ArchivedLogs:Hold On

Hold On
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Doug, Jackson
In Absentia	6 October 2013 Some awkward chats and some announcements over laundry.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Laundry Room - East Village
This laundry room looks as many laundry rooms do. Fluorescent lights a little too-bright, linoleum floor is chipping, lint-dusty and occasionally stained sticky with spilled detergent. A broom and dustpan in one corner encourage its users to contribute to its cleanliness, which they do with intermittent conscientiousness. A bank of quarter-fed washing machines along the wall have clear windows on their doors to watch the laundry spin and turn within. On the wall opposite, a matching row of dryers near-perpetually has at least one out of commission. A rickety folding table and chairs at one side provide a place to sit and wait. There's a dispenser on the wall that will provide single-use sized packets of detergent or fabric softener, but it is hit or miss whether it is ever in stock. Sunday night is not the most happening of times, really, as people prepare to go back to work and school. Dusk has elected to spend tonight doing laundry -- his laundry-day wear doesn't really look any different from his outfits the rest of the time. Faded old jeans, Vans sneakers, no shirt. His laptop is open on the table as he transfers clothing from three washers to two dryers, loading them up with quarters to start them running before returning to his seat. His chair is pulled up backwards at the table, and he sits on it in a crouch, wings draped down towards the floor. Gedit is pulled up on his screen, brightly colour-coded lines of Perl that are turning rapidly into /more/ lines of Perl under his swift fingers. Hello, Sunday! You are also Laundry Day for Micah today! He has strapped a pair of large laundry bags onto a grocery handcart for ease of hauling downstairs to the washing machines. He is not especially dressed in 'Laundry Day' clothes, either, looking much like his typical not-at-work self in faded jeans and a white T-shirt depicting a jubilant T-rex with an adaptive reaching aid in each hand, under the heading 'UNSTOPPABLE!' He gives Dusk a little wave, not wanting to interrupt his important-looking computer things, and claims two machines to begin sorting light clothing into one and dark into the other. Bouncing cheerfully as he goes about his task, he is also singing a quiet mandatory rendition of 'My Freeze Ray' from Dr. Horrible. Because laundry. Sunday night is generally a night that Doug reserves for laundry, as well, and tonight isn't any exception to that rule. The blonde appears in the doorway dressed in a pair of snug sweat pants and a thin-looking blue shirt with the '66 Batman TV logo on the chest. He has a basket tucked against one hip, full of laundry and with a tablet balanced on top. He pauses as he spies Dusk and Micah, who have apparently had the same idea as he has. "Oh, wow. Busy tonight," he says in greeting, wrinkling his nose thoughtfully as he comes into the room and sets his basket on the floor to wait his turn. Micah's choice of music may or may not be the reason for the small smile on his face. It could easily be proximity to coding, as well. Dusk begins to hum quietly, along with Micah's singing. His fingers don't cease their rapid flight across the keys, but one wing stretches out, easily bridging the distance between him and the washers to brush in soft caress against Micah's back while he works. He pulls his wing back in again when Doug arrives, not out of any apparent bashfulness but just to stop blocking the /way/ to the washers. "Sunday," he says, finally looking up with a crooked smile. "How's your weekend been?" Micah rubs against Dusk's wing with the back of his arm as he sorts. “It's like you have extra hands. Extra...kinda go-go-Gadget hands. Look at you, still typin'.” He giggles, shaking his head in mild awe. He turns his head to regard Doug when he speaks, offering a little wave between tossing garments into the washers. “Still a couple empties over here,” he informs with a smile, tapping a machine to his right with the toe of his shoe. He makes his way through the first bag and moves on to the second. Dig, glance, toss into machine. Doug shrugs at Dusk's question, moving up to the machines that Micah's indicated and digging in his pocket for quarters as he gives the redhead a tight (but not ungrateful) smile. "Eh. It was okay, I guess," he says. "Same old, same old. Mostly homework." He is not as picky as Micah is about placing items. Some go in one machine, some goes in the other. There doesn't seem to be a whole lot of rhyme or reason to it. He looks over his shoulder at Dusk, and lifts his chin. "How was yours?" This question gets a bright flash of