ArchivedLogs:Fallout

Fallout
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib
In Absentia	2013-07-09 After the jailbreak, Toru goes to visit Trib. Walls fall.
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments
There is no furniture in this apartment. That's the main thing that's noticeable. Well, almost no furniture. There is a battered lawn chair and an equally battered card table with a small, ancient radio sitting on it; the latter is often littered with newspapers and playing cards. And shoved up under the sole window is a battered arm chair, upholstered in a cowboy print fabric. There is no art, although on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of pictures and articles -- most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines that have made the cut. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where the only comfortable spot seems to be a rumpled army-surplus sleeping bag with a pillow made of a stuffed t-shirt. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's probably equally uncluttered in there. Not too long after the text exchange - Toru was apparently just a few streets over! - Trib will hear the downstairs buzzer buzz! Like, three times, each for several seconds at a go. /Somebody's/ impatient. And without giving the older man time to react, he'll hear a pretty raw voice from the street all but screaming, "HEY! BUZZ ME /IN/, MAN!" In this neighborhood, it isn't the kind of behavior that stands out, at least. And if nothing else, he has the sense not to actually yell Trib's /name/. If Trib looks out before doing said buzzing, he'll see Toru straddling an actually pretty nice bike, holding up a white bag - presumably dinner - and waving impatiently. Trib's head pops out a window, briefly, before the buzzer sounds, and Toru is admitted to the building. Luckily Trib's only on the third floor and the elevator's working, so it's not much longer before he'll be at the door to Trib's apartment. The door is cracked just enough to show that it's not locked, and there's the sound of something being put away before the door is pulled open again to reveal Trib. The big man is dressed in a pair of jeans that ride low on his hips, and a white tank-top that is probably a size too small for him. "You ain't gotta scream," is the grunted greeting the boxer has, although he sounds and looks amused. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Toru has hauled his bike up with him - he doesn't really have any intention to keep it outside in this neighborhood - and is hoisting it with one arm while the other carries the bag. Either it's really light, or he's a bit stronger than he looks! Either way, he brings it into the apartment with him, parking it up against the wall by the door before he kicks it shut behind him. "I ain't leavin' my bike out there," he adds, by way of explanation. Shoes are slipped off at the door, along with socks which sort of stick to the inside of the shoes anyway, and he throws his messenger bag in that area as well; he's really just making himself right at home, despite any verbal objections that may or may not occur. "I brought lo mein and bao and shit. You like bao, right?" Trib doesn't have any objections, apparenty, since he moves to the door, turning the locks and sliding the chain into place. Because he knows the neighborhood, as well. "I wouldn't ask you to leave your bike out there," he rumbles. "It'd be gone in about two minutes, even if you had a tow chain wrapped around it." He moves back into the apartment, clearing the card table of the few newspapers laid out there. "Bao?" he echoes, wrinkling his nose. "That's them dumpling things, right?" He moves closer to Toru, pushing into his personal space to grab at the bag. "You got eggrolls, right?" Because that is clearly the MOST IMPORTANT thing. This close, he smells pretty freshly-washed, although his hair is dry. "An' forks?" "I ain't a fuckin' /animal/," Toru points out. He flinches a little when the bag is pulled from his hands, but otherwise doesn't object; inside is, in fact, four egg rolls, a container with a clear lid containing the bao and, under that, two slightly large, round plastic containers, presumably with the noodles; everything is still hot, even. "And yeah, it's like, sweet pork buns. Fluffy, not like gyoza. Uhh.. potstickers?" He gestures with his hands, vaguely. "The crescent ones." Perhaps oddly, he doesn't object to the close proximity, though at this distance Toru pretty much smells like sweat and deodorant that's faded in potency over the course of the day. Once the food status is established, he nudges past Trib to head into the apartment and slump into the lawn chair, limbs outstretched, head tilted back; not unlike his posture at the park, though this time he's tired from exertion, rather than having just gotten out of bed. Trib grunts approvingly when there are, in fact, eggrolls, and he moves to set the bag on the card