ArchivedLogs:Patient

Patient
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib	2013-07-10 There's got to be a morning after....
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
There is no furniture in this apartment. That's the main thing that's noticeable. Well, almost no furniture. There is a battered lawn chair and an equally battered card table with a small, ancient radio sitting on it; the latter is often littered with newspapers and playing cards. And shoved up under the sole window is a battered arm chair, upholstered in a cowboy print fabric. There is no art, although on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of pictures and articles -- most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines that have made the cut. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where the only comfortable spot seems to be a rumpled army-surplus sleeping bag with a pillow made of a stuffed t-shirt. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's probably equally uncluttered in there. Trib has always been an early riser, even before fight club. Early morning is a good time for running, with the streets mostly empty and the park nearly deserted. And that is where he's been. Leaving Toru sleeping soundly, the big man has gotten in his morning run and apparently stopped off for something that smells breakfasty in brown paper bags. There might be coffee in there. He's not quiet when he re-enters the apartment, although he is breathing heavy. His t-shirt is soaked with sweat around the neck and under the arms, and there's a fine sheen that clings to the hair on his legs. Enough to make the man shiver when the (not much) cooler air of the apartment hits his skin. He's got a couple of newspapers in addition to the bags of breakfast, and he puts all of it on the card table, clearing away the remnants of the meal the night before. Once he's satisfied that things are back in order, he disappears into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he starts the shower and begins to strip. Toru spent most of the night, indeed, sleeping the sleep of the dead. There'd be the occasional quiet mumble, an infrequent shift around to adjust physical comfort, but otherwise he's a very heavy sleeper. And not one for early rising, even when his 'bed'mate gets up, leaves, and wakes up in the time it takes him to... well, keep sleeping. Shortly before Trib's return, Toru gradually starts to stir awake, though he's still comfortable enough just laying there lazily... and, to a small extent, not /completely/ sure where he is. When he hears Trib getting back, things gradually start to settle into place, and at that point he figures he should /probably/ actually get up. Pushing himself first up onto all fours and only slowly making his way to an upright stance, a hand almost instantly goes to hold his head, with a groan, and he stumbles out to the living room, following the smell of food. A glance over shows him that the bathroom door is open and thus, making an incorrect assumption, he wanders over that way - eyes half-closed, gait half-staggered, head lowered a bit, overall a proto-version of how he was at the park - and mumbles, "Hey, you almost done in ther-- Jesus!" Sight of Trib /undressing/ sends Toru stumbling backwards, holding a hand up, palm out, sort of defensively. "I'll wait 'til you're done!" The noise of Toru awakening is lost in the noise of the shower, so when the shorter man appears in the doorway, Trib is...well, damned near naked. He doesn't seem startled by the sudden backpedalling, instead rolling his eyes as he shucks down that last line of defense and kicks his foot free. "Why?" he rumbles at the offer, eyes crinkling. "I ain't got nothin' you ain't got. It's just bigger, is all." He jerks his thumb as he steps into the tub and pulls the curtain shut. "If you got to piss, go," he calls over the water. "Just don't flush while I'm in here." "The fuck, man!" Toru all but snarls - not quite awake enough for the /snarling/ - and /just/ about rises to the bait, but ultimately backs down. Not that Trib sees the process involved. And while he does consider the suggestion, ultimately he wanders back towards food, dropping into the lawn chair and dropping a hand to find his water bottle. Still half-full, if a bit on the room-temperature side. One of the breakfasty bags is pulled over so that he can paw through that for a bit, eventually extracting something sandwichy and gnawing on that for a bit. There are indeed sandwichy things in the bags, as well as thick-cut fries and two cups of coffee, both still warm to the touch. And a trial-size package of Tylenol. It's like Trib knows what a hangover requires, even if he doesn't drink. There's nothing to