fangs; Dusk glances to Micah with a sharp grin, his eyes lifting to the ceiling afterwards. "Oh man. My weekend's been amazing. Pretty much just awesome start-to -- well, I guess this is the finish." He flicks a wing towards the dryers. "So I guess there's some room for improvement, but I've still got plenty of night left." Micah returns Dusk's grin with one of his own, lopsided as one corner of his lips rises higher than the other, matched by the slight uptick of the eyebrow on the same side. "Has been a pretty good weekend. Even the laundry...kinda easin' myself back into walkin' an' liftin' an' twistin' an' all those things that had been difficult before I try any of it at work t'morrow. Seems t'be goin' well. Reasons t'be happy an' grateful an' all sorts of good things." His thumb tucks into his palm, tracing idly along the band of the ring there in what is rapidly becoming an unconscious habit as he ducks down to retrieve laundry detergent from his cart for adding to his filled washing machines. The exchange of grins gets a small tick of Doug's eyebrows, but he doesn't ask about it, instead lifting his shoulder as he jams more clothes into a washer. "Well, that's good. People should have awesome weekends. Maybe I'll pencil one in." He bends to retrieve his own detergent, uncapping the bottle and measuring the bright green liquid into the cap. Micah gets a sideways glance. "You do seem to be moving around better than the other night," he notes. "I guess whatever was wrong wasn't anything serious, huh?" "I don't know if you schedule them exactly," Dusk muses, "mine just seem to kind of crop up spontaneously. Wait, grateful? What's going on?" He turns halfway around in his chair to look at Micah, wings draped off of its side." His own wing twitches at Doug's mention of not-serious. "Just a /mild/ --" He sounds amused, but then shakes his head. "What would make your weekend awesome, anyway?" Dusk's musing earns a nod of agreement, smile not fading anytime soon. “Yeah, they usually seem t'just sneak up when y'don't expect 'em.” Micah measures out detergent into the lid of the bottle, portioning it into each machine before closing lids and fussing at dials. “Not too serious in the long run, no. Took enough recoverin' all last week, though. Just grateful t'be gettin' back t'life in general. An' for all the help people gave while I was still out of it. Think I owe a good number of people dinner or somethin', at least.” His hand brushes along his right flank on its way to collect quarters from his pocket to feed the machines, tugging the dials out to start the cycles running on them once they're set. Doug's mouth tightens a bit at Dusk's question, and he shakes his head as he closes the machines. "Eh. It's too long a list. Maybe that's the problem." He doesn't elaborate, instead sliding quarters into the machines and starting them. "That's good," he says of Micah's progress. "The wheelchair had me worried, a bit." He bends to pick up his tablet, and hops up to sit on top of one of his washers. "I guess that's a good reason to be grateful. I'm glad you're okay." "Didn't you -- already have that wheelchair?" Dusk sounds a little puzzled, now, like he's no longer certain of this fact. His eyes linger on Micah's hand, watching its movement before he turns back to his computer. "That sounds -- um." His brow furrows at Doug's answer. "I don't know what that sounds, actually. I'd think having a /long/ list of Awesome Things just means more opportunity for awesome." Micah nods again at Dusk's question. "I did, but it mostly was livin' in a storage unit. I hadn't needed it for a long time. The crutches pop up more often. In the winter when it's real icy or snowy, if I get really sick an' my balance is off, whenever I don't have the leg on for whatever reason... But usually the wheelchair means a surgery or somethin' more serious. Folks ain't used t'seein' it so much." Micah grabs his knitting bag from his cart and opts for a chair at Dusk's table to wait for his machines to finish. "Oh, that reminds me, Dusk. I got a couple of those shirts sewn the way you usually do? But also I put somethin' different together that I thought might be easier for gettin' on an' off that y'could try." Doug hmms at Dusk's assessment, and tipples his head a bit. "Maybe it's explaining the list that's long," he amends, and slides his fingers over the screen of his tablet. "But things will settle down a bit, after mid-terms, and then maybe some spontaneous awesome will find me." He wrinkles his nose at revelation that the chair is not /new/, and frowns. "I guess I didn't even think about you needing a chair," he admits. "Crutches are about the only thing I've seen you use." Since he has nothing to offer on the subject of shirts, he takes advantage of that moment to being tapping