ArchivedLogs:Communication Breakdown

Communication Breakdown
Real Talk goes about as well as could be expected.
Dramatis Personae Doug, Micah
In Absentia	12 March 2013 And Old Man Micah doesn't even have to break out a rocking chair or cane...
Location <NYC> 503 {Doug} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is, for the most part, laid out like most of the others in the building. A small entryway opens up into a living area occupied by a worn-looking leather sofa covered in a multi-colored afghan. In front of that, a low cost-effective coffee table is generally littered with tech and gaming magazines, post-it flags stuck to various pages. The kitchen is separated from the living area by a bar-island with two high stools. Down a small hallway, two doors stand face to face, vigilant in keeping the bedrooms beyond secure, while a third, facing the living room, leads to the bathroom. Throughout the apartment, various gaming posters have been framed and hung carefully, most of them classic arcade titles. It's quiet in Doug's apartment, tonight. There's no more temporary roomies, and in the aftermath, the place seems kind of dull. Even the cats are sound asleep in a calico-and-black Yin/Yang configuration. That they're doing this on a pile of clean towels is only mildly annoying to Doug as he sits next to said pile, carefully folding clothes and putting them in the appropriate piles. He himself is dressed in snug-fitting sweatpants and a grungy t-shirt that might be grey, or just /really/ grungy. I mean, it's /quiet/, man. But then there is knocking happening at Doug’s door, three sharp raps. Micah is standing outside, leaning one elbow against the doorframe. He is wearing a green and blue flannel button down over a plain white T-shirt and his typical faded, patched jeans. Little attention seems to have been paid to his tousled auburn hair, as usual. He has his olive green puffy coat draped over his other arm…this thing is starting to get a little Linus blanket-y with the ongoing cold. Spring needs to do its thing already. Doug frowns at the knocking, looking at the cats, who've deigned to raise their heads to glare accusingly at him. "Don't look at me," he says to Alt and Delete, tossing the underpants he was folding back in the basket and heading for the door. He pauses to peek through the peephole, scrunching his nose as he spies who's on his doorstep. Then he's undoing the locks, and swinging the door open with a grin that seems a little fixed. "Hey, Micah," he says. "What brings you by?" He hangs off the door, blocking entrance in a lazy sort of posture. "We didn't have plans, did we?" Micah backs off of the doorframe as the door opens, to avoid crowding it. He shifts his weight from his heels to back to the balls of his feet. “Hi,” he replies simply, with a more sincere smile. “No, we didn’t have plans. What we do have is a communication breakdown that needs tending.” Doug hangs there for a moment, studying the older man speculatively before he nods. "I agree," he says, swinging the door open. "Come on in." He steps away from the door, padding back into the apartment. "Can I get you something to drink? I've got grape-apple juice, or bottled water..." he waves a hand towards the kitchen. "Or did you want to launch into your whole 'I just thought we could be friends' speech first?" There's no detectable rancor in his tone; he sounds genuinely curious. Micah steps in, closes the door behind him, and just sort of…stands. He sighs, free hand raking through his already-mussed hair. “I don’t really go in for speeches. Too much planning…never goes like you expect. I actually thought maybe I’d just let you talk first. You seemed upset, which usually means there were expectations not bein’ met up by reality somewhere. I got theories, but s’best to have everybody workin’ on the same premises before you start a discussion.” Doug pauses, frowning in Micah's direction briefly before he continues into the kitchen. "I fooled myself," he says as he opens the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water and setting them on the counter. "I kind of got my hopes up about..." he purses his lips, pressing them together into a line, briefly. "You." He flaps a hand. "But, thinking about it, you didn't really do anything that could be construed as leading me on or anything. It was all me being silly." It doesn't /quite/ ring confident, but Doug barrels on. "I mean, I get it. I'm just a kid, and you're at this whole other stage of your life. But we get along so well, and you're so cute, and I just thought..." he lifts a shoulder, his expression only slightly troubled. "Y'know?" He grabs one of the bottles, pitching the other one to Micah in a slow underhand. "But I get it." Micah nods silently for awhile, letting Doug speak his piece without interruption. He manages to get both hands free enough to catch the bottled water projectile, taking a second to collect himself afterward. “No, I’ll admit to lettin’ a few things slide by that gave me pause. I really should have said somethin’ earlier, but it seemed…presumptuous?...without knowin’ more certain.” A touch of a grin finds its way to his lips, but it seems somehow apologetic. “Also? I’m kind of an incorrigible flirt. And that was scalin’ it /back/ a bit because, yeah, there’s an age thing there.” "Yeah, I figured." There's a dead tone to Doug's response that comes with a slump of his shoulders, as if he'd been holding out one tiny little shred of hope. He moves into the living room, dropping on the couch and opening the bottle of water and taking a long swallow. "I'm just..." he scrunches his nose, running a hand through his hair. "Disappointed." This is honest-sounding, although