.

[impulsors]

you know what i meant

can i see you today or not

[stressors]

[ it isn't the smartest diversion. killjoys are neutral, and it isn't like the company's very popular with the majority vote these days.

they both probably have other things to worry about. he has the thing on the cruiser to attend, and the long drive to get there. he has assignments that he's really not looking forward to, and it isn't as though he has any time to keep his own agenda, to keep his own counsel. after all, what's the use in fixating on a dream?

. . . ]

How soon can you get here?

[impulsors]

25 minutes

[ and then - ]

wait. 15

[stressors]

Without running the lights.

[impulsors]

i'm not gonna get caught

[stressors]

I'm going to wait for you either way.

Ten minutes won't make much of a difference.

[impulsors]

[ . . . ]

does it matter to you?

[stressors]

[ . . . ]

Your safety?

Or seeing you sooner than later?

[impulsors]

i know how to drive

[ and then, darkly - ]

but i'll watch the lights

[stressors]

I know you'll be all right.

[ despite not knowing him. and that's strange, too. ]

Want to meet halfway?

[impulsors]

no. just let me come find you

[stressors]

Then I'll wait right here.

[impulsors]

[ all those warnings and promises not to cross any lights he shouldn't, and neither thinks to mention that maybe keith shouldn't actually hotwire a bike to get across town.

he tears across old town with all the care he's promised, anyway: grips the handlebars and eases the bike into its caging behind white lines as light after light burns yellow before him and the temperish clouds mass and rumble beneath the rising dawn. the rain hits when he's locking down the borrowed bike in the cracked parking lot, twenty-three minutes in -- and so it's thirty-one when a rat-ta-tat-tat breaks through the unsteady shivering lash of early water against glass and wood, at one of shiro's unbroken windows, from a figure hunched and plastered wet.

at least he still has one of those left. ]

[stressors]

[ he remembers the fact too late. because keith doesn't really have a ride of his own.

but five minutes in, and calling him up would defeat the purpose of wishing him a safe drive. there are engines going off outside, the bustle of the morning traffic coming awake with the early commute, old carts peddling their wares while little children rob their neighbors blind. he's sitting on the bed and looking at his phone -- he's standing at the corner and watching the door.

silly him. ]

-- Keith.

[ but he's sliding the window open, bracing keith with a hand between his wet shoulders. what do you have against using the door? but it ruins the severity somewhat, when he's trying not to laugh at his wet mop of hair. ]

One of these days, you're going to fall.

[impulsors]

[ cold shock.

he remembers the words, the dry night stretching behind him as he'd clambered over the sill and onto the desk. yellow light, the must of books nearly unraveled to looseleaf, sand sifted through his jacket and his wind-wild hair in crumbs -- and shiro, an elbow against the grain, his hair all dark and strange, brows struggling to knit even as his mouth twitches up, as he says -- ]

I -- forgot.

[ it's too blank, an answer to the half-electric dream of a man in the tasseled beige-and-gold of some unknown military as much as it is to the companyman at his side, warm enough to feel it. instinct more than anything settles his fingers at shiro's arm, curling tight for the relief of touching something real. ]

I forgot that your building locks the front door at night.

[ as he lifts his head -- as another hand rumples the rain out of his wet, mussed hair. he's staring, he knows, stark-eyed as a lost thing. he can't seem to stop. ]

. . . At least I got in.