at his screen softly, although the occasional lift of his eyes shows that he is actually /listening/ to what's being said. "Maybe," Dusk agrees lightly. "But if you start waiting till after mid-terms, next thing you know you'll be waiting till after finals and then till after school's out and then -- well. You can sit around and wait forever. Or make some awesome. Spontaneously." His wing stretches out again when Micah joins him at the table, curling in a soft blanket around the other man's shoulders. "It's a nice chair, though. Matches, uh, half of Jax's wardrobe. Though you're slacking it's not /nearly/ as awesome as Matt's lightcycle-chair was. -- Oh. Oh /shit/ I can sew again. Hey what are you doing for Halloween?" "Sounds like a complicated list." Micah nuzzles against Dusk's wings when they curl in against him, just letting his knitting bag rest in his lap because /priorities/. "Oh, yep. I used chairs a lot more when I was younger. Less now that I'm stronger an' prostheses are better an' I'm not growin' anymore t'muck everythin' up." He chuckles at Dusk's comment. "I never bothered much with dressin' that one up. It was only ever a temporary measure. An', yeah, 'Bastian kept tryin' t'get me t'borrow Jax's clothes while I was usin' it." His head shakes at that, though his grin is fond. "Anyhow, yep. Y'can either pick 'em up at my place or I can come drop 'em off sometime or whatever. Ohgosh, I hadn't even /thought/ about Halloween bein' in a couple of weeks. Too much stuff goin' on lately, I guess." "Eh," Doug offers, lifting a shoulder limply. "It's not that complicated, I guess. Which somehow makes it more complicated." His brow furrows deeply, and he wrinkles his nose as he lapses into silence again. He shifts his weight, glancing up at the question from Dusk, whether it's aimed at him or not. "Oh, man. /Halloween/. I haven't even considered it." He scratches his chin, and does so now, staring at the dryers. Finally, he blinks and brings his attention down to the other two. "What are /you/ doing for it?" "It sounds like an unnecessarily complicated list, enjoying life is actually pretty easy." Dusk turns a sharp-fanged smile towards his computer screen, returning to his typing. His wing rubs gently against Micah's shoulder. "Well. I guess you're both coming to our Halloween party, then. I'm thinking I might be Goliath. Gargoyles. You," he tells Micah, "should get started on your costume now if you want to have a hope of keeping up with Jax." Micah's hands busy themselves with stroking along Dusk's wings. "Y'gonna paint yourself purple? That might take a minute without one of those spray-thingies. He's kinda...clothing-minimal." He smirks at that, before turning pensive at the recommendations. "Ohgosh, Jax can just cheat on whatever, anyhow. No way I'm gonna keep up with the--" Micah cuts himself off, finishing the sentence in a gesture of wiggling fingers as if he were about to cast Magic Missile or something. "Though I guess I could ask 'im what he's plannin', to start." "Sometimes it's not," Doug allows quietly, eyes dropping back to his own screen. He seems disinterested in whatever's on it, though, seemingly hung up on this Halloween thing. "I don't even know what I'd go as," he says. "I'm terrible at picking out costumes for myself." He wrinkles his nose. "Especially for parties." Micah's finger-waggle gets a small smile, and he lifts his eyebrows. "/That/ is a handy thing," he says. "Saves tons on costume rental." Dusk shrugs, unbothered by this demurral. His other wing flicks out, brushing briefly, light, against Doug's arm and then pulling back in against his back. "Don't go, then. Wait a bit longer. Maybe after midterms fun will just sneak into your apartment and find you." He, on the other hand, seems quite interested in his own work, eyes not leaving the screen as he types. "I was actually hoping Tag could paint me purple, it'd be quicker. And neater. He /is/ kind of light on the clothing, isn't he? But my friend's going as Demona and --" A touch of colour creeps into his cheeks. "Not gonna have a bouncer, though," he adds cheerfully to Doug. "Even if you don't have a costume you can turn up. -- He can cheat /for/ you too." His wing presses softly into Micah's touch with this reminder, one tip lifting to brush against the other man's cheek. "Oh, right! Tag is a good plan for changin' people colours. Could prob'ly get your friend that pretty blue colour, too." This last Micah says with a little raise of /both/ eyebrows and a sidelong sort of grin in Dusk's direction. He chuckles at the recommendation to utilise Jax's abilities for his own costuming purposes. "Hm. It works really well when he's doin' things for himself? S'harder t'keep up on another person. An' outta luck if we end up /not/ bein' in the same place for the duration