table. "I only ask about the forks 'cause I can't use chopsticks," he says, holding up his right hand. "But you'd probably get a kick out of watchin' me try." He begins setting out the containers, setting the table in some weird show of domesticity. "You want some water?" he asks, when the table is 'set'. He doesn't wait for an answer, moving to pull open the ancient refrigerator and extract two cold-looking bottles of generic-label water. Coming back to the lawn chair, he gently sets one down on Toru's forehead. "You could have just taken the subway," he rumbles. "At least you would have had fuckin' AC most of the way." Lifting a hand to pick up the water bottle, Toru shakes his head vaguely. "Bikin's fine when it's late." Grunting with the effort, he pulls the chair up to the table, pulling his noodles over along with chopsticks - he'd gotten two sets of chopsticks along with the fork, just to make sure there was something there Trib could use - and pulls the lid off his noodles - beef lo mein - and digs into them, eating silently for a moment. The water bottle is eyed for a moment once he fills his mouth with probably more noodles than a person should eat in one gulp, but after chewing and swallowing it he picks up the bottle, using it to point at Trib. "You got anything harder'n this?" "Still hot for that shit," Trib says, moving to pull the armchair to the table, where he sits heavily. Luckily, he's tall enough that the top of the table doesn't seem ridiculously high when he snugs up to it. He opts for the fork, pushing the chopsticks away before pulling the lid off his own container and poking the tines into the noodley concoction. He takes his own bite, chewing it carefully as he watches Toru, the slightest tilt to his head. He swallows and shakes his head at the question, looking almost apologetic. "I got some pineapple juice," he says. "An' protein shakes. But I don't think either of them is gonna taste very good with lo mein and pow." Toru just tilts his head back again and grumbles, "Fuuuuuuuuuck." And then for a minute he's completely still, as if the very news may have just broken his heart entirely-- but he finally leans forward again and digs back into his food. "Pineapple juice actually would probably be ok," he answers, mouth fulla noodles, but swallows them before continuing the thought. "But it ain't what I had in mind. Forget it," he then adds, just in case Trib misinterprets it as a request. And for the next few minutes he's all but silent as he eats, occasionally setting the noodle dish in his lap to reach for a piece of bao - he didn't bother correcting Trib on the pronunciation of that, even - before going back to the noodles. He doesn't touch the water, just yet. Trib watches this reaction carefully, pausing with his fork half-lifted to his mouth. When the smaller man begins eating again, he studies him with a small narrowing of his eyes. Then he's dropping the fork into his noodles and standing up, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Then, even as Toru is telling him to forget it, he's heading out the door, closing it heavily behind him and leaving Toru to eat in silence. It's a good ten minutes before he returns, a sheen of sweat on his skin and a brown paper bag wrapped around a bottle in one hand. A bottle that he sets on the table next to Toru before he sits back down in his own chair and returning to his noodles. He's apparently unbothered by the fact that they've cooled off, wolfing down a huge mouthful before he speaks again. "Don't puke on my floor." It literally doesn't even occur to Toru why Trib may have just up and /left/ like that until the man's return; by then, he's finished with his noodles and is leaned back in his chair, very slowly making his way through one of the eggrolls. When the booze is set on the table in front of him, he just stares at it uncomprehendingly for a minute, then finally looks up at Trib a little awkwardly. "Uh. Thanks." Leaning forward again, he sets the eggroll down, but that awkward expression remains on his face. "Not to keep bein' an imposition but you got like. Glasses? Maybe some ice? I ain't gonna drink the whole thing." Pause. "And I ain't gonna puke on your floor. In the sink, maybe." The eggroll is lifted, another bite taken and, as Toru realizes his delivery may have been a bit flat he clarifies, just as deadpan, "That was a joke." Trib snorts at the request, standing and leaning over to snag an eggroll from the container and pop into his mouth like a cigar. "Regular princess, ain't you?" he rumbles, and moves into the kitchen, where he opens a cabinet and extracts a glass with Wilma Flintstone on the side that he then fills with ice from the refrigerator. Returning to the table, he sets the glass down, and leans down, close to Toru, and shifts the eggroll in his lips with a small quirk of his lips. "You want me to pour for you, too?" he asks, his eyes crinkling. He doesn't wait for an answer; he's