Logs:…and they were roommates!

…and they were roommates!
Dramatis Personae Sam, Steve	2019-09-21 "We had hops and romps and wingdings a-plenty."
Location <PRV> Sam and Steve's Apartment - Harlem
This is a third-story walkup in an aging historic building which, while not entirely crumbling, has a certain worn and shabby look, its plumbing and fixtures often in need of repair. The apartment has two small bedrooms, but makes up for it with capacious common areas. A single long space serves as living room and dining room combined, is semi-open to the kitchen, and has a surprisingly large bathroom with an antique claw-footed tub. Tall, drafty windows let out onto the fire escape from the living room and both bedrooms, and let in excellent light from the southern exposure. At present the place is sparsely furnished: an old but clean and plush convertible sofa, a coffee table much too small for it, a couple of mismatched chairs, and a card table that looks lost in the space meant for entertaining. One of the bedrooms contains a dresser, a desk, and a bedframe partially disassembled around a floppy mattress, but the other is entirely empty. Half a dozen moving boxes are scattered around, neatly labeled with their intended destinations and contents, but they certainly do not look remotely up to the task of filling the space. "-- And, well, that's the tour." Not that the tour took exceptionally long, in the small and as-yet sparsely furnished apartment. Sam is in a grey-green denim button down, its sleeves rolled up over his elbows, fitted and cuffed dark blue jeans, a bold reddish belt. He perches himself on an arm of the sofa, one elbow resting on its back. "I know it's a bit out far afield from your usual stomping grounds, but --" The hitch of his shoulder is casual, brief. "Figured with my last plans falling apart it couldn't hurt to offer." Steve coasts to a stop in the middle of the spacious living room and turns a full circle, nodding. "It's a lovely place," he tells Sam, his smile faintly impressed, "and I really appreciate you taking the time to show it to me." He didn't change fully after work, but did shuck his black button-down in favor of a sky blue t-shirt is with a grayscale print of a fierce winged wolf crushing a thick length of chain in its snarling jaw, bracketed above and below by '107th, Howling Commandos' and 'Vérité sans Peur' in bold, jagged script. "I'm not too worried about getting around, to be honest. The subway is so much faster and more extensive than it used to be. Getting to church is probably the only thing that's going to be particularly inconvenient, but..." He turns back to Sam, his expression thoughtful and considering. "Probably we should also talk about whether we're actually suitable as housemates." "Ain't no trouble at all." Sam's smile is easy -- and almost immediately growing wider. "You gonna throw wild keggers at 3 am, we may not work out. Otherwise --" He shakes his head, spreads his hands. "I like to think I'm pretty easy. Keep my living spaces clean enough. You might get sick of the constant cooking shows I watch." For a brief moment, his brow dips into a frown. "How you feel about dogs? Been thinking it's about time in my life for one." Steve's blinking, wide-eyed innocence may or may not be affected -- or at least played up a little. "I'm not sure what a 'kegger' is, but I try not to throw too many things in the small hours unless I'm actively under attack." Though after this he does let Sam's smile pull him along. "I'm clean enough and try to be as unobtrusive as a man my size can be. Don't really watch a lot of shows, but I don't expect to be bothered by yours, either." He rubs his knuckles across his chin. "I am an insomniac, but a reasonably quiet one. The only time..." Here he hesitates, just an instant. "Well. I tend to have nightmares, when I do sleep. Sometimes -- not so quietly." He brightens again quickly, though. "Oh, I love dogs!" Sam opens his mouth wider -- runs a hand over his short nap of hair. "Ah -- I didn't mean like --" For just a moment his eyes narrow faintly on Steve, fingers scrunching at the back of his neck before he evidently comes to a decision: "Tell me y'all got your party on now and then in your day?" His smile curls wryly as Steve continues. "You and me both, man. Think a bit of insomnia is just a parting gift from Uncle Sam. I'll make sure to put on interesting TV when I'm up at three am." Steve breaks into a grin. "Oh, yeah. We had hops and romps and wingdings a-plenty, though I never was much for parties, myself. That hasn't changed much." He chuckles dryly. "I suppose it'd be nice to have folks over for supper and drinks now and then." He shrugs and crosses his arms. Then re-crosses them the other way, his brows knitting. "You ah...you know I'm famous, obviously. That doesn't intrude on my home life often, but it may from time to time. Especially if..." He chews on his lower lip, but when he continues he sounds very casual. "At some point, I plan to come out." He kind of ruins the nonchalance by clarifying, "About being queer." "Wingdings? Maaan, now I know you gotta be messin' with me." There's amusement plain enough in Sam's eyes, though. He drops his hand back to the sofa, brows lifting just slightly. "Guess it's bound to get noticed eventually, huh? Doing on on your own terms does seem a lot --" His wince is extremely brief. "Well. It does seem a lot. But better than the alternative. Can't say I envy you that, was hard enough to do when the only one who cared was my daddy. You need any support around it, though -- I'll be there." His smile returns, kind of crooked. "Not conditional on you saving my ass with this apartment." "I am not messing with you," Steve insists, holding up both hands. "Is it really that much more nonsensical than 'kegger'?" But here he sober a bit, nodding. "Not having to worry about what my family will think is about the only thing I have going for me in that area. My church, though..." He shrugs. "Who knows, I might want to find a new place to worship, after all. I really don't have a very good grasp on how modern folk are likely to receive news like this. Which...is why I have a publicist, I suppose." He scruffs at the back of his head. "I do appreciate the offer of support. Might take you up on it, though I admit asking for help is not my strong suit." He straightens up, though he wasn't visibly slouching before. "But, if you are comfortable with my caveats, I would love to to save your ass --" He extends a hand for Sam to shake, his smile returning crooked to match. "-- and save myself a lot of apartment-hunting while I'm at it." "Whaaat?" Sam's eyes widen, laughter in his tone. "It's way more nonsensical than kegger, there's a keg of alcohol right there -- what," he demands earnestly of Steve, "is a wingding? Maybe time to face up to the fact y'all just didn't know how to talk right, yet." He leans forward, claps his hand firmly into Steve's. "Welcome to the neighborhood."