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Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Tag
In Absentia	16 September 2013 Lighthaus gets a new occupant. With blushing. And giggling.
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. It is creeping up on dinnertime, though today at least Jackson is not in the kitchen. Looking faintly harried, he is emerging from Spencer’s bedroom -- it's /been/ homework time, and as such reasonably quiet in there. Jax is dressed from school, still -- a black wrap skirt, a bright green t-shirt that has an image of a child hugging a cow in one lower corner. He leaves Spencer’s door open as he heads to the kitchen, opening the fridge and then just -- staring into it. His head thunks against the open fridge door, eye closing as his shoulders slump heavily. It is also about Micah-getting-home time. And appropriately enough, Micah is just getting home! There is a rattle of keys in locks, the series of clicks and thuds that comes with door opening and closing, and then a Micah standing just inside the door to remove his shoes. He looks, also appropriately enough, rather like he has just gotten off of work: TARDIS blue polo shirt, khakis, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, and brilliant purple hash-marking from casting material dye splashed across the back of his left hand. It isn't until he rights himself from quitting his shoes that he notices a Jax in the fridge. “Hey, hon. You...tryin' t'cool off? It's not that summery outside anymore.” He deposits the laptop bag on the coffee table in the living room before moving toward the kitchen. Tag emerges from the shower, eyes glazed and face flushed. Under the loose drape of a bubblegum pink towel, his rainbow hair is plastered against his scalp, their tips resting on his shoulders. He wears a black t-shirt that features a rainbow arching over lightning bolt, cloud, and raindrops, the whole encircled by the words 'Cloudsdale Weather Factory.' The cerulean chambray skirt might have been knee-length on a taller or wider person, but reaches almost mid-calf on Tag, its hem decorated with interlocking vine patterns in forest green. He walks into the middle of the living and stops as if he had meant to go somewhere else and lost his way. Turning--horror movie fashion--he tilts a still-damp head at Micah and Jax. "Hey guys...uh, what's wrong?" “No, I’m -- gettin’ juice.” Jackson doesn’t move to actually /get/ juice, though, and amends a moment later: “... no wait. Getting dinner.” He straightens, closing the fridge and turning to lean back against the door. “Spence was askin’ for you,” he tells Micah with a small crooked smile. “There was math homework needed explainin’ an’ -- I think he’s cottoned on that I’m the dumb one.” He pushes away from the fridge, moving to the stove to rest his palms against the counter there, and offers the other men a quick-bright smile. “-- How d’y’all feel ‘bout kale t’night. Maybe -- peanut butter sauce.” His head shakes at Tag’s question, smile just a touch wider. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong, honey-honey, I think I’m just -- spacey. How’s your days been?” “Y'could get juice /and/ dinner. Y'want me t'cook? You're lookin' a little spaced..maybe could use a short sit-down?” Micah moves to the sink, scrubbing his hands with some liquid soap and drying them on a dish towel before moving to trace his fingers along Jax's back. “Stop talkin' nonsense. Ain't a dumb thing about you. Your intelligence just doesn't choose t'express itself mathematically. We can have a homework sit-down after food, no problem.” The finger-tracing moves easily into a hug once Jax gets himself out of the fridge. “Peanut butter /anythin'/ is pretty much always a yes. An' it's been a pretty typical work day...not terribly excitin'. What kind of juice d'you want?” Tag dries his hair slowly, and not very effectively. "I'm kinda spacey, too--and not actually all /that/ hungry," he says, "but I like kale... Whichever of you wanna cook, I can help. Probably shouldn't chop things, I'm bad with knives. Not being good at math doesn't make you dumb. Just like being good at math doesn't make me smart." This last with a shrug as the towel slips down over his eyes. He doesn't bother pushing it back up, and he can clearly see enough to navigate by as he successfully finds his way to the door of the kitchen and leans against the frame. "I applied to another temp agency. Got accepted." The degree to which he lacks enthusiasm about this success after a long chain of failures is almost surreal. "Night shift inventory. I can start any time." Jackson turns into the hug, not returning it at first so much as just leaning against Micah. His eye closes with a small smile pulling at his lips, and