ArchivedLogs:That's You

That's You
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib	2013-07-16 '
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments
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. Getting on a bit later in the evening, Toru has opted to make his way back to Trib's apartment tonight, and as is his usual tendency he has come with a white paper bag that generally indicates some sort of takeout. He didn't think to send any kind of text message on his way over, and so when he buzzes the apartment and Trib doesn't /answer/ he actually seems momentarily confused. Like, he almost didn't remember that sometimes people do things and he isn't there! Buzzer is sounded once more as if to /confirm/ and when no response is forthcoming, he flops onto the sidewalk next to the building's staircase, using his skateboard as a makeshift seat, and only then does he actually think to text, {what you up to?} "I'm right here," Trib rumbles, appearing from the shadows like a looming THING, his cellphone illuminating his face in eerie white. The big man is dressed in cargo shorts and a blue tank top, and in his right hand he carries a plastic bag that hangs with the weight of three or four books. His mouth curls into a smile at the sight of Toru, and he stops to take it in for a moment. "I figured you for workin' tonight," he rumbles, finally. "When I didn't hear from you." His smile slips into an almost grin. "No house parties tonight?" Toru's reaction upon hearing an unexpected verbal reply is /just/ enough to send the skateboard rolling in one direction and himself in the other; he falls on the ground, lightly at least, with one end of the board wedged slightly underneath him. "Hey!" It's actually shouted as a greeting more than an admonishment, and once he gets himself picked up and sorted out, he picks up his board, tucks it under one arm, and checks that he didn't crush the food. Safe and sound. His free hand is brought up to rub through his hair and he grins a little sheepishly. "Well, uh, I wasn't sure if I was gonna come over and-- it's Tuesday, who has parties on a Tuesday?" Sticking his tongue out briefly. "Even party people gotta work in the morning sometimes. I mean, I don't usually, but. Y'know. I picked up a shift this mornin' actually so I could come by." Trib snickers when Toru goes rolling, and he helpfully extends a foot to catch the smaller man gently. "Hey, yourself," he rumbles, and draws back his foot so that Toru can stand up. At the question, he shrugs, and reaches out to drape his left arm over Toru's shoulder. "I dunno," he answers honestly. "I ain't never really partied like that, so I couldn't tell you. I'm sure some sad motherfuckers are out there tryin' to make it happen." He grins, and steers the two of them up the stairs, fishing out his keys and opening the door. "I'm glad you came by," he says as he holds the door open. "I was gonna call you, if I didn't hear from you. Make sure you wasn't sick from all that shit we ate the other day on the boardwalk." Laughing just a bit at that, Toru shakes his head a few times. "Naw, I'm good. And I mean I'm sure there's /someone/ out there doin' the party thing but y'know. Probably a bunch of meth heads and even I'm not stupid enough to hang out with that kinda crowd." He shakes his head a few times as he steps into the building, dropping his skateboard from the crook of his arm so that it can hang from one hand, just /slightly/ trailing along the floor as he follows Trib up. "I didn't mean to be all scarce I just... sometimes I sorta forget that you ain't a mind reader. Not like in a power way, just like... I sorta figure if I know what I'm doin' you'll know without me tellin' ya. Like with the other stuff." He holds up a bare hand demonstratively. "Like the glove thing-- which would still work better if I was wearin' 'em." A frown, there. "You know what I mean!" "Good," Trib grunts when Toru writes off meth heads. "Because if you were hangin' out with those dumbasses, I'd have to kick your ass." It /almost/ sounds like a joke, only Trib doesn't look like he's kidding. He leads the way up the stairwell, ignoring the elevator in favor of taking the not-prone-to-stalling stairs. "You don't got to keep in touch with me all the time," he says as he starts up the stairs at a good pace, grinning down at Toru. "You got your shit to handle, an' I got mine. I figure if it's somethin' important, you'll tell me. An' if it ain't, it ain't worth burnin' minutes on." He wrinkles his nose, and winks. "I guess we could make a point of at least callin' to say good-night," he allows. The sight of bare hands gets a played up sad frown. "You didn't bring your gloves?" might carry a /touch/ of disappointment. But only a /touch/. Toru's reply is a thoughtful and sort of sing-song, "I didn't /wear/ my gloves. Cargo shorts got roomy pockets, yo." Being /very/ careful not to actually put much force into it and thus knock Trib down stairs, Toru gives the larger man a playful little nudge, grinning a bit slyly. "But I didn't /wear/ 'em on accounta..." There's a frown, there. "...eh, we can talk when we get upstairs, yeah?" Not that there's really anyone eavesdropping, but he'd rather be sure. "Anyway yeah, I mean like I said I make /dumb/ decisions sometimes but I ain't gonna go all self-descructive like that, jeez." Trib is solid enough that a playful nudge is like pushing against a wall, but he moves with it, his grin slipping wider. "Well, that's good to hear," he says, although his brow lowers a bit at Toru's sudden reticence. He lets it go, though, with a nod. "It would be pretty fuckin' stupid," he agrees about meth. "But you know how I feel about that shit." Luckily, a third floor walk up is only two flights of stairs, and they are soon entering Trib's apartment. Trib lets Toru enter ahead of him, pulling the door shut behind him before tossing his bag of books into the armchair and reaching for Toru. "Much better," he says, ignoring skateboards and takeout and hauling the smaller man towards him. "Come on and say hello the right way." If nothing else, apparently Toru's reticence wasn't anything /too/ serious; that pull gets a slight yelp of surprise from the teen, but he's more than willing to go along with it. The skateboard is dropped with a bit of a loud thunk, though he keeps hold to the takeout bag; but regardless of that, he opens arms to wrap them around Trib's waist, holding him in a very firm hug, head tilted up to lean in for an albeit slightly chaste kiss. "Okay, so that probably sounded kind of bad," he remarks, thoughtfully. "That thing about. Gloves. It's nothin' /bad/ I just... maybe I get to thinkin' too much when I'm on my lonesome but I was startin' to think we're movin' kinda fast." The chaste kiss gets a small frown from Trib, but he doesn't say anything. Especially when Toru slides back into a clearly familiar tune. At least, judging by the expression on his face as he releases the hug to pluck the takeout bag from Toru's fingers. Then he's moving to set it on the card table before moving into the kitchen and opening the fridge. "I don't got no whiskey around here tonight." Toru frowns a little as well, there, shaking his head a few times. "N-- No, man, that's not what I mean. Hey." He follows after Trib, shaking his head a few times. "Dammit, see, I already gone and fucked it up. Nothing /bad/ happened. I just sorta meant like... I'm just tryin' to like, make a conscious effort or whatever, to not... to not go all nuts. About you." He's blushing a little, there, head tilted off to one side, and one arm folded across his chest to rub the other elbow. "Nothin's wrong or anything I just sorta... When we get all into it it's really hard /not/ to wanna keep goin' and I don't wanna fuck things up worse by rushin' in when I ain't ready." Trib exhales as he looks into the fridge, closing his eyes in something akin to relief. He might even be leaning on the heavy, ancient door, sagging slightly. He rubs his eyes, then, grinding the heel of his palm into one eye for a moment. He has his own blush going, and he leans forward to butt his head against the freezer door. "I can't give you no more advice on this," he says finally. "I like you an' want you too much to be any kind of a...whatayacallit...unbiased party on the matter." He smiles weakly, and lifts a shoulder. "The other side of that is that I like you too much to try anything you ain't ready for." He waggles a hand helplessly in the air. "But." There's a small smile as the big man twists his head to regard the teenager. "I'll give you whatever kind of time or space you ask from me, Bones. But I can't talk about it no more. Just know I get it." His blush just darkening even more, Toru nonetheless nods a few short, curt times, biting his lower lip. "Y.. yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'm... I'm sorry." There is some weight to the word when he says it; it comes out with a bit more difficulty than previous times he's thrown out instinctive apologies. He takes in a deep breath, shakily runs a hand through his hair, and nods again. "Should I.. maybe I should just go for now. I wasn't really thinking about.. and I just.. I'm not mad or anything I just sorta get the feeling I kinda killed the atmosphere." He's edging towards the door as he says this, rubbing the back of his neck. Trib sighs, and closes the fridge. "Don't." It's an entreaty, low and