of the party; it'd just poof on me." His fingers spread out in little starburst patterns in time with the 'poof'. "I dunno. I usually end up in kinda-simple costume things lately. Did Wash from Firefly one time. Topher from Dollhouse. A lot of...dorky guys with horrible fashion sense, actually. Was Applejack last year. Should see what Jax's up to," he reiterates, his head tilting into Dusk's touch. Doug's mouth tightens at the corners, and his eyes close briefly at the brush of wing against his arm. "Actually," he says slowly, chewing on the corner of his mouth. "Going out and finding it /is/ probably a better plan." Which is all the more he has to offer on it, because they're on to costumes, now. And couple costumes, no less. So he pushes off the washer, and tucks his tablet under his arm. "I'll probably think of something," he says. "To wear. I don't know." He moves towards the door, then, his mouth tightening a bit more around the edges. "I'll be back down in a little bit. I've got a..." he waves his hand indistinctly. "Thing. To do. Upstairs." "Oh my /god/ you /totally/ look like Topher, too." Dusk's eyes widen, his smile brightening sharply. "Holy shit no wonder I always want to kiss you." It fades, though, as Doug gets up to go, both his wings folding back in against his back. "It bothers you." His eyebrows lift, for a moment, his eyes shifting back to Doug. "Have you thought about --" But he seems to reconsider this line of thought, instead just shaking his head and curling his wing back around Doug. "Going out and finding it is usually the best way to find it. Good luck." Micah just snickers at this assessment, feigning offense (poorly). “Here I thought it was somethin' t'do with /me/. Alas, I am not a morally-compromised super-genius neuroscientist.” He hangs his head, one hand brought to his chest for just a moment before Doug starts to edge his way out of the room. “Oh...um.” He frowns slightly. “Good luck with the...thing. I'll text you if your machine's done before y'get back. People can be jerks about movin' your stuff around if it's sittin' in the machine an' it's not runnin'.” Doug frowns. "It'd take a fucking map and a goddamned /miracle/ at this point," he says to Dusk, his brow lowering at the flirty interchange between the two older men. Then he inhales slowly and deeply, shaking his head at Micah's offer. "Don't bother," is probably shorter-sounding than intended, but the flicker of guilt across his face is brief. "I'll probably be down before then," is a limp sort of addition, and as the blonde moves towards the door, his tablet slips, smacking onto the linoleum with the ominous and telling sound of cracking glass. Doug reddens, and if he had Jax's illusion powers, there probably would be curlicues of steam coming from his ears. "/Perfect/." Jax's illusion powers arrive before he does, today; in a Very Good Mood, perhaps, he's preceded into the laundry room by a flurry of dragonflies with mosaicy stained-glass looking wings; one stops to perch on Dusk's top claw as Jax pokes his head (hair still brilliantly flame-hued in red-orange-yellows) in through the door. "Ohmygosh /there/ you are Dusk I went upstairs to bring you cupcakes and I was going to tell you guys -- um -- well you weren't /there/ so I couldn't -- oh /no/ Doug what happened!" His words break off in a sudden widening of his eye, and he slips into the room the rest of the way. He's dressed brightly, as ever; asymmetrical black-and-green batik skirt, chunky platform sneakers, brightly coloured mismatched knee-high socks, a pale lavender t-shirt printed with images from the Lorax (in lettering wound through the pictures it reads, 'Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.') Flame-hued eyepatch. Glittery orange-red nails. He stoops to pick up the tablet, offering it back to Doug with a worried look. "Can you replace the glass?" "No, Doug, it would take getting /over/ yourself once in a while," Dusk says with a tired wince, "and stopping getting /sulky/ when /other people are happy/. You know, people being happy isn't some kind of /slight/ against you and if you spent a little more time making friends and a little less time --" He stops with a slight sigh, at the cracking of the tablet, and grinds his knuckles against his eyes. His expression morphs immediately into a bright smile, though, first at the dragonflies and then at Jax's arrival. He lifts a hand to one of the illusion-creatures, forefinger pressing up beside it like a perch. "You can often replace it, yeah. It's not even that expensive, usually. Just -- kind of annoying. -- Look, Doug, you're a really awesome guy. /Sometimes/. But you kinda need to chill. The world isn't here to spite you. But it's also not gonna get better if you act like it is." Micah winces slightly at Doug's curt