ArchivedLogs:Comfort

Comfort
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien
In Absentia	4 February 2014 Part of the Morpheus TP.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Upstairs - Greenwich Village
The upper floor of this apartment holds the bedrooms; one master bedroom and three smaller ones. One has been converted to a lounge, couches and /more/ books and a large desk by its window. The other two smaller bedrooms upstairs, in strange departure from the rest of the house's style, seem decorated more with younger occupants in mind. One of them, styled largely in purples and blues, has a pair of twin beds with matching butterfly-patterned bedspreads and a similar fabric for the window curtains; a wealth of stuffed toys is neatly arranged on both. The other is very green, its bedspread green-and-black striped; the walls are covered with a host of movie posters. Between the two bedrooms stands a bathroom, cheerfully decorated with colourful mosaic fish in its tiles. The master bedroom, in contrast to the paler, earthy scheme outside, is warm and rich, decorated in deep reds. The exquisitely crafted furniture is dark, with reddish undertones to the mahogany wood. The king-sized bed is stocked with an overabundance of pillows, and more cushions rest in the windowseat. One wall holds a spacious walk-in closet. A table, low to the ground, sits on a thick rug between the bed and the entrance, the right height for kneeling rather than chairs; the checked pattern carved into its surface marks it as a chessboard, though the pieces are not in evidence. The master bathroom adjoins the bedroom; it is large, done in black marble, with an overly spacious glass-walled shower and a similarly large jacuzzi bathtub. Micah looks a bit of a mess compared to his surroundings, hair still rumpled from Jax's ruffling, black xkcd T-shirt over white henley flecked with little bleach stains around the hem, jeans faded and patchy, socks Dr. Seuss themed. He's /bouncing/ a bit, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and back, as his hazel eyes stay fixed on Lucien. “So this guy that Jax met the other day only needs a personal item of the person's an' he just...arts up an image of 'em an' where they are at the time. Doesn't have t'know anythin' about 'em or to've met 'em before or /anythin'/.” This might not be the first time that he's barrelled through the explanation, since there /was/ a phone call preceding this visit. “An' we've got a lead on the person behind the dreams, too! The girl with the big dog that we ran into outside my buildin/...I ran off t'get her Tupperware? She's met /a lot/ of the people who had these dreams right before they happened. I'm gonna see if Dusk might be able t'find her for me, since I have her name an' she's /gotta/ live somewhere close an' she told me she's a high school music teacher. Ain't like there's a /ton/ of those runnin' around named Maya.” "She was exceedingly -- cheerful." Lucien says this like a criticism, with a thin press of lips and a dry note of distaste in his voice. He is just opening the door to his bedroom, dressed comfortably now in dark jeans, a soft sweater in black-fading-to-grey over a paler grey button-down, warm socks. The house smells chocolatey, but much of New York /does/, by now. "Music teacher. There are many music teachers in New York, Micah." The rest, though, gives him more pause. He kneels, by the table at the bedside, running his hands against its stone surface. He opens a drawer at its side; there are chess pieces laid into the velvet setting inside the drawer. Red pieces, in black upholstery. One of the knights is missing; he plucks the other from its place, setting the cool granite into Micah's hand. "Will this do?" He is -- not matching Micah for excitement, cool and quite as the stone he lays into the other man's hand. "I know!" Micah responds chipperly to the accusation of cheerfulness. Probably more than what Lucien was looking for. "An' yeah, there's a lot of music teachers. But how many live close enough to Tompkins Square t'bring their dog there regularly, teach high school, an' are women of Indian descent named Maya? People've sure been found on /way/ less information. Y'know a lot of schools list all their staff on their webpages now?" He is not going to be dissuaded from this new wave of optimism any time soon, though he does calm somewhat as he takes the chess piece. "It should work. It was his, an' he touched it, right? This guy, Sean, was