already moving to uncap the bottle and pour the whiskey into the glass. He might overpour -- Wilma is hip-deep in amber liquid by the time he lifts the bottle again and sets it back down. Toru does, in fact, protest! when Trib goes to pour the drink, but by then it's too late. "Ah-- c'mon, man. You're makin' it all weird." He then tilts his head a little bit, gesturing vaguely. "Ain't you gonna have any?" This does not stop him from taking the glass and sipping some for himself, wincing /just/ a bit at the burn. And following it with the rest of his eggroll. Predictably, the flavors don't blend well, and he uncaps his water bottle to take a sip of that and eliminate some of the eggroll flavor before he returns to the whiskey. Siip. He holds the glass down by his lap, tilting his chair backwards just a little bit - nowhere near the point where he might fall backwards - and rocks it up and down a bit. Other than that little protest, he continues to be oddly quiet, for a Toru. "Anything for my little man," Trib rumbles, and he actually reaches up to PINCH Toru's cheek like an old auntie before he moves back to his own seat. At the question, he gives a small negative grunt. "I don't drink," he says. "It's all sugar, an' my body turns that shit to fat right quick." It doesn't sound like a full explanation, but the big man doesn't elaborate further, instead watching Toru with hawk-like study. He remains silent as he finishes his noodles, and grabs up one of the bao, biting into it and making a happy little noise that doesn't match his solemn, watchful expression. When that's gone, he licks his fingers before fluttering them at the other man. "What?" Having responded to cheek-pinch with a half-hearted shove, Toru takes another sip of the whiskey, letting out a little sigh, and leans back in the chair. Head tilted back to look at the ceiling his initial reply is, "/What/ what?" But that little bit of fight vanishes just as quickly as it appeared, and he pushes his chair back to give himself room to lean forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't even fuckin' drink, you are like... ridiculously straight-edge, you know?" He shakes his head a few times. "I mean I sorta get it to an extent but come on, man." With another little sigh he shakes his head one last time. "I had a long day at work," is how he finally decides to explain... his whole overall paradigm. Trib lifts a shoulder at the reaction to his sober status, and the lift of his eyebrows is a gentle arc. "It just don't do nothin' for me," he says. "I /will/ drink with you, if it'll make you feel better." He stands, then, and moves back into the kitchen, coming back a moment later with a Dino glass with ice. He sets it down, and fills it mostly with water before he reaches over the table and grabs the bottle. The amount of alcohol he pours out, however, barely stains the water. Still, he lifts the glass in a toast before he sips at it and grimaces as if he were drinking it straight from the bottle. The answer to his question gets a flattening of his mouth, and he waits for the rest of explanation, leaning on the card table and peering at Toru. Upon Trib's return, Toru gives a vague little wave of his hand. "Well, I didn't mean for you to actually go out and buy a bottle, man." No explanation is forthcoming just yet; another sip of whiskey gets him about halfway through the booze, and he leans back in his chair again before abruptly pushing himself to his feet to start pacing around the apartment, slowly and aimlessly. "It's kind of uh." He waves the glass vaguely, gesturing. "Not the delivery job. I got another thing I do sometimes that's got like, a non-disclosure thing. It's only a couple times a month gig, sorta like..." There's a frown, there, as he tries to decide how to explain it without breaking said NDA. "A contract thing. If there ain't no jobs, there ain't no work, right? And when there /is/ a job it's.. kinda scrambly to get everything taken care of." He sighs a little, and his pacing takes him next to the armchair, against which he slumps as he slides down to the floor. "And I didn't really feel like hangin' out with my coworkers, after, soooo. Here we are." "Be a shitty host if I didn't provide for my guest," Trib rumbles, and he sounds a little offended that this would even be a possibility. He watches as Toru paces, listening to him speak with another narrowing of his eyes. "A contract thing," he echoes, as if trying to figure that out. "Last-minute contract work. Scrambly." He sounds like he might be on the verge of putting something together, but then he abandons it with a hard furrow of his brow. "Hope it pays well, if it's puttin' you through those kind of hoops." Which seems safe enough, and the big man stands, latching onto his armchair and dragging it back to its former spot before sitting again and crossing his legs at the ankle. "Looks like it's rough, whatever the fuck you're doin'." When the chair