reply, and more when his edging out of the room ends in breaking-sounds. His teeth press into his bottom lip through Dusk's advising, kind of afraid to talk for fear of making things worse. He finally decides on a quiet, "Sorry, hon," as the broken tablet is collected. The colourful flutter of illusory dragonflies, followed by the colourful flutter of /Jax/ serves as a convenient distraction. "Hi, Jax! Dusk'n I are both playin' hostages t'the washin' machines. I brought /all/ the clothes down an' put 'em in the machine an' it didn't even hurt!" he reports, rather like a child presenting a parent with an art project or simple meal prepared without adult assistance. Doug reddens under Dusk's advice, and he looks like he might have a biting reply, but it gets swallowed with a dull nod. The teenager lifts a hand at Jax, the corners of his mouth lifting in a game smile. "Yeah, I can replace it," he says, squatting to pick up the now-broken tablet. He nods at Dusk's assessment of the cost, and lifts a shoulder. "I know a guy." He stands, turning over the tablet to examine the ragged crack down the center of the screen. "At least the casing didn't crack." His gaze slides to Dusk for a long, thoughtful moment, and then he's back on a track for the door. "See you guys later." Jax just winces, too, quieting also at Dusk's advice. "I'm sorry 'bout your tablet, honey-honey." The dragonfly climbs off of Dusk's wing onto his finger, wings glimmering faintly under the light. "Goodnight, hon," he carols cheerfully to Doug, and goes and drops down into a chair beside the others. "Dusk. Dusk look it /matches my hair/." He seems like this is a /vital/ point as he tips his hand upwards to show the sunstone set into the new ring on his finger. "How awesome is that? -- wait I guess I could make my hair match /any/ of my jewelry but this one was /unplanned/. Er. I didn't plan it anyway." He looks at Micah with sudden abrupt /suspicion/. It dissolves a moment later, back into a bright-bright smile. "Oh wow! Oh /man/ that's like. That's amazing it doesn't -- does it hurt if I poke you in the side?" He /doesn't/ poke Micah in the side, though one finger threatens to do so. "Later." Dusk sounds a little tired, at this, but it vanishes as the dragonfly climbs onto his finger. "Oh wow. You know, this /never/ gets boring." He carries the dragonfly over by his eyes, examining the colourful mosaic of his wings. For a moment, at least, before his attention turns to Jax's ring. His smile is quick and sharp. "Jax, man, you can match your hair to any damn thing you want. S'a sweet ring though. But you can also make /it/ match any of your hair." "G'night," Micah calls after Doug as he exits, along with a tentative little wave. Jax's excitement is endearing and slightly contagious. A smile steals across Micah's lips as he watches the other man show off his ring. A hint of pink dusts across his cheeks at Dusk's reaction, however. "Um, hon. I didn't really get a chance t'actually /tell/ 'im yet, so he's not gonna get why you're so excited about jewellery." His hand brushes over his right flank again. "It feels kinda like...a really old bruise, now? Just a little bit tender, but only if y'push at it hard or if I twist in a funny way. Think it's just the new tissues complainin' at bein' there all sudden-like. But a /million/ times better'n what it was." He reaches out to ruffle his hand over Jax's hair, since it is a topic of discussion and all. Doug tosses a wave over his shoulder as he disappears through the door, and a moment later there's the sound of a tablet being chucked into the trash can in the lobby with more breaking glass. Then, with the sound of the stairwell door, he's truly gone. "Oh!" Jackson flushes, brilliantly red to nearly match his hair. "You didn't -- I just figured -- oh I guess that would've been awkward --" His eye flicks over towards the closing door. "But I mean it's me I'm always excited 'bout shinythings /and/ it matches my hair." He cringes at the sounds outside. A few of the dragonflies take on more red in their wings, too. One of them drops down to perch on the table in front of Micah. Jax doesn't poke Micah in the side, though he does rest a hand over Micah's side. "I mean speakin' of never-gets-old he's such a miracle worker. You're back on your feet an' everything! -- How's the wing?" "Oh my fucking /god/." Dusk just sounds /exasperated/ at the sounds outside. "Sorry, did --" He shakes his head, hopping off his seat and holding up a finger before disappearing out the door, too. He returns shortly, one broken-glassed tablet in his hands. "Jesus Christ. I wish I was a spoiled enough brat to just ditch my electronics any time I'm having a pissy teenage temper tantrum." He sets the tablet down beside his computer. "Oh well. Score one tablet for us, anyway. The