indicate where Trib got all of this from, but it's reasonable to assume it was someplace close. Bonus? The food is pretty damned good. Trib doesn't take forever to shower, being done in about ten minutes. There's the sound of the curtain pulling back, and the rattle of the towel rack. A minute or two later, and Trib emerges, hair hanging damp around his face and a towel with Garfield on it wrapped around his waist. He moves towards the table, stopping behind Toru and rubbing his half-hand through his hair gently. "How you feelin'?" Tilting his head back, Toru looks up at Trib for a moment through bleary eyes - though they're getting a bit more clear - and holds up a hand. "Hold that thought." And now that the bathroom is /free/ he gets up, quick-staggers thattaway, and closes the door behind himself. A minute later, bladder emptied, toilet flushed and hands washed, he runs his fingers through his hair a bit to restore it to 'fashionably unkempt' status, and sits down a bit more comfortably now. "Well, I ain't missin' anything I should have," is his delayed reply. And now he digs into that tylenol packet, washing the pills down with bottled water, and following /that/ with some coffee. "But I got a bad fucking headache. And." A frown. "Did I say anything weird?" "What, you think I was gonna bite it off in your sleep?" Trib sounds mildly offended by that idea, and he leans forward to dig through the bag and get his own sandwich. "I ain't surprised you got a headache," he says, looking back at the kitchen and the to-be-washed glasses. "You was puttin' it away pretty good last night." The question gets a long, thoughtful look, and then his shoulders lift. "Depends on what you mean by weird," he says. "You were pretty fucked up over something." His brow lowers. "An' me, apparently." It's said slow and carefully, and the big man bites into his sandwich, watching Toru's expression intently. Toru closes his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, and just nods a few times. The motion eventually results in him leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees, and hands coming up to hold his face. It's a difficult reaction to gauge! And pobable that he's not really sure where he's standing on the matter either. The silence that follows isn't quite as heavy as last night's were, but it still takes a minute for him to formulate words that don't involve territory-marking. "I'm just going through some shit right now, you know?" Hands are brought up over his face and through his hair, with another sigh. "I don't think I know what I'm doing." Trib watches all of this, and listens without comment, polishing off his sandwich and licking at his fingers before he reaches into the bag and claims some fries. "Wanna know what I think?" he asks, biting into a fry. Then he moves to drop in the armchair, eyes still on Toru. "It's okay if you don't." Toru reaches up for his sandwich, biting into that thoughtfully, and eventually nods a few times. His own gaze is pretty firmly locked on the floor and he sounds a bit... tired, as he replies, "Sure. Yeah, what you got?" Trib wrinkles his nose, and stares into the air for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I think," he says finally, inhaling deeply through his nose. "That you been through a lot of shit in a short period of time. Getting popped by the cops, fighting in the cages, whatever you did yesterday..." his mouth quirks. "Me. That's a lot of heavy shit, yeah?" He shifts, and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "You sound scared, more'n anything," he says frankly. "You got a lot of shit to deal with, an' no one to talk to about it. So, it just stays scary." He lifts his eyebrows. "How am I doin', so far?" Bristling a bit, Toru's instinctive reaction is to lift his gaze up and start to snap, "I ain't--" --But what he /is/ is tired, and, shaking his head a little, he runs the heel of his palm over one eye, pressing on it just a bit before lowering his hand again. "--sure, yeah." There is a /hint/ of frustration to his tone, but he's committing to the response. Probably it's a good thing this conversation is happening while he's too tired and sore to do much back-fighting. "You got any more enlightenment?" Trib's eyes crinkle at the half-hearted attempt at bristling, and he pushes to his feet. "Just this," he says, moving to claim the other cup of coffee. He makes a show of sipping it before he continues. "I don't think it was pure coincidence that put us in Baohaus last week." He smiles, and moves to drop a hand on the smaller man's head in a weird almost-benediction. "We both probably could use somethin' steady in our lives. You, to keep from gettin' too scared to deal, an' me to keep from gettin' too