is pulled away, Toru just sort of... flops onto his side on the floor, for want of any other support, and looks up at Trib. The whiskey glass gets set on the floor in front of his face, though he's still holding on to it while he answers. "Yeah it pays pretty good, I mean it isn't like I can't /not/ do it if I don't wanna do it, y'know?" Big ol' shrug, there, and he rolls onto his back, pulling up the glass so that he can sort of lazily pour some of the booze into his open mouth, slowly to keep from spilling it. He's really not actually inebriated at all at this point, but maybe just having the booze is relaxing enough to loosen him up a little. "So like..." There's a minute's pause there while he does some mental math. "You were born in the early 90s so you're a good host, I was born in the mid 90s and by then nobody cared anymore?" Trib doesn't look /amused/ when Toru flops over, but he doesn't look overly concerned, either. He /does/ extend his legs, slightly, to nudge a toe into Toru's side. "You're not a mule or some shit, are you?" he asks, brow furrowing. "'Cause I don't really want to be fucking with narcs comin' by askin' if I've seen you." He sips at his whiskey-water, watching the man on the floor with a mildly pleasant sort of expression. The question gets a snort, and Trib nods. "Fuck, yes," he says. "The world went to /shit/ in those two years. Fucked up the whole social season." "/Haw/," is Toru's nasal reply, at first. As in the latter half of /hee-haw/, as in.. he may have misinterpreted that question at first. "/Oh/. No I'm not a fuckin'-- what the fuck kind of retarded idiot do you think I am?" /That/ has him gradually pushing himself to sit upright again, running a hand over his hair. "I thought you meant-- cause I was on the floor. I don't even know." He blinks, frowning again, not really sure... where he was going with that. "Uh, yeah, anyway. Pass me another one-a them buns." He lifts a hand, gesturing to himself, his other hand on the floor so that he can lean against it for support. "On the subject of bein' a good host'n'all. Actually I could use the bottle too, I think." "You really want me to answer that?" Trib asks, lifting his eyebrows at the question. "I don't even know how you thought I meant it 'cause you were on the floor." Because he has not had as much to drink as Toru. The request gets another crinkle of Trib's eyes, and he takes a long time to pull his legs back. "I'm a good host, but it only goes so far," he rumbles, and flicks his gaze at the table. "While you're up, you can bring me that last eggroll." He seems less jokey about it than Toru. Toru shakes his head a few times and just mumbles, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, whatever.." Pushing himself to his feet, he sort of bounce-walks over to the table, tossing Trib the eggroll - though he does make sure the other man sees it's coming, first - and setting his glass down so that he can refill it. He refills it a bit below the point where Trib had filled it, before, then leaves it on the table, pulling the lawn chair away from said table, picking up a bun and slumping into the chair with the whiskey bottle. That's gripped in one hand as he focuses on eating the bun, leaning towards Trib and using his elbow as support. "Cause animals. Go on the floor. I guess." Suddenly frowning. "I don't fuckin' know, what is this the fuckin' German Inquisition? /Fuck/." And the rest of the bun is shoved into his mouth. Trib snags the eggroll from the air, and pops it in his mouth, chewing through it quickly and swallowing audibly before offering an actual wide, smug grin at Toru. The grin fades the slightest bit when Toru changes glass for bottle, but he doesn't say anything other than, "It was the /Spanish/ Inquisition, you dumbass. Like in that Mel Brooks movie." His grin brightens again, and there's a spark in his eyes that's a bit mischevious. "Germans just ask about your papers." He leans forward, then, licking his fingers before pushing his bulk forward. "An' just out of curiosity -- how many mules you know sprawl out on the floor like a dog?" He's totally teasing, and he searches Toru's face for a long moment. "'Cause if you see that a lot, I think I oughta check out some of these house parties you go to." "Figured maybe you couldn't think of another animal," Toru mumbles, just a touch defensively, once he chews and swallows the bun. He actually does lean forward to grab his water bottle, chugging on that for a minute and drinking about half the bottle before he sets it on the floor next to his seat. This is followed by a long draw from the whiskey bottle, which in turn is followed by a series of coughing while he chokes it down. "Spanish, German, whatever, Europe is Europe." He takes in a deep breath, lets out a little sigh, and lifts his hands, holding the bottle in both of them, and rests it on his chest, slowly tilting it back and forth as he goes silent again. Trib chuckles. "I