able t'draw B workin' on his sculptures at home off of a bracelet Jax had on 'im." "He loved this set. I had the table and pieces carved just for him. He'd bring the pieces down to the park every day he was feeling well enough and play for hours. He -- touched it, yes. Often." Lucien's lips compress again, fingers running into the velvet setting where the /other/ knight should be, and isn't. He shuts the drawer again heavily, shifting up to sit on the bed. He takes his tablet off of where is has been charging on the nightstand, unplugging it and turning it on to unlock it and open up a browser. It doesn't take long to go to LinkedIn. Tap, tap, tap. His lips twitch. Compress /further/. His brows raise -- just slightly. "-- It is almost scary," he says, not all that long after, "just how /much/ information is so readily available out there. Do you know --" His tone actually lightens, here, with a soft note of curiosity, but he doesn't actually /finish/ this line of thought. "Good. Good, that's perfect. Thank you. Is there...a bag or a cloth or somethin' I could wrap it in t'protect it? I don't wanna just stuff it in m'bag." Micah's fingers run along the curves of the piece lightly, feeling the carving work even as he looks at it. "There's a tone of information out there, yeah. 'Specially for folks who do any kind of public work. Teachers, health care providers, lawyers...we're pretty easy t'find since we all just work under our names, y'know." He steps further into the room to stand beside Lucien, one eyebrow arching at the question. "Do I know what?" "Nothing. It was --" Lucien's lips twitch faintly upwards. He shuts the tablet screen off as Micah approaches, setting it down on his bed. "Silly. Maya Menon. That is her name. Let me get you a -- cloth." He rises, slipping off towards his bathroom and returning in short order with a pair of soft dustrags. "Did you need anything else?" "Apologies, I didn't mean to intrude." Micah's teeth meet with his lower lip and he takes a step back as Lucien shuts off the tablet. "That's actually...amazin'ly helpful. Thanks," he says again, wrapping the knight up snugly with the offered cloths. "Need? No...that was it, really. Just. How're you doin'? This has been a lot t'throw at you, I know." He lifts a hand to brush over Lucien's arm gently, just a light-presence sort of contact. Lucien's eyes close. There is a faint clench to his teeth, a faint tension to his muscles. "No. Intrude." He mutters this almost to himself, head shaking as he sets the tablet back on the nightstand. "Have you seen the musical /Fame/?" His arm moves away from Micah's with the shift of motion as he moves to set the tablet aside, body turning back towards the other man when he turns back to ask the question. Micah's expression is apologetic again at Lucien's increased tension, his arm dropping back to his side. Though he doesn't actually say it this time. "I have..." His head tilts slightly, intrigued by what seems to be a rather sharp turn in the conversation. "Just -- the high school it was focused around," Lucien explains, quietly. His fingers flex slowly open and closed, forming a loose fist and then spreading. His hand curls in to touch against his arm where Micah's hand hand been. "-- is where she teaches," he finishes, after this brief moment of distraction. "Many people are familiar with it, from that musical. If," he says with a touch of wry amusement, "that gives a rather -- romanticized version." “Ah,” Micah responds with a nod as the connection is formed. “She would.” A slip of a grin sneaks its way onto his face at that, though his eyes are simply watching Lucien's hand move. “It /is/ a musical, after all. It's sorta what they /do/.” His own hands fidget with the cloth-wrapped figure in the manner of someone who can't quite decide /what/ to do with their hands. "-- I went to that high school." This is softer. Lucien is watching Micah's hands, now, though his own are considerably more fidgety than /his/ usual calmness. One hand -- starts to reach for Micah's, but then returns to curl around the opposite bicep. "I am frequently reminded these days that New York is a remarkably large small town." “I...believe that pretty easily, too.” Micah hesitates a moment at Lucien's uncomfortable shifting before reaching out again. His hand rests a bit more firmly over the other man's arm this time, head tilting again. “That's true enough. You've also, in that way y'do, managed t'completely avoid my question again. Not