only after a delay does he remember to actually lift his arms, curling up to squeeze Micah close. “Fine. Not stupid. But still kinda useless when it comes to eight-year-old math homework.” There’s a quietly amused self-deprecation to his tone, and his head tips forward to bump his forehead up against Micah’s shoulder. Tag’s words pull him upright, small smile blossoming into a brighter one. “Oh! Oh, that’s awesome -- wait.” He squints over at Tag. “-- that’s good, right? You don’t -- sound like that’s good.” He unwraps one arm from around Micah, lifting his hand to scuff it over his (faintly prickly) scalp. “-- Y’want to chop a couple cloves’a garlic?” he adds, in answer to Micah’s offer of cooking. “It’s a kinda crazy-easy recipe t’ain’t /much/ needs doing.” “Yay!” Micah exclaims in reply to the temp agency acceptance, followed immediately by a less certain, “Yay, right? It's a good place t'start, at least, if maybe a little dull.” He doesn't seem to mind Jax's lack-of-arms hug, making up for it with his own arms squeezing tight. “We can have a homework sit-down after food an' include /you/ in it, if that bothers you enough t'wanna change it.” He kisses the top of Jax's head when it nods onto his shoulder. “Ooo, you're spiky. Is it hair time again?” Jax is released from the hug at the garlic question. “Garlic comin' up. Also...some orange juice?” Micah is already on his way to the refrigerator. Tag reappears from under the towel, his hair a ridiculous mess of colors. "No, yeah it's good." Still not very convincing. "I've done inventory before. Pays decent, for temp work." He pauses, examining his towel minutely, then sighs. "Just...oh, man, this sound so freaking silly, but I'm scared of the dark now." He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I'm definitely gonna /do/ it. Just have a pretty /strong/ incentive to find something else, you know? Which is good!" “Not that summery outside anymore,” Jax echoes Micah’s earlier words lightly, “fall means hair-time again.” He turns aside to grab an onion, too, starting to peel it into the trash. “Y’could put some rice up to cook,” he suggests by way of non-chopping cooking activity -- admittedly not particularly a /lengthy/ one with a rice cooker available. His teeth dig down against his lip, head shaking. “Oh -- oh. That -- ain’t silly at all, hon.” He glances up and around the -- /many/ lamps scattered around his house, lips curling up lopsidedly. “I gotta admit I’m sorta terrified of it myself.” His wrist turns upward, eye dropping down to the lighted cuff that circles it. “Maybe we should get you some light-up jewelry, too.” The suggestion of sitting down along with the homework help makes him brighten, slightly, but then his nose wrinkles up and he shakes his head uncertainly, glancing back to the living room towards an unfinished painting on his easel. “I’m on shift with Io from midnight until -- uh. Until I get to school in the mornin’. I got some homework of my /own/ I needa get through if I want it done ‘fore class tomorrow.” Micah reappears from burrowing in the refrigerator with a carton of orange juice in one hand and a garlic bulb in the other. He nudges the door closed again with a hip, emptying the contents of his hands onto a countertop. “Hon, that ain't silly at all. Kinda...makes a lot of sense. They gotta have some lights on for you t'see the inventory by, don't they?” He fetches a glass from a cabinet, filling it with orange juice and placing it next to Jax. Just...sittin' there. Waiting. “You'd have t'talk t'Bastian about makin' light-up jewellery of that particular kind,” Micah says a bit distractedly, little roses of blush blooming in his cheeks. Fetching a cutting board and peeling and chopping garlic serve as good distractions, it turns out. “Yeah, I guess y'gotta do your own homework, first. Just...with that schedule. Y'got any time pencilled in for /sleepin'/ tomorrow? 'Cause it sounds like none today.” "Rice, coming up." Tag hangs the towel around his neck and slips into the kitchen. "I guess it's not /silly/ exactly, but it /sounds/ silly." He shrugs. A faint, perhaps unconscious smile steals across his face when he measures out rice to dump into the cooker. "Oh, they turn on the lights, though some places they only turn on some. It's the whole going out to work after sunset and coming back before daylight thing that's creeping me out. But It's not like I can just avoid the dark forever. This'll be like /exposure therapy/." He roots around for a measuring cup and adds water to the cooker, too. "I've got like five flashlights on me already, probably don't need any more. What I need is...determination? Willpower. Something." He turns around and slides down the counter until he is reasonably out of the other two