bet the Spanish and the Germans don't have that attitude," he says. "'Course, they probably think all Americans are the same, too." He wags a finger without censure. "Still don't make it right." At the sigh, he frowns, and reaches out to swat at Toru's knee gently. "Dude. What the fuck? You're bein' all serious an' shit." Tilting his head back, Toru closes his eyes and, still mumbling, answers, "Well, maybe I'm a bigot." When Trib smacks his knee, his reflexive reaction is to abruptly drop his arms to push himself up, making sure not to drop the whiskey bottle-- but he stops himself before getting any further. And in a series of slow, deliberate motions, the bottle is capped and set on the floor, and he pushes himself up to his feet, though now he's staggering just a little bit; more like he's dizzy than anything else. "I /told/ you, I had a fuckin'-- /day/, man." He shakes his head, wandering over towards the armchair, and just sort of /flops/ forward, resting one hand on each arm of the chair and just staring at Trib's face for a minute. "Startin' to figure you got the wrong idea about me, yet?" Trib pulls back at the sudden jump his knee-swat evokes, and he blinks slowly as he watches the drunken rise. When Toru moves towards the armchair, he leans back, allowing him to lean in as far as he needs to. Unflinching in the face of this weirdly aggressive stance, the big man tips his head to one side. "Actually, I'm wonderin' if /you/ ain't startin' to figure that out," he rumbles. The movement of his hand is slow, but it raises to twist up in the fabric of Toru's t-shirt, locking him in place lightly. Trib's golden gaze is firm and unwavering as he looks into the Asian's eyes. "Yeah?" Toru actually manages to maintain eye contact for a few long seconds, but when Trib grips his shirt, that's apparently just enough to make him rethink his actions. He doesn't pull away, but he does break his gaze, looking away and mumbling, "I dunno what you're talking about." This probably doesn't explain why his heartrate jumped noticeably for a minute, there, or why he's suddenly got a cold sweat going. He's still not pulling away, but he's still /verbally/ protesting. "What am I even doing here?" There's a frown, there, and he looks off towards the door, biting on his lip a little. "This isn't.. I shouldn't even be here." Shaking his head, he lifts a hand to Trib's, but it's to push the man's hand away from his shirt, assuming he cooperates. "You know," Trib rumbles, his gaze darkening to smoky amber as he notes those little indicators that seem insignificant but say so much. There's no emotion in his face beyond stark, smoky curiosity. The hand twisted in Toru's shirt releases when pushed, and it moves to clamp around a thin wrist, although not with any real pressure behind it. "What /are/ you doin' here?" Trib asks, and there's the smallest of tugs; an experimental sort of motion that might be an attempt to pull Toru closer. "Not that you ain't welcome." Biting the inside of his lip, Toru doesn't let himself get pulled closer, but he doesn't pull away, either. "I didn't wanna be alone," he finally mumbles, his cheeks flushing red with the admission. "And I didn't really wanna hang out with the guys I work with. They were doin' a thing but.." Shaking his head, he doesn't quite make eye-contact again, but he's looking up at Trib's chin, at least. "I didn't really wanna think about stuff. But I can't /stop/ thinkin' about stuff.." His voice actually /cracks/ a little there, and in another one of his abrupt moves, he drops to his knees, buring his face against one of Trib's legs, and brings his hands up to cover his head. His voice comes out in a bit of a whine, though it's muffled against denim, but there's unmistakable desperation in his tone. "I did something really bad." Whoa. Trib is not expecting this level of response, clearly, and he blinks for a moment as Toru speaks honestly. His grip on the man's wrist loosens, and he furrows his brow. His eyes search the other man's face, and his jaw works soundlessly for a moment. "Hey..." he begins, but then there is a Toru on his leg, and he immediately folds his bulk in half, shielding the smaller man further and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Hey," he repeats, this time a soft rumble near Toru's ear. "You're okay." His hand rubs along that narrow shoulder, and he lets his head rest on top of Toru's in a strange comforting sort of thing. "What did you do?" Toru is silent for a moment; if nothing else he isn't actually /crying/, but it may just about be a panic attack, the way he's breathing. A moment passes before he pulls himself away from Trib's leg, at least enough to let him speak without getting a mouthful of jeans, but now that he feels like he has 'permission' to talk-- that's pretty much all he does. "I can't /tell/ you, because of the /thing/," and he sounds apologetic enough about that point. He's just staring down at the