rumbling. "You didn't..." he wrinkles his nose, and begins to move towards Toru. "You ain't said nothin' wrong. Just - stay." The 'don't' is enough to stop Toru's movement, though he's still shaking a little. When Trib approaches, he bites his lower lip, looking up at the man quietly and, despite assurances, feeling about three feet shorter than he is. "I... I don't like seeing you upset," he finally replies, in a small voice. He clears his throat, shaking his head once. "I mean." Slightly more loudly, now, he reaches a hand out to take hold of one of Trib's. "I kinda... when you get upset part of me gets scared you aren't gonna want me around, and... and I don't like how much that thought scares me. I'm not /supposed/ to get scared of shit, but it fuckin'... I /hate/ thinking that." His fingers grip more tightly. "And I just-- if I run away from it it goes away." Trib rubs at his face, and sighs. "I ain't upset," he says, pulling at his nose as he drops his hands. "Believe me. When I get upset, you'll know it. I'm just..." he blinks once, hard, and closes his fingers around Toru's hand. "I ain't never been this off-balance with no one, before," he says with a gentle chuff. "An' that's before you start all the 'be aggressive but don't move too fast' shit." He blushes deeply (for Trib) at the unexpected sentiment, and tugs at Toru's hand. "You ain't gotta worry that I'll tell you to fuck off if you tell me what you're thinkin'. 'Cause I won't." There's more tugging, so that Trib can wrap his arms around the smaller man. "So don't run away, either." Leaning against Trib, Toru all but melts in his embrace, calming down significantly both from the contact and the reassurance, though he's still blushing a little. "That... that mighta been kinda my dick doing the talking," he mumbles, managing a faint smile. "The aggro.. thing. I mean, I do really like it..." Still blushing. "Um, anyway, I-- I know you've said you ain't gonna like, hold back if you're mad or nothin', or tell me to fuck off or whatever, I know it ain't that, but I guess... you just sounded sorta like how people usually sound when they're sick of my shit." With a little shrug, he gives a little nod of his head towards the book-covered armchair. "Think maybe we can sit down? I been on my feet all day." Trib's arms fold around Toru to pull him against the warm solidness of his body. "You like the aggro thing, huh?" he rumbles in an amused tone. "I ain't gonna smack you around or nothin'," he says, suddenly, frowning down at the teenager. "I mean, if that's where you thought that was goin'. I'm more into just bein' aggressive." He grins a bit wickedly. "'specially with someone who's...whatayacallit... /compliant/, an' shit." He uses the loop of his arms to LIFT Toru, then, moving towards the armchair even before the request is even finished. "Look, Bones," he rumbles as he swipes the bag from the seat before he turns to plunk his butt in it, which allows him to rest his forehead on the plane of Toru's stomach. "What you see an' hear with me is what you get. If I ain't said I'm sick of your shit, you can believe I ain't." There's a yelp when he's lifted, Toru instinctively scrabbling to grip something, for just a brief moment before his brain kicks back in. Then there's a little laugh until he gets settled back in again, and when Trib brings his forehead down he wraps his arms loosely around it. "I know, I know, it's just sorta weird gettin' used to people who don't hide that shit. I mean you gotta have noticed I pretty much.. usually try to keep all that stuff bottled up." Squirming around a little, then, he releases Trib's head just as quickly as he'd held it, working himself into a slightly more comfortable position. "I guess I like tellin' you 'cause you actually.. give a shit, you know? I think that's what it is is it's been a while since either anyone's given a shit or there's been anyone I've /wanted/ to give a shit." Trib is quiet for a moment. Then he's pulling Toru into his lap, adjusting the bony teenager there and wrapping his arms around him again. "When we were in the cages," he says slowly. "Them shark kids an' that little blue superhero fuck kept talkin' about how a person needed friends to get through the tough shit." He wrinkles his nose. "I thought it was just some bullshit hippie feel-good crap. Like they was trying to get all lovey-dovey an' give peace a chance crap. An' in /there/, it nearly got 'em all killed." He takes a deep breath. "But out /here/ -- they got a point. You /need/ someone, sometimes. That you can talk to about the shit that scares the piss out of you." He smiles, and shifts the smaller man so he can rest his forehead in the curve of Toru's neck. "That's you."