that I expect pointin' it out t'necessarily net anythin'. But y'know how stubborn I can be.” He offers a small, self-deprecating smile with this. "I like you being stubborn." This time, Lucien doesn't pull back from the touch. His hand comes to rest over Micah's, fingers brushing gently over the backs of the other man's knuckles. "And when you intrude," he admits, more softly. "Most people -- do not. There are few people --" His lips twitch upwards. "Rude enough to." A lilting curl of amusement lightens his voice at this. "And the only people in my life who ever have have been all the most painfully mannerly. Funny how that works out." Micah's cheeks light with a faint blush at Lucien's comment on his stubbornness, only finding a brighter hue as the accusation of rudeness is added (albeit good-naturedly). Perhaps in further proof of the accusation, he steps in closer, gently setting the cloth-wrapped chess piece on the bed next to Lucien's tablet before resting the now-freed hand on Lucien's opposite arm. “Sometimes...it's the less polite option as is actually...kinder? I'm not sure that's the word I want. But somethin' like it. There are considerations that are more important than bein' polite.” He turns his eyes up to meet the other man's. “How /are/ you doin'? Is there anythin' y'need? Or...anythin' I can do?” "Kinder," Lucien agrees softly. "I deflect, and almost everyone lets me. It is -- easier. It makes it that much quicker to let me get back to talking about them. -- You might be one of the only people I still know who even /knows/ where I went to high school," he admits with a quiet laugh, "and I am not all /that/ long out of it. It was not that long ago I thought --" He shakes his head, fingers brushing against the backs of Micah's knuckles again. "-- What considerations?" "I'm entirely too nosy t'let folks just talk about me all the time," Micah half-jokes, grin going lopsided. "I like knowin' things about you." He knows better than to simply ask for information again before answering himself, and as such addresses the questions in that order. "What people need an' even what they want ain't always the polite thing. Sometimes y'gotta...shake sense into somebody. Or point somethin' out bluntly. Or just be damned persistent." His hand slides softly along Lucien's arm, like petting but only a single stroke. "Y'thought what? It's not a crime t'finish a sentence, y'know." His tone is still playful-light. The feelings that pass through the brush of fingers to hand are primarily a loving sort of concern and warmth with an undertone of excitement lingering at the sudden appearance of so many leads to follow on long-missing loved ones. Lucien's hand turns upward, at that soft stroke, shifting to catch Micah's hand in his own. He pulls the other man in towards himself, not down onto but beside to sit on the bed alongside himself. "Shame," he murmurs. "You are one of my favourite subjects. I would quite happily talk about you." His fingers thread through Micah's, drawing that brief brush out into a longer contact. "Sometimes I need that. It can be hard --" His eyes lower, slowly. "I thought many things. But thought my life would head in a very different direction than it did. I suppose that is hardly unique. New York does have a way of chewing up dreams." Micah's hand opens easily to Lucien's, giving it a gentle squeeze in return. His movements are likewise easy to instruct, moving him to sit on the edge of the bed with little effort. "Didn't say I /wouldn't/ talk 'bout me. Just not /exclusively/." His head tips to bonk lightly against Lucien's shoulder. "S'okay not t'have a crystal ball 'bout your own future. Or...t'go back to an old plan if it didn't work the first time. Don't think it's New York as necessarily got in the way of things for you though, hon. Y'kinda...had some unique situations to work through. That would have been...tough no matter where y'were. But you did. Work through 'em. An' you're still goin'." He turns so that his cheek is resting on the other man's shoulder now in an almost-nuzzling fashion. "I don't know if I worked through them. I think they just sort of -- happened to me." Lucien's hand curls upward, sliding against the side of Micah's head, his fingers twining up into Micah's hair. "-- Im gonna make it to heaven, light up the sky like a flame." His singing is soft, under his breath, and the words just trail off into a soft self-deprecating laugh. "For all its insanity, New York seems to be working