seat, now, while he continues, "I just-- I /don't/ really have any friends and like, ninety-nine times outta ten I don't /care/ but then shit happens and I don't got anybody to talk to, and I'll be /fine/ in the morning, I just fucking... all this /shit/ is going down right now, between work and whatever is going on with you, I don't even /know/, and it just, it's all coming together and I can't fucking /deal/ but I didn't wanna get any dope and I can't get booze and I didn't know what else to do but come here on accounta pretty much nobody else'll put up with me." There's only the slightest of unfolding from Trib when Toru pulls back, the big man seemingly loathe to abandon the smaller man in his moment of crisis. So when Toru pulls back, Trib's mouth is dangerously close to his ear. When he speaks, the breath there is warm and soft, but lacking any sort of seductive tone. "You don't got to tell me," he rumbles. "I can be here for you without knowin' details." His arms might tighten just a fraction, and the brush of his mouth against Toru's hair when he shifts his weight is probably coincidental. "I don't care if you don't got no friends," he says firmly. "It ain't like I'm swimmin' in 'em. There ain't many who put up with /my/ ass, either." The rumble in his chest might be a chuckle, then. "You can come an' talk to me whenever you need to, even if you can't tell me nothin'." Toru is still shaky, but between getting that rant off his chest and Trib being all comforting, he gradually is able to calm down significantly. Still, he doesn't move from where he is, but instead focuses on breathing properly, for now. When he does finally respond, his voice is a little quieter, but he's dropped any pretense at being a ~badass~, at least for the moment. "I mean... like I said, it's not like... I'll be okay later. It's just a thing I ain't done before and... it kinda freaked me out a little. I'll be fine if I gotta do it again, even," he adds, reassuringly, though it's hard to tell just who he's reassuring. "But I don't like... dude." And there's the sound of Toru realizing, again, where he is, and tensing up just slightly. He slowly turns his head to one side, to avoid looking anywhere inappropriate, and is a little surprised to find Trib's face a lot closer than he realized it was. "I-- I didn't mean to dump on you like this, man," his voice is shaky again, though it's nerves this time. "This is like.. super awkward I should go." "You think you'll have to do it again?" Trib is genuinely curious as he tilts his head, looking at the side of Toru's head. There's a dawning recognition in his eyes as things fall together (possibly), and his arms tighten just a bit more without adding pressure. Which means when Toru tenses up, he pulls up against a rail made of forearms. When Toru begins to make apologies, Trib makes a dismissive noise in his throat, and shakes his head imperceptibly. "I told you; it's fine," he says, and when the smaller man says he should go, there's the smallest hitch in Trib's eyebrows. "Do you want to go?" "I don't... know." It's hard to tell whether that's 'know' or 'no', but either way, after a hesitation, Toru's next remark is, "...not really." He finally bring shimself to look up into Trib's eyes again, but his expression really is more akin to a lost puppy than anything else, now. And while he hasn't been outright /crying/, his eyelashes are on the moist side. "I don' really know what you're expecting from me," he mumbles, shaking his head a little. "...and I'mma little drunk. Little. Bit." Taking in a deep breath, he moves to push himself up, mumbling, "Lemme up," as he does, Toru stands - again staggering just a touch - but when he regains his balance he rubs the heel of his palm against one of his eyes, and smirks just a little impudently. "So I guess this makes me the girl, then." Trib doesn't respond to Toru's indecision, but when he looks up, he'll find the boxer's gaze a smoky amber that's got an intensity to it that's new. Trib's gaze tracks to the moisture on Toru's lashes, and when the smaller man pushes to his feet, Trib lets him go. His exhale is soft, but also a bit shaky, and he frowns at the attempt at humor. "I don't expect nothin' from you," he says, suddenly. "You know I'm interested, but I ain't gonna force you into nothin' you ain't comfortable with." His eyebrows lift. "I ain't some creep." He rises to his feet in one swift motion, and steps up to Toru, reaching out to rub a rough thumb over his cheek. "I ain't interested in playin' 'boy-girl' with you," he says. "It don't work that way." Toru's expression is just a touch on the frustrated side in response to that, but he doesn't push it into any kind of volatile reaction, and quickly enough he smooths it over a little. "I mean I fuckin'--" He drops his hands to his sides, gritting his teeth a little as he shakes his head. "I don't /know/. Like.. I guess I'm kinda.. I guess I want to /try/," which is