screen's a cheap fix. -- /Why/ does he get /so pissed off/ that other people are enjoying their lives? I mean, compared to, uh, /every other person I know/ he's got it so easy, too. Sometimes I think he likes angsting." His wings flex out behind him, irritating fading into another quick smile. "The wing is -- I need to work it out more. It feels /weird/. But it's good. It'll be strong. Soon. OK, tell me about your shinything." Micah wraps an arm around Jax's shoulders, letting his head fall against the other man's arm. "Okay, point. You /are/ always excited about shiny things. But this is kinda extra-excited." He chuckles, smiling up at Jax. "Yes, goodness, he /is/. I owe 'im at /least/ a nice dinner or somethin'. Didn't wanna bother 'im with nothin' t'day after how he crashed last night, though. Y'all know anything he likes, 'specially?" He cringes again at more slamming and breaking sounds and Dusk's exasperated return with the tablet. His cheeks colour to match the dragonflies' newly-darkened wings. "Oh...sorry. I think that might have been...kinda my fault, a little. Seems like I can't ever be in a room with 'im, but he gets all...that. I don't wanna just /avoid/ 'im, but I feel bad that I always seem t'be upsettin' 'im so much..." He chews at his lower lip, his breath sighing out through his teeth. "Oh, who knows, maybe I'm just bein' all egotistical about it an' it's not about me at all; I just only know what happens when I'm there, so it seems that way." He shakes his head as if to clear it, bonking against Jax's shoulder again with a slow return of his smile. "You go ahead an' tell it, hon." "Your fault? What, bein' smart," Jax dips his head to kiss Micah's forehead, here, "an' gorgeous," this gets a kiss touched to his cheek, "an' so impossibly sweet y'just make men fall for you left an' right everywhere you go?" A kiss to Micah's lips finishes this, Jax's arm snaking around Micah's back in return. "No, honey-honey, that ain't no ways your fault it wasn't like you two was even /in/ a relationship he don't got /no/ call to constantly guilt you about --" His head shakes, air around him darkening red for a brief moment. "Well, me." His nose wrinkles up with this. "-- Whoa hey. I mean, tablet! That's -- somethin' outta that drama, anyhow." He watches Dusk's wings flex, drawing in a soft breath at this shift of motion. "-- Also never boring. Have I told you lately you're gorgeous, too?" His teeth drag against his lips at the question of Joshua. "Oh, he's simple. He likes easy things. Pesto on pasta, mushrooms, garlic bread, he's happy as can be. -- Wait what'm I tellin' who?" "/Not/ your fault, dude," Dusk agrees with a grimace, "What are you supposed to do, dump Jax and go out with him just because he's going to be /petulant/ at you any time he sees you? That is one hundred ten percent his bullshit to deal with." He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Just frustrating, you know, when he's cool he's /cool/ and then all of a sudden bam. Entitled rich kid rears his head again. I think he'd be a lot happier if he, uh, /tried/ being happy ever." Though his grimace deepens, here. "-- Not that it's that easy, always. Maybe he needs a therapist." When he pulls his wings back in he curls one around Jax and Micah both, wrapping around the outside of Jax's shoulders to slowly tugtugtug his chair closer to Micah's. And both chairs closer to /his/. "Yeah, free tablet, I'm not complaining about /that/ at least. -- You were /telling/ me about your shiny. And why it's more special then -- wait." He turns aside from his computer screen abruptly, narrowing eyes with growing suspicion on the other two. He holds out one hand towards Micah, fingers beckoning. "Lemme see your hand, man." Jax's kisses and words of praise prompt little increases in /blush/ in response, as if he were hitting buttons designated for this purpose. A shy sort of smile grows with each one as well, however, his lips curling happily against the other man's to return that last one. "No, Dusk-honey, that's silly. I know. I weren't /never/ goin' t' be in any kind of romantic relationship with 'im. He's a /kid/ still. Not ready t'handle all the...complicated I'd be throwin' at 'im. An' I told 'im that, but... Not until he'd already gotten a little explodey over me kissin' Jax." He heaves another heavy sigh. "I just...really should've made it clear the second I started /suspectin'/ the crush he was tendin'. As the 'Responsible Adult' in the scenario. I just...thought it would've been a really presumptuous conversation t'have before I was /sure/ that's what was goin' on." He scruffs his hand through his hair with mild frustration, mussing it thoroughly. But there is a Jax-arm around his shoulders, and Dusk wings following in short order, along with incoming /Dusk/. With