men's way. "Bastian's a genius, but I don't think he can help me with /that./ And yeah. Sleeping is kind of important. I didn't sleep for a while, and it frakked me up real bad." “The city never gets all /that/ dark at night, anyway. Carry flashlights, stick to bigger streets.” Jackson brings /his/ cutting board to the stove, switching on the vent fan before he starts chopping the onion. “Don’t hardly sound silly to me. Where is the place, is it a long haul to travel?” He pauses for a moment in his chopping to reach for the glass of orange juice, taking a long gulp. “Mnnh --” His brow furrows as he returns to chopping, in quick sharp slices. “Tomorrow I got a lotta --” His head shakes. “Might scrounge up some sleepin’-time Wednesday.” He offers Tag a crooked smile. “Sleeping’s kinda important for most people. I went pretty much alla June without none once and it didn’t hardly mess me up.” His shoulder shrugs once, quick, and he finishes dicing his onion with a few quick chops. “I don’t think none’a Bastian’s robots come with willpower,” he admits lightly. “But I bet y’can find some. An’ there’s a whole /host/’a night-owls ‘round here, y’could probably find someone t’go /with/ you the first few times if it’s hard. Bet Dusk’d be glad to get out the house some.” He glances up as he transfers the onions into a cast-iron pan to saute, leaving them as he goes to wash his hands clean. “Job thing is good, though. It --” His cheeks flush dark, head dipping somewhat sheepishly before he continues, “-- kinda. Is somethin’ we been -- wanting to talk with you about anyhow.” Micah rests his knife back on the cutting board, scooping peelings and ends from the garlic into one hand to deliver them to the trash. “We can try t'get somebody t'drop you off for a little bit first, just t'ease you into it?” Jax's recommendation of Dusk and other late-night people gets a nod of agreement. “Enough people around who'd be willin'...just have t'patchwork the schedules together.” He grabs the carton of OJ and what remains of the garlic bulb, returning them to their spots in the refrigerator. “/At least/ three days a week, Jax. Preferably spaced out,” he reminds in a stern tone. “All of June... Right, I've been holdin' you to a sleep schedule 'cause I like makin' silly rules. Your /brain/ starts t'go all mushy if y'don't sleep for too many days in a row. Maybe not as fast as everyone else's, but it /does/.” "Brooklyn. It's easily accessible by subway, and anyway I'm actually familiar with the area." Tag looks down, blushing lightly. "I know there'd be folks who are /willing/ to go with me, but I really don't wanna bother anyone with that. 'Specially 'cuz I like to take detours sometimes." He looks down at his toes--each a different color. "I'll be fine." This sounds more like an attempt to reassure /himself/ than anyone else, but it comes with a genuine, if nervous, smile. "Man, a whole /month/! Four days without sleep and I'm seeing colors that haven't been named yet. I want to stop doing stuff like that, though. And not just 'cuz those colors are scary-looking. Anything particular you wanted to talk to me about, job-wise?" “I didn’t mean that it was silly,” Jackson says to Micah, quiet and apologetic. “I just meant my timeline for when it’s critical is a bit offa most people’s. But I --” His teeth sink down against his lip again, gaze drifting back towards the easel in the living room. “-- Just with /my/ classes started up again it’s been harder to --” He shakes his head quickly. “M’sorry, sir, I’ll -- mnnh.” He grabs a wooden spoon to stir at the onions, for a moment just watching them start to sizzle; there’s a distinct brightness dampening his eye that is almost certainly spurred /by/ the onions, given his strong predilection for masking genuine tears. He tips his head to the side, wiping his eye against his shoulder. “Think you sometimes ain’t so good at estimating what’d /be/ a bother for people an’ what they’d be plenty happy to do,” he adds with a small quirk of amusement. “But if you’ll be fine s’good too. Just so long’s you don’t forget there’s folks around if y’ever /do/ need ‘em.” His blush deepens at the last question, and he nods again. “It -- weren’t job-wise /exactly/ so much as -- well. When y’asked about -- possibly stayin’ here more permanent-like. /Um/, if that’s -- somethin’ you were still lookin’ to do?” “I didn't mean t'say you /had/ said that, just... You're entirely too casual about takin' care of yourself or even acknowledgin' the fact that you /need/ to,” Micah's voice softens immediately. He steps up close behind Jax, resting his chin on the shoulder of the illusionist's off hand to avoid impeding his movement excessively. “Can you give me more things t'do that don't require /you/ t'do them? I mean, I