his tone doesn't really liven up. "I'll get over it, I'm sure." Micah ambles over and takes a seat beside Doug because standing /over/ someone and talking should be reserved for public speaking engagements. “Seriously, though? There’s a reason I said you were trouble when I first met you. I’ve just got a rule…against the teenager thing…on account of I don’t really come with trainin’ wheels anymore. Not fair to foist the complicated on people who’re still…learnin’, kinda.” He quirks his mouth to one side. “I’m sorry to have contributed to upset and disappointment. Not the best feelin’s to be offerin’ somebody.” Doug snorts a laugh. "I /wish/ I was trouble," he says with a lopsided grin. "I'm as boring as white bread toast, really." He nods with the rest of it, though, and lifts a shoulder. "Hey, I get it. You need someone a bit further down the road. Not a guy who's never even been on an actual date." The smile he offers isn't wide, but it's genuine. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says. "Like I said, it was just me fooling myself, even though part of me knew better." Micah snorts in return, dismissively. His lopsided grin is restored already. “Not boring at all. /I/ certainly enjoy your company, at least. I mean, I’m an enormous geek, but I’m not the only one out there /by far/.” He arches an eyebrow at Doug’s revelation in honest surprise. “Really? What in the world is /wrong/ with the rest of the teens where you come from? They all too busy with their faces in cell phones to look at people anymore?” Doug makes a disbelieving face at Micah. "You're not familiar with the suburbs, are you?" he asks, the side of his mouth coming up in amusement. "High schools there are not like the ones on T.V.. Gay kids don't go around with a bunch of pals and go on dates and shit like they do on Glee." He lifts his eyebrows. "Brainiac gays, in particular, keep their heads down and their mouths shut and try to find a sport to join that deflects the jocks from noticing their geekiness." He lifts a hand. "Mine was soccer. But I didn't date or have a boyfriend or anything." He shrugs. "It's just the way it happens." Micah chews at his lower lip thoughtfully. “Really not, no. I went from ‘hey-look-corn-and-cows’ to college to just-out-of-college to here. And, usin’ the Standard Scale of Non-monosexuality, which goes from ‘Bi-curious’ to ‘Captain Jack Harkness’…” He holds his hands apart to indicate a left-right scale, then brings the left one over a lot closer to the right. “I’m kinda…thereish. Which prob’ly amounts to very different life experience.” The conclusion draws a little chuckle. Doug laughs, and rolls his eyes. "Well, I'm not /curious/, but I am pretty much fresh out of the box," he says. "In fact, I'm pretty sure Captain John Hart's equivalent is the one who broke the seal." He frowns, and scrubs at his face. "Like I said, I get it. I really do." He lifts a shoulder. "Doesn't mean I can't be disappointed about it." He inhales deeply through his nose. "And I'll get over it. Hell, I'm nearly over it /now/, because I always kind of /knew/ it. It just stung to have it /proven/." He lifts his eyebrows, and takes another swallow of water. "I figure it's just one of those sucky moments a person has to face once in a while." “I know, I know. I’m honestly not worried you’re gonna pine away and die,” Micah asserts, gently teasing. “I just wanted to make sure that we’re okay. Because I’d hate to muck up a good friendship over,” he flutters his hands in the air, “stuff.” "Nah, I'm not heartsick or anything over it," Doug says. "I mean, Jax is a nice guy, and you're a nice guy...why shouldn't you guys like each other?" His grin is weak, but his eyes crinkle warmly. "And yeah, we're still good. But," he says, chewing at his bottom lip. "Please don't get your feelings hurt if I'm a little distant for a while. Over it or not, I still need a little time to regain my footing, a bit." He holds up a hand, palm out. "I promise we will go on that tour someday, though." “Hey, no… I’m made of tougher stuff than that, I swear. My feelin’s don’t get bruised very easy,” Micah reassures with a small smile. “Just…promise to be more vocal about what you’re thinkin’ and feelin’ with me? It’s easier for everyone’s needs to be met when they’re clear about what they /are/.” He takes Doug’s gesture as a cue to pull to his feet. “Your needs now are space, and I can do that.” The smile broadens at Doug’s pledge of future geeking. “I’ll still look forward to it. In a relaxed, not-at-all-rushed kind of way.” Doug laughs, and shakes his head. "I promise," he says earnestly. "I'm finding being coy isn't really my strong suit." He, too, pushes to his feet, setting the water bottle on the coffee table as he walks Micah to the door. "I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable, last night," he says, reaching for the doorknob. "I promise there will not be weirdness, next time." He grins, pulling the door open. "I'm going to go my folks' for the weekend, so you can come and go without awkwardness," he teases. "At least for a few days." Micah giggles at his own expense, walking to the door. “The day I can come and go without /awkwardness/ will be one for the record books.” He /is/ blushing, albeit faintly, as it is. His head cants to one side, birdlike. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Doug grins. "I hear that," he says, and dips his head. "I always do," he quips in response to the sentiment, and bumps his own head against the edge of the door. "You too, Micah. I'll talk to you again." He lifts a hand, then, and watches until Micah's on the elevator and the doors have closed. "/Damn/ it," he mutters, and swings the door shut.