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

[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.

[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.