probably the closest to a verbal confession he'll come out with, "I don't really know how this is supposed to /work/. I.. ain't never gotten real far with the ladies before and that usually kinda ends.. bad. Maybe I'm doin' it wrong. I don't know. I mean if it gets weird.." He shrugs, awkwardly. "..we stop, yeah?" Trib's face is unreadable as Toru explains, and he remains silent until the younger man is finished, and he steps forward a bit more. "Like I said," he rumbles. "I ain't interested in makin' you uncomfortable." He leans down, slightly, and tips his head to regard the other man for a long moment. "You say stop, an' we'll stop," he agrees, and this time the shift of his weight actually destroys any personal space between them. "You ever kiss any of them ladies?" he asks suddenly, his hand coming up to ghost along Toru's arm. That question actually gets a blush from the shorter kid, who initially responds by running a hand through his hair a little awkwardly, and shakes his head a bit; nerves, again. "Y--Yeah, I mean. I ain't /that/ pathetic." There's the posturing, again, but it seems like he's mostly just trying to get himself comfortable moreso than make himself sound good. "Other'n that, like-- forget it, it ain't--" He shakes his head a bit more, and lifts shaky hands to grip at Trib's tank top, perhaps a little overly firmly. "I just don't.." Toru's dropped his gaze to just stare at Trib's shirt, gulping quietly. "It isn't that I'm not interested, I just don't know.. what I'm supposed to /do/." Trib is patience itself as Toru gathers himself, and there's the smallest curl at one corner of his mouth. "There ain't no /supposed/ to," he rumbles, moving his left hand to cover Toru's, and looping his right around the shorter man's waist. "There's just doin' what feels right an' comfortable. An' that just comes from tryin' stuff." The smile is a tiny bit wider, and the big man leans close, his lips not quite brushing against Toru's, but close enough they might be sharing breath. "So what do you /feel/ like doin'?" And there, Toru's breath quickens again, but he's almost making hesitant eye-contact now; his eyes are a bit downcast, but they're otherwise pointed in the right direction. He does manage a slight grin of his own at that, leaning in /just/ a touch, but it's soon replaced by a somewhat apologetic expression. "Right now, though..." he gives a little tug at the shirt, and does finally make eye contact again. "...I don't mean to be a tease, but I don't think... I think I should probably sleep first." Biting his lip lightly, he nonetheless punctuates that sentence with a very tentative, and very brief, little peck against Trib's lips. Almost like he's afraid it might hurt, or something. "...soon." That quick peck is not unexpected by Trib, and he presses into it just a bit before he's helping to truncate it. Remarkably, it's painless! "Okay," he grunts, although he doesn't release the shorter man just yet. He's just content, it seems, to hold Toru for a moment, watching his face for a long moment. Then he nods. "...soon." With that established, Toru leans forward against Trib's shoulder, and his free hand opens up to rest against Trib's shirt, gently rubbing the fabric for a moment. Toru is oddly content for the moment as well, even though Trib can probably feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest, but he's doing his best to try and settle down a bit. It's working, if gradually, and once his heartrate evens out a bit he lifts his head /just/ a bit to ask, his tone a little teasing, "Do you seriously just sleep in a sleeping bag?" Trib's own heart is remarkably fast, despite his cool demeanor, and his arms aren't showing any sign of letting go any time soon. His half-hand strokes along Toru's back, attempting to help in settling the nerves of the younger man. The tease gets a low rumble of a chuckle, and Trib torso shifts as he lifts his shoulders. "I know it's glamorous as shit," he chuckles. "But I can't afford a mattress just yet," he says, eyes crinkling. "It's comfortable, though. I got quilts underneath it for extra padding." His weight shifts, taking them microscopically closer to the bedroom, and he smiles down at the other man. "You'll like it." The 'glamorous' remark gets a bit of a half-chuckle from Toru, who leans in against Trib just a touch more and shakes his head. "It's about on par with my place," he notes. "I mean, you've got a sleeping bag and I've gotta couch... but you've got tables and chairs and I've got.. a couch." Another half-chuckle there, and he allows Trib to gradually guide him room-wards, though after a few of those microscopic steps he's pulling away /just/ enough to make slightly faster progress in that direction. Once they do arrive there and get settled in on the sleeping bag, Toru ends up tiring out pretty quickly, and ultimately falls asleep curled against Trib's chest, getting little spoon status pretty much by default.