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]

[ 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.

[stressors]

[ keith looks at him like he's expecting answers half the time, and he's never quite sure what to tell him.

just that, he'd like to tell him something, anything to shake that blank, searching stare out of his eyes. it's all right, you'll find it, but he doesn't know what keith is even looking for. he doesn't know why he let the boy drive all those miles just to sit, drenched and dusty in his little room.

half of him is still possessed by a dream, his fingers flexing by degrees where he's holding on. i'm back, he wants to say. i'm here, as if it'd make keith stop looking at him in that same sad, lost way, as if he were a stray to pick up off the streets. ]

Dry up next to the heater. Sorry. I didn't think about checking the weather.

[ he squeezes once, thinking of how it felt, an old cabin's roof over their heads, and keith curled comfortably, head tucked under his chin.

but he's already letting go to find a spare towel. ]

Tea or coffee?

[impulsors]

Coffee.

[ don't try to wean him into your disgusting leafdrinker ways!! there's a stupid gap where reaction falters after action: he hears the words, but his fingers still curl in the empty air for a beat after shiro turns away.

but sure, the heater. while shiro goes to his domestic bit, there's a zipper's sound, the rustle of a wet puffed jacket sliding off into a puddle. ]

. . . getting here wasn't that bad. The rain hit just before I parked.

[stressors]

[ the coffee was ready anyway. he comes out of the kitchen with a cup of it, a spoon swirling inside of it as he extends it with its handle outward for keith to take. in one moment, he's dropping sugar packets and a carton of milk next to keith's seat on the hardwood. ]

Fast driver, but a slow climber?

[ in the next, he's crouching next to him with a towel, already scrubbing at his wet hair. ]

You're pretty drenched there, buddy.

[impulsors]

Mm.

[ he sounds disgruntled, but that's mostly reflex -- must be, if he's leaning into the scrubbing until it's done, and he can look up at shiro with sad rumpled-dry einstein hair. ]

The door's on the other side of the building. No one climbs that fast.

[stressors]

[ . . .

augh. how cute. keith's probably getting his ears scrubbed, too. absently. probably because shiro still has no idea what to do with that look, with the strange sentimental feeling. ]

But you're still pretty quick.

Why don't you borrow my shower?

[impulsors]

[ even more disgruntled noises!! at least he's raking his hair back after all the ridiculous fussing's done, porcupine-like with a mullet's worth of wet quills. ]

Uh. That's also water.

[stressors]

I was trying to be tactful.

You smell like a wet dog.

[impulsors]

[ ugggggh, why is this companyman so fussy, why is he listening. ]

I'll head back out in a minute. I just -

[ breaking off, to silence. there's that stare again. ]

I don't know.

[stressors]

. . . you just got here.

[impulsors]

Yeah, so that I could see you.

[ too blunt? oh well. ]

I don't know about your bad coffee.

[stressors]

[ someone needs to tell this kid to ease up on the honesty.

. . . just. not now. even if it does make him feel oddly self-conscious for some inexplicable reason. ]

I didn't burn it again, did I?

[impulsors]

I don't know about burning it . . . but I'm pretty sure I saw your coffee machine out at the Eulogy market once.

It was in Antiques.

[stressors]

[ . . . ]

Just because my hair looks like this, doesn't make me old.

[impulsors]

[ a beat -- and the faintest quirk of a grin. ]

Huh. Never would've guessed.

[stressors]

[ . . . he likes this look better, anyway. ]

Need more sugar for your coffee, junior?

[impulsors]

. . . does the sugar make it -- better?

[stressors]

. . . no. I don't think there's really saving bad coffee.

[ it's a skewed smile of concession as he takes the mug out of keith's grip. ]

I'll warm up a cup of milk for hot chocolate instead.

[impulsors]

[ but he's clambering up with shiro's motion, hand a fleeting curve through the air where it's not quite clear whether he's reaching after the cup or a wrist.

it drops in the end, anyway. ]

You don't have to take care of me.

[ and then, scrubbing at his damp hair again - ]

. . . I need a shower anyway -- right?

[stressors]

[ he looks exactly like he did in his dream -- although maybe less damp, even if the sweat had his hair clinging to his skin in small curls. but the fact of the matter is this: keith has bright eyes and an unusually pretty face beneath the dark, messy hair.






and so it takes a second too long for him to respond, or to realize he's staring -- and he clears his throat. ]

Help yourself to the amenities.

[impulsors]

[ . . .

in a rare spark of forethought - ]

Wait -- I didn't bring extra clothes.

[stressors]

You can use some of mine while I throw yours into the wash.

[ . . . ]

I should have a pair of shorts with an adjustable waistband.

[impulsors]

[ looks at shiro's dorito-chip waist.






looks down at his own. ]

I'll just take whatever you've got.

[ as he stalks off with an uncomfortable familiarity to the shoddy bathroom. ]

[stressors]

[ . . .

well, this is.

kind of unreal. not quite uncomfortable, just -- different. it's the same sort of familiar feeling from the dream, but he's definitely awake. and there's some strange boy in his shower, who definitely broke his boarded up window not too long ago.

it really makes a man reconsider the choices he made in his life.

but there's a folded up set of clothes on the bed for keith by the time he's​ done, and shiro's nowhere to be seen. ]

[impulsors]

[ at least one of them's past the point of questioning the bewildering sequence that got them to each other. he slides into the shirt (overlarge, but at least it's something worn comfortable), tugs the drawstring of shiro's obligatory stupid dad-shorts around his hips, and goes hunting.

it isn't as if the apartment's that big anyway. ]

Shiro -- ?