ArchivedLogs:Hugs

Hugs
Dramatis Personae Peter, Daiki
In Absentia	2014-01-07 Daiki needs more hugs :<
Location <XS> Daiki's Dorm - FL2
A standard, if comfortable, dorm room. Two beds, two closets, two desks, two dressers. One half of the room is clearly unoccupied, though, nothing on its desk, its bed neatly made in plain standard-issue white sheets. The other half of the room /is/ occupied, though it doesn't have a whole /lot/ more mess to tell of it. Impeccably neat, carefully organized. Books alphabetized on the shelves over the desk, bed made /crisply/ with its blue-and-white comforter smoothed neatly into place. Closed door closed, nothing on the floor except a fluffy-soft blue-edged white rug by the bed and a small table beneath the window, a tea set (also blue and white) set up on it next to an electric water heater. The top of his dresser is neatly arranged with a pair of vases, a pair of black candle holders with half-burned white candles, a pair of small saucers, a pair of small jars. A little sprig of some sort of plant lies there, tiny white flowers open on it. Daiki is, at the moment, sitting at his desk. His calc textbook is open in front of him, pencil tapping quickly against his cheek as he thinks. His other arm is propped on the desk, fingers raked into his (now-short!) hair. He's dressed neatly as always, dark slacks, knee-length cream tunic edged in crimson, its mandarin collar buttoned up all the way. There's music playing, quietly in the background. Ryan Black's newest album. There is knocking at the door. Knockknockknockknock. A little frantic, at first, but soon smoothing away to a steady, even tempo. Behind the door there is a Peter; dressed simply, in a navy-blue hoodie, black dress slacks, and good, strong black wool socks. No shoes. Peter doesn't do shoes, not if he can't help it. The hood is pulled back; his face looks -- troubled. Flustered. There might be a slight swelling at the corner of his eyes; a faint trace of wetness. Daiki tips his head at the knocking, throwing a distracted look towards the door. He reaches for his laptop, fingers hovering for a moment, but then decides against turning off the music. "It's open," he says instead, swivelling his desk chair to face the door. Peter enters. A little quickly, with a slide of his socks across the floor; once he's stepped in, he's rapidly shutting the door behind him -- throwing a quick, hesitant glance between Daiki and the doorway. For a moment, he just shuffles in place, as if unsure what precisely to do -- then, step by step, he begins moving toward Daiki -- slowly! -- arms tucked into his pockets. "I wanted to see if you're -- okay," Peter ventures. "I mean, no one's okay, I guess, I'm gonna go talk to Shane too but he's got Sebastian and Micah and I know that when you, uh, it's probably hard for you to..." The words trail off, peetering into nothing. Inside, there is the quiet pull that there always is; a little bit warmer, a little bit more affectionate. Daiki watches Peter's slow approach with a faintly puzzled frown pulling at his brows. The eraser of his mechanical pencil stops its tapping against his cheek, and he lowers his hands to his lap. "I am okay," he answers Peter with that same faint puzzlement. For a moment he studies Peter's face and the wetness around his eyes. "Are /you/ okay?" He opens a drawer to his desk, retrieves a box of tissues to offer towards Peter. Peter's approach becomes a little quicker at that pull -- at least it does at first. But then, as if realizing what was happening, Peter's approach becomes slower -- more forced. As if he was trying to guard himself against the pull -- not /fight/ it so much as be /aware/ of it. He's still /approaching/, though, stepping up beside Daiki and blinking at the offer of tissues; he reaches for them, as if instinctively -- before moving his hand to touch at his eyes instead. The fluster in his cheeks deepens, turning to a vivid violet. "Oh, y-yeah, I'm -- I mean -- it was... I saw the video, and I thought... it's so terrible that -- that all happened to you, and... I guess, I just wanted -- is it okay if I hug you?" "Oh." Daiki's voice is quieter now, a slow swallow pushed down his throat. His eyes lower to his lap,and he pulls in a deep breath. "Yes, I think many people have seen that video now. But those -- things I spoke of, Peter, that was many years ago." Which doesn't change the fact that the steady magnetic pull of his ability is climbing. He sets the tissues aside on the desk, atop his open calculus textbook. A very small tug pulls at his lips, fading soon away. "Hugging me is often unwise, Peter." At the increase of that tug, that pull, Peter's breath catches; soon, he is breathing very slowly -- very /consciously/ -- as his body becomes still, his eyes closing. He sways, just a little. It is clear he is trying very hard to focus. "...I know," Peter says, his tone soft, measured, controlled. "Your power is -- it sounds kind of