dark an' lost in myself." His hand rubs through that carefully-constructed mess, gentle pressure easing Toru's head back so that he can look him in the eyes. "But I meant what I said last night. I ain't interested in bein' somethin' that scares you, an' I definitely ain't interested in makin' you uncomfortable. No matter what this is between you an' me, you can always talk to me about shit." When Trib tilts his head back - a movement Toru does nothing to discourage - the younger man nonetheless responds with a faintly amused little half-grin, a slight raising of an eyebrow. "You're goin' for the 'it was fate that brought us together' talk?" He lifts a hand to place on top of Trib's, gripping it just a bit gently, and does protest a little, nonetheless. "It ain't that I'm /scared/ it's... I dunno I guess /overwhelmed/. I don't get /scared/." Yeah, that's /so/ not a lie. He even breaks eye contact as he says it, so committed is he to the notion. "'s just... I ain't fuckin' good at talkin' about like... /emotions/ and shit, it feels all like. Stupid." He lowers his head again, gaze returning to the floor, eyes closing. "I saw a shrink for a while, that didn't get very far either." "You gonna say it wasn't?" Trib shoots back, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. "We ain't exactly the kind of people who cross paths." His skin jumps at the contact of Toru's hand, but his expression remains static. Which is to say, he doesn't look terribly impressed with the response. "Everybody gets scared," he says. "I was scared every time I walked into that cage, an' a hundred other times, so can that." His hand rubs with a bit more pressure, and he pops his eyebrows briefly. "I get bein' overwhelmed. But that's just a different kind of scary that don't feel scary." When Toru's head drops again, he follows, squatting next to the chair (mercifully, his towel is long). "You feel stupid when you talk to me?" Toru shakes his head. "Not /you/, just.. fuckin' in general." Looking over to Trib, he sort of leans on the side of his chair nearer the other man, though his eyes are still closed for the moment. Helps, with the headache. "I don't believe in invisible stuff," he finally adds, explaining his remark about fate. "And I don't, like... it's like I kinda want to say shit but I don't know what you're gonna think about me if I do. I mean, I know you keep sayin' I can talk, but people say that all the time then get all regretful when y'actually tell them shit, sometimes, y'know?" "Bones." Trib's voice is firm, but gentle. A distant rumble of thunder. The smallest of shifts, and that personal space is destroyed once more. "It'd take somethin' pretty fuckin' bad for me to give up on you that quick." There's the smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth, and he rolls his shoulder. "But we're gonna have a lot of quiet fuckin' nights if you start holdin' out on me on account you're scared of pissin' me off or some shit." Taking in a deep breath, Toru slowly lets the air out, just nodding silently for a few minutes. "Yeah, I guess.. I guess that's a thing." There's some resignation in his tone, a hand coming up to slide through his hair, and when he finally does open his eyes to look over at Trib-- he gets an eyeful of Garfield towel, and clamps a fist over his mouth to stifle a bark of laughter. "--Dude, you gotta put some shorts on." While he effectively kills his own somber mood, there, the whole thing at least acts as a tension reliever, and he's suddenly able to breathe a bit more easily. Whether Trib goes to act on the suggestion or not, he'll keep talking, regardless. "It's just like... I already have two stamps on the 'sucky life' Bingo card, with not bein' white and with /bein'/ a mutant. I ain't really... I ain't really sure if I wanna add another one." Trib does not comply with the request. At least, not immediately. His mouth quirks into an actual smile at the relief of tension in Toru's frame, and there's a lift of his eyebrows. "What, you don't like lookin' at my pussy?" he quips, and flaps the edge of the towel playfully. /Then/ he's standing, and moving into the bedroom, and if Toru turns to look, he'll definitely get an eyeful, with the door left open. He's still listening though, because he has a response for the smaller man. "Bein' gay ain't exactly /sucky/," he points out. "It's no walk in the fuckin' park, sometimes, but it ain't a curse or nothin'." He slides on a pair of clean running shorts, skipping underpants apparently. "An' anyways, I think 'mutant' trumps any motherfucker who'd make a problem with anything else." No need for a shirt, he comes back out and tips Toru's head back again, smiling tightly down at him. "At least, /our/ brand of