know /you/ have t'do your work-things an' school-things, but any other things? It's just...really not good if y'can't even scrape together a few hours to sleep /three/ times a week, hon. I wouldn't tell you t'do somethin' that's /impossible/; that's not remotely fair. There's a way t'work this out.” Micah remains leaning gently against Jax's back, letting him direct the conversation about jobs and living situations. Tag settles one elbow onto the counter and props up his chin with one hand. "I would love to stay provided everyone else was okay with it and provided I could afford rent and utilities. Which I had kinda forgotten about in the midst of freaking out about working nights." He bites the tip of his tongue. "It's not exactly high-paying work, and it's only for a few weeks, but I can definitely pay my own way September." He blows out a long breath and sinks down a little further. "Look, you're both too nice to say it, but I /know/ I haven't been the most reliable person in the past. I want to change that, but it's not like I have a great track record there, or any reason to expect I'm not gonna backslide." The colors on Tag's person dim almost imperceptibly. "All I have to show is what I do right now, right here." “No, it ain’t impossible -- it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I -- I’ll find time. There’s time. I just -- sorry.” Jackson straightens, slightly, when Micah comes up behind him, but his head tips briefly to the side to rest against the other man’s. Just for a moment, before he reaches for Micah’s cutting board to scrape the garlic off into the pan as well. He quiets, listening to Tag as he stirs slowly at the pan. “Don’t think there’s a whole lotta ways for someone t’show they’re reliable ‘cept for -- trustin’ ‘em and giving ‘em a chance to show it,” he says with a small smile. “An’ it was the job situation that was the only real obstacle -- I mean, alla us are /more’n/ happy to have you here. We just wanted to talk with you ‘bout makin’ sure there was a -- concrete timeline for finding a job an’ paying rent an’ all. An’ if y’gone and found yourself a job already, it makes it that much simpler to get on track with that.” “Please don't...do that,” Micah says quietly--just above a whisper but conveniently close to Jax's ear--brows furrowing at the little reassurances and apologies. “We...should maybe talk about this again later.” His hand rubs a few lazy circles between Jax's shoulder blades before he steps back, giving the other man room to work. “A lot of your trouble was with not havin' papers together, though, yeah? Didn't y'say you guys have connections for that, Jax, from all the folks that you've had t'get established without official documents?” Micah collects one set of used cutting board and knife to wash in the sink, since one should be plenty at this point in the game. “Definitely. Everybody's happy t'have you. An' the only way t'see what you're gonna do in the future is t'wait for it, right?” He tacks a cheerful smile on to this last bit, grabbing a towel to dry off his wet dishes. Tag runs his free hand through his drying hair, somehow managing to mess it up even more. "Oh man...I haven't done much of anything along /concrete timelines/ since...well, since school, I guess. But I'm not gonna let you down." There's a faint break in his voice, but he masters himself. "The twins are moving back in next month, right? I could just sleep on the couch, I mean even if I keep working nights for a while, it's not like anyone is really around on weekdays. I'm always falling asleep on that bean bag, it's kinda like my favorite napping spot." He blushes and chews on his lip. "Yeah, future me's gotta wait for present me to become him. Unless we invent time travel, which might mess with that whole concrete timeline thing. Failing time travel, though, I should take up more chores. Maybe it'll give you busy career folks more time to sleep. Or, you know, do /other/ stuff." Jackson nods at Micah’s whispering, swallowing and drawing in a slow breath as Micah’s hand rubs against his back. “Yeah,” he answers easily, moving away from the stove to get a bunch of kale out of the fridge and take it to the sink for washing. “We got -- we know people who can help with the documents problem for sure. Had a -- fair few labrats with similar issues.” He is much lazier about his chopping of kale, not -- actually even chopping it so much as just tearing it with his hands to drop the shreds into the pan. “Shane an’ Bastian are comin’ back ‘fore the month’s out. But they’ll only even be here on weekends -- /anyway/ we was thinkin’ we’d clear out the loft up there,” he gestures with the half-torn bunch of kale across the living room, droplets of water sprinkling with the waving leaves, “put