demands! Micah's smile grows, wide and genuine, as he presents the hand and its little silver and blue ring with a little playful "Yessir," at the order. "Ain't always so easy as jus' try bein' happy." Jax nestles back into the snug embrace of Dusk's arm, obligingly scooting his chair in closer to the others. "But that jus' means it ain't always a thing the rest of us can /help/ neither. -- Ohgosh, you're collectin' /all/ the teenager-crushes." His head bops down, bonking lightly against the top of Micah's. He straightens again with a sudden brightening -- both in smile and in the immediate /glow/ that blossoms around him. "Oh! Oh-oh-oh oh /gosh/ right yes -- I made that one," he says proudly, when Micah presents his ring. "An' you guys helped so much. I, um," he admits to Micah, "might have brung in some /consultants/ when I was programmin' the Danger Room for that." "I don't know if you can blame the teenage, I mean, Shane and B are heads and shoulders more mature and they're /square/ in teenager-dom. /I/ was a teenager the first time we hooked up. I'd sleep with Shane -- uh, again, I guess -- without any guilt, with Doug I'd feel kinda -- /eh/." Dusk's grin stretches brighter and sharper. "And I totally get explodey over you kissing Jax. It's incredibly hot. Uh -- different kind of explodey, I guess." He takes Micah's hand in his, finger brushing along the glass and then the silver. "Oh, man. Wow. You guys really -- holy shit. Holy /shit/." His hand squeezes Micah's tighter, and the sharp grin softens. His other hand clasps against Micah's, too, /signing/ 'Congratulations' before he voices it: "-- You guys, that's. Congratulations, this is. You both deserve /all/ the fucking happy." "I'm collectin' 'em? Are there more teenagers pinin' that I need t'know about? Ohgosh." Micah's head thuds into Jax's shoulder again at the prospect. "An' /you/ were about a week from turnin' twenty when we hooked up, Dusk. An'...I had no reason t'think y'wouldn't be able to handle that fine. Or that I was in a relationship with Jax, or any of it. I knew it wasn't gonna cause drama an' jealousy an' you were /fine/ with what was bein' offered." He takes a deep breath again. "It was a totally different scenario." He blushes deeper at Dusk's /explodey/ comments. "Yeah," he says of the rings, ridiculous, broad smile returnin'. "An' I didn't know y'had /made/ it, Jax!" His thumb tucks into his palm and rubs over the band again. "I didn't think it was possible, but I think it just got even prettier... I picked the raw stone out for yours first, an' helped design the settin', but I'm no jewellery-maker, for sure. Needed a spot of help on that part." He squeezes back against Dusk's hand. "Thanks, hon." "I spent kinda a while with a friend at school, she's incredible with workin' her own jewelry. I done the flameworkin' for the glass all myself and then kinda had to spend a while learnin' -- how to work the silver for the rest of it." Jackson blushes as he explains this, resting his cheek atop Micah's head. "The first, uh, lots of tries were sorta a hot /mess/ but I got it down right in the end." His smile warms at Dusk's response, though his blush deepens, too. "Thanks, honey-honey, An' that ain't -- the kind of explodey that -- um." He scrunches up his eye. "An' no, not /pining/, Shane don't exactly -- pine. But he does crush a lot." "Gotta admit, Jax, you're up high on the list of the /last/ people I'd expect to be getting married, though. But --" His eyes lower to the table, fingers gripping its edge now. "But it's great. With all the shit you guys deal with. With how much fucking time you both spend running yourselves ragged with -- I'm just. Really --" His smile curls a little bit wider, though there's a faint hitch in his voice. "Really glad. Gets really easy sometimes to forget, you know? Sometimes. I tell Doug to go find the happy but that can be hard when the world's piling nothing on you but pain. You should, though. Find all of it. Hold it tight." “Oh, Shane.” Micah looks immensely relieved at that. “He knows very well what's goin' on there. He's /sixteen/. An' my /kid/, besides. I think he more keeps tryin' at it t'make me blush than anythin' else.” He does blush even redder at this, however. “It is, a lot of happy...like, a crazy impossible amount of happy.” He squeezes one arm tighter around Jax, the other wrapping around Dusk to do the same. “An' I'm plannin' t'hold on pretty tight. Not t'worry.” "S'a ridiculous amount'a happy. I gotta try /not/ to think about how much happy when I'm out in public or I just start /glowin'/ and don't even notice." Jax closes his eye, tucking his head in against Micah's shoulder. The snugger curl of Dusk's wing warms his smile, his hand lifting to stroke down against one long finger-bone. "An' I ain't lettin' go no time soon."