mutant." "Right, so sucky ain't the right word," Toru calls back, and he's sharp enough not to turn to watch the doorway; he's not exactly at that level of comfort yet. "But you can't argue that straight, white flats have it better off. Pretty much the only worse thing would be if I was a broad, man." Astute Tribs will probably notice a roundabout confession, there, but Toru doesn't harp on it at the moment. He /does/, however, lean just slightly against Trib's leg, one arm folding up to pinch the fabric of those bike shorts between two knuckles. "Maybe it.. probably is a little kinda.. sorta.. bein' scared. A little. I ain't a /pussy/," the last bit is snapped, defensively, since he does have that tendency to need to bark. "I just ain't good at dealin' with new things." "No," Trib says with a bob of his head. "That ain't anything I could argue. The white fat-cat humans got it made in the fuckin' shade." He chuckles at the roundabout confession, and wrinkles his nose. "Ain't Asian lesbians kind of a hot commodity?" The weight of Toru's lean brings a meaty hand into that messy hair to stroke through it lightly. Any other reactions the pinching of bike shorts elicit is staunchly ignored or hidden in his sudden, looming lean over the smaller man. "It's okay if you're scared," he rumbles without any trace of triteness or irony. His golden gaze searches Toru's face for a long moment. "I ain't in a hurry." "Y'know, I think that's the friggin' /problem/," Toru replies after an equally long moment. It's said calmly as he looks up, his features fairly unreadable but, despite the words, he doesn't actually sound /upset/. More contemplative. "You're too goddamn like.. /accomodating/. I don't /get/ it." He moves his hands to the arms of his chair and starts to push himself up.. but ultimately thinks better of it, settling into it instead. "Since I mean... y'had all the wrong ideas about me, before, so I figured y'just... I dunno, were into something y'thought I was but I'm /not/. Since you're stickin' around anyway I don't.. /get/ it." Trib exhales slowly, and closes his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "So, your problem with all of this is that I don't treat you like the asshole you are?" He sounds actually amused by this, although his mouth is a flat line. "I don't get it, either," he admits. "You ain't exactly like the other guys I've been with, an' you're a definite /mess/, but." He lifts a hand in the air, groping for the next words. "There it is. An' since shit like that ain't exactly /common/ for a guy like me, I figure I can put up with a little bullshit to figure it out." Then he's leaning back in, blinking slowly. "But if you want me to treat you like an asshole, I can. You won't like it, though." Toru actually grins a little widely at that notion. "Dude, I would /love/ to see you try to hurt my feelings." He lifts a hand up to take hold of one of Trib's, gripping it gently for a moment, but ultimately shakes his head. "That ain't... I guess that ain't really what I meant, though. Just that like... I'unno, you just seem willing to put up with more shit than I figured you would be." There's a little shrug, there, and this time he does push himself up to his feet. His water bottle is lifted so that he can chug down the rest of it in one long gulp, and he sets it back down, a bit heavily, before stretching his arms out in front of himself. "I guess it's been long enough since someone's been all nice at me without me startin' it that I dunno how to deal with it." Trib snorts. "I'm a patient guy," he says, squeezing his fingers around Toru's hand. "People think 'cause I'm big an' scary that I'm also some impatient kind of fucker." He rolls a shoulder, and steps back to allow the younger man to stand up. "But I ain't. Aggressive, maybe. When I need to be." When Toru stretches, Trib suddenly shoots an arm out to loop around Toru's waist, and haul him closer. "Bones," he rumbles, his smile both wide and suggestive. "I ain't even /started/ bein' /nice/ to you." Toru stumbles just a bit with that sudden pull in, but as is his usual, lately, he doesn't object to the contact. He does look a touch /uncertain/, but for now he isn't arguing. "Let's get one thing straight," he notes, briefly looking at Trib's chest, though his gaze heads upwards as one finger pokes the larger man in the chest, for emphasis. "I ain't /scared/ of you, least of all on accounta your bein' /big/. Anything I figure about you it's on accounta your /job/ bein' to beat people /up/. Notwithstandin' fight club, I seen scarier dudes than you. So like." He nods just a little bit, resting his head on Trib's shoulder, and grunts, thoughtfully. "You might make more progress if you're a little more aggressive."