up some curtains or somethin’, give you a space’a your own.” He flushes deep crimson at the mention of /other/ stuff, dropping his gaze back to his pan. “/Um/ -- I mean I sure ain’t gonna say no to you pickin’ up more chores. Might wanna ask Bastian ‘bout the time travel, though, from the sounds of it his team at Stark is halfway there.” “Yeah, the twins were plannin' on movin' back into their room, but we'd been talkin' about puttin' in a room divider curtain track t'make the loft into more of a room? I talked to the management about doin' minor home improvementy things, an' they're okay with it as long as I run the exact plans by 'em t'make sure /they/ think it's all improvements 'stead of just messin' stuff up.” Micah returns the cutting board and knife to their usual storage spots. “Was thinkin' of doin' some shelvin' an' closet organiser kinda things, too. Just t'fit everythin' in more comfortably. Shouldn't be a problem.” A glance at Jax is enough for Micah to pick up on his blushing and start /him/ to blushing, too. "Ooh, I've always wanted to live in a loft," Tag admits sheepishly. "It's sort of like a /tree house/. Inside another house. Houseception." He straightens back up and stretches, shaking his mostly-dry hair back into place as Asian hair is wont to do. "Curtains would be awesome, but I'm not sure I even really need shelves. I've been living out of a backpack for so long..." He trails off, eyes distant. "Maybe that's exactly why I should stop. Unpack everything. Get IDs. Pay taxes. You know, /adult stuff/." Then, looking back over at Micah and Jax, he grins, brightening from hair to toes. "I swear, you guys are like this adorable perpetual engine of blushing. I know that's just gonna make it worse, but..." He flushes, not as visibly as the others. "Oh, great, now /I'm/ doing it, too." “We put in some shelves, y’actually unpack, might start to feel like you’re plannin’ to stick around.” There’s a quietly wry note in Jax’s voice as he drops the last of the kale in the pan. He turns the heat down, and is turning aside to get out a bowl when Tag’s last words pause him. Predictably, his crimson deepens, hands lifting briefly to cover his face. “Oh -- oh gosh is it contagious? Have we /infected/ you? Is it treatable, d’you think? I, um, we ain’t really talked about none’a that stuff yet but --” He sets his bowl down on the counter, turning a wide-eyed look to Tag and Micah. “-- honestly I ain’t sure what kinda protection’d help with transmissible blushing anyhow.” “Figured you'd like havin' a place t'climb up an' down from,” Micah notes with a little chuckle, head full of memories of Tag on fire escapes for no /real/ reason other than his wanting to be there. “Also figured I'd just do some shelvin' all /over/ the place while I'm startin' with things for you, anyhow. May as well. Help t'organise things. 'Specially all the stuff we haul outta the loft t'make it a serviceable livin' space. Unpackin' /might/ help y'feel like this is actually a /home/ t'you an' not just some place you're crashin', too.” And then Tag adds pretty much every possible damage modifier to his blush-inducing attack: compliments, /other/ people blushing, drawing attention to the blushing...everything short of lewd comments. Micah shifts through an entire paint sample strip worth of impressive shades of red, even before...Jax manages to add that /last/ factor to the mix. He doesn't really have anywhere else to go short of developing the ability to luminesce or burst into flames. Maybe dabble in neon? It's hard to tell, because he's hiding his face behind Jax's shoulder by this point, biting his lip and giggling. "Yeah, I think I didn't get enough playground time at some kind of critical developmental period and have just spent the rest of my life climbing all over everything else to make up for it." Tag laughs, then covers his mouth as if the sound startled him, which only makes his cheeks grow redder. "Hate to break it to you, but I don't think there's any treatment for blushing, or any protection against it except just /avoidance/. Which I wouldn't want, since I like you guys. A lot. Besides..." He bounces up onto tiptoes. "...It seems pretty harmless, right? Though if Shane were here, we would probably achieve self-sustaining blush reaction." His eyes light up to a vibrant purple. "Or /time travel/. I mean, you've already got the TARDIS and everything!" “Ain’t sure what blushing’s got to do with time travel,” Jackson admits, even as /he/ manages to colour the air around him furiously red. He turns his attention to his food -- mixing peanut butter with vegetable broth, adding in some cumin and coriander and chili powder. He stirs this all a little more fervently than is really necessary. “All /seems/ harmless till