out oddly well for you, though." "Don't really see you as a passive kinda bein', Lucien. /I'd/ say 'worked through' s'more accurate." Micah leans into Lucien's touch, pressing into the other man's hand in an almost feline fashion. The comment on how things have been working out for /him/ earns a little laugh. "Well, what anybody'd say t'that would prob'ly depend which day it was they were lookin' in on me. Had a lotta hurt an' done a lot I ain't proud of since I been up here. But also got m'self a new family, so. I'll take that balance. Been workin' through some things, too." Micah's other hand reaches to squeeze at Lucien's knee in a reassuring sort of gesture at the other man's singing and response to it. "It ain't like you're an /old man/, Luci. You've had some roadblocks, but there's still plenty of road ahead. You're a beautiful person, an' people'll always be /drawn/ t'that." His nose crinkles slightly for a moment. "An' I don't mean just /pretty/, though we all know y'got buckets of that t'spare." "I am not sure how you can ever really know how much road lies ahead." Lucien curls his fingers inward, rubbing in slow petting against Micah's skull. "Most things worth having come with some measure of hurt on the way to achieving them. But you are there now. And that -- that is something. On the balance." He tips his head down, pressing a light kiss to the top of Micah's head. "-- Things?" His brows lift, quietly questioning. "Just mean t'say y'got as much right t'plannin' things now as y'did when y'were still a kid," Micah clarifies, his eyes slipping closed at the petting, his body leaning more heavily against Lucien's side with the little kiss. "Ohgosh... I think I spilled enough of m'troubles at you quite hard enough when they were...the more prominent features in m'life at the time. That it doesn't bear enumeratin' 'em at you again. Things never really just /go away/." He nuzzles into Lucien's shoulder again, with a sense of warm-comfort there. "'Sides, this is nice." "Then stay." It's not phrased like a request, but Lucien's tone is soft and undemanding, thumb brushing softly against Micah's cheek. "Your husband is working anyway. Tag is an adult, he can call if anything emergent happens at home. We can set an alarm early enough for you to get Spencer to school in the morning. Just --" There are no more pressing feelings stemming from his touch -- just a continuation of that. Quiet. Warm-comfort. His hold tightens, just a touch closer. "I'd like that. I'll just...send a text t'Jax an' Tag so they don't go lookin' for me there." Micah nestles into the tighter hold with a soft-pleased sigh. Light as the touch is, he moves with it, rocking his head back against Lucien's shoulder to look up at him again. "May I kiss you?" The sense from him is also largely drowned in that quiet warm-comfort, almost drowsy in its softness, seeded through with feelings of love and a simple need for closeness. Lucien's hand curls warm against the side of Micah's face. He answers this by tipping his face down, lips meeting Micah's. Softly, at first, and then more full, that same rush of warm-comfort increasing strong with the contact. His hand slides back to twine fingers into the older man's hair, holding Micah closer with the lingering kiss. Micah turns slightly further, into the kiss, his arm wrapping around Lucien's shoulders. He lifts his head free of its resting place only to give it into the hold of Lucien's hand where the other man's fingers twine into his hair. He returns the kiss soft and gentle, slow and lingering. When he does withdraw, it is a slight and subtle movement, just enough space given to whisper, "I love you," before drawing close in against Lucien once more. Lucien's mouth touches gently to Micah's once more. Soft and light, and this time it does not linger long. His fingers knead softly at the back of the other man's neck, a moment, and he breaks off with forehead resting against Micah's for a long moment. "You have work in the morning, no doubt. I should likely let you get some rest." His arm curls around Micah's waist, slipping beneath the hem of both shirts to trace fingers slow against skin. "I'll set the alarm early." A pleased hum answers the second little kiss and the hands against his skin. "Always got work," Micah confirms, tucking himself against Lucien near to the point of settling into the other man's lap. His own hands sketch idle patterns along Lucien's back where his arms wrap around to hold on. "Thanks."