someone,” his arm nudges Micah behind him gently in the ribs, “blushes so hard they burst into flames. An’ if Shane was here I’m sure he’d be /so/ full of terrible things t’say right now -- I’d kinda /hoped/ that he’d use all his terrible up in sex ed class an’ not have any left for the rest’a the day but he seems to have an unlimited stock.” Though he says this with a good deal more /amusement/ than annoyance. “-- It’ll be nice, though.” This sounds a little more serious. “Fixin’ things up so’s you really got a /place/ here.” Bah, Micah's /shield/ seems intent on continuing to cook and keeps moving! He finally peeks back out, letting Jax go about his chefly duties. “Tag, hon, is this turnin' into an abstinence-only speech? 'Cause I went t'high school in the South. So if those were gonna work it would've done /worked/ by now,” he teases, already too lost in scarlet flushing to really do himself any more damage. “Ohgosh, I don't think Shane's /capable/ of runnin' out of terrible. Every time I end up in one of those conversations with 'im—an' it never /starts/ as one of those conversations with 'im, mind—he manages to find ways of makin' 'em worse'n worse in ways you'd never even /think/...” The nudge in the ribs seems to release another round of suppressed giggles. “This one accusin' /me/ of burstin' into flames /as/ he is /glowin'/. D'you believe this?” The words have to sneak their way out through laughter, Micah shooting Tag a playful 'back me up here' kind of look as he talks. "Time travel is its own excuse. Sometimes /literally/." Tag crosses his arms. "I mean, if you're gonna achieve some kind of embarrassment singularity event, you may as well do something /incredible/ with it. I believe a /lot/ of crazy things, but I /don't/ believe anyone is gonna successfully abstain from blushing here, even if I thought it was a good idea--which I don't. Remember, I /like/ changing colors! And hot guys." This last he adds with a lopsided grin. "But thank you. Really. For giving me a.../place/." He lapses into a wistful smile. "A /home/." “I might be glowin’ but /I/ ain’t the one catchin’ on fire, here.” Jackson sets his bowl aside, turning to face Micah with his arms crossing over his chest. On cue, flames spring to life around Micah, licking their way up his legs to illuminate him in vivid but entirely harmless tongues of orangey-yellow fire. “He’s the hottest of guys,” he confides to Tag. The giggling is, perhaps, as infectious as the blushing; Jackson presses his knuckles to his lips to stifle his own. “-- Oh. Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m switchin’ /my/ curriculum to abstinence-only. Became a born-again virgin so’s I could set a good example for the kids. M’sorry,” he informs Micah as solemnly as his dying giggles will allow, “but s’hand-holding only from here on out.” He pulls himself up to sit on the counter behind himself, the red still burning around him with Tag’s thanks. “Oh, honey-honey, we’re --” His smile softens. “M’just glad you’re stickin’ around to be part of ours.” “Always park the TARDIS at the corner of Fast an' Loose. Makes for a bit of a walk t'get where it is you actually /need/ t'go, but there it is,” Micah offers by way of...maybe agreeing with Tag? None of the additional commentary is doing anything to help his blushing situation, however. “/Ohgosh/!” He actually startles for a moment at the igniting of illusory /fires/, despite ample warning that this is what Jax might have been planning. “Oh...oh, I know it /can't/ but it kinda tickles!” And now we're back to giggling. Plus more blushing. This may be a hopeless case. Micah briefly gives Jax his I-don't-believe-it-for-a-minute look before deciding it would be more fun to play along with his newly-proclaimed virginity. If everyone /else/ is going to be horrible, he will, too! It just...results in more blushing in the meantime. “Mmn, s'a good thing I can think of plenty of...hand-holds t'keep everybody occupied then, isn't it?” he puts forth archly, quirking one brow upward in time with the question. Which is a little bit /off/ when the serious touchy-feelies enter. “Oh! Ohgosh, honey. You are so welcome t'be here. An'...hugs, if y'don't mind the--” He swats at the false flames, very much letting Tag choose to come to him rather than assaulting him with fake-fire. Tag emits a soft yelp when Micah bursts into flames. "Oh! Oh. Gets me every time. Cuz guys catch illusory fire around me all the time, it's just this /thing/ I have..." He does /not/ start giggling until Jax declares himself virgin and celibate. "I'm sorry..." Snort. "This is probably not as funny..." Guffaw. "...as I think it is but..." Tears run down his cheeks, which he mops with his sleeve despite having a towel at hand. If he says anything else, it is lost between laughing and crying. He wraps his arms around Micah--flames and all. "It can totally tickle," Jackson says, very seriously, just before he reaches out both hands to tickle at Micah's sides. His lips twitch, though he is making a determined effort not to join in the giggling. Very Serious tickling. The flames spread to curl at Tag's clothes, too. "Guys catch fire 'round me all the time. Hazard'a having so many hot friends." He watches the hugging with smile finally spreading across his face, though he doesn't leave his perch on the counter to join in. Micah /really/ hadn't been laughing anymore, but he can't help but fall back into giggling at Tag's sudden laughter-meltdown. “Goodness, hon, you're cryin',” he observes with a grin, patting Tag's back gently when he returns the hug. “Eeep!” He is ticklish enough that /illusions/ were tickling him, so...the real thing gets quite a bit more of a response, especially when it is a sneak-tickle. The gentle patting quickly turns into more of a crushing bear-hug as Micah attempts to curl up into a protective ball, head tucked in against Tag's shoulder. "Eeeeheheheh!" Without even /being/ tickled, Tag has gone into ultra high-pitched giggle mode. "No fair setting us on fire when you're over there /too cool for school/. Eeheh! Heh! Oh man, I can't even believe I actually said that." He buries his face in Micah's shirt to hide his shame, but peeks to stretch out a hand and swat at the flickering tips of the flames. “/I/ can’t believe you actually said that, neither.” Jackson continues his TICKLE-ASSAULT for a few seconds more, but then slides down off the counter onto the ground. He leans in, kissing Micah and then Tag in turn on top of each of their heads, and moves aside to stir at the pan of kale on the stove. “Dinner’s just about ready. If y’can stop laughing long enough not t’choke on your food.” He picks up the bowl of sauce, tipping it to drizzle it over the kale. The flames, meanwhile, are changing colours, no longer particularly realistic as they shift through bright peacock hues of blue and green. “Can't be,” Micah asserts, a little breathlessly, between giggles and attempts to fight off /ticklefingers/. “S'always /warm/. An' in /all the schools/.” He ducks away at first when Jax takes to his feet, not certain if this is simply the next phase in the tickle-assault. The little kiss that comes instead receives a smile and another deepening of blush, since the blushing is on a hair-trigger response by this point. “I can stop laughin' if you can stop the vicious tickle-monsterin'.” His nose bunny-crinkles playfully at that, fingers playing idly through the cold but colourful fire illusions. "It's...just...an expression," Tag says between gasps for breath as laughter subsides. "/I'm/ the one who's /actually/ too cool for school." He sticks out his tongue and bats at the flames again as he disentangles himself from Micah. "That smells so good! I /am/ kind of hungry now. No more laughing. Promise." Just saying that makes the corner of his mouth quirk upward, but he forces it back down. Super stern Tag. “No promises,” Jackson flashes a crooked grin back over his shoulder, “you’re both /pretty/ tickle-able.” He turns the heat on the stove off, turning around to watch Tag’s attempts to not-laugh. “Oh. Oh gosh, is it /serious/ dinner now, what have I done. Think I might hafta time y’all. On how long y’can not laugh for.” The flames are fading smaller, and shifting into bright shades of pink and purple as Jax heads to a cabinet to get out dishes. “I give it ‘bout a minute.” Yeah, this isn't happening. Micah is already snickering at Tag's attempts to sternface. “Ohgosh. If there is more ticklin' then there is no hope for food.” He braces himself by one palm against a counter. “Not the timer! I already told you. Lucien did that t'me /ages/ ago an' I almost /died/. Well, it wasn't just not /laughin'/, it was not /smilin'/. An' he /cheated/. But still. Near-death experience.” He nods solemnly at this. Not even a minute. Tag claps both hands over his mouth and holds the laughter back until his shoulders tremble with the effort. Then it all comes flooding out. He scoots himself against the counter to stay out of the way and doubles over. When he recovers, /again/, he straightens up, holding his abdomen with both hands. "Wow, that actually /hurt/. Serious dinner is a no-go. I'm not even gonna try not laughing. I'm not even /thinking/ about not laughing." A beat later, he adds. "Promise." “Cheated? How d’you cheat tryin’ to make --” Jax pauses with a slight widening of his eye and a sudden flush. “-- Oh. Lucien. Right.” He sets the dishes down on the table, grinning bright at the others. “No dyin’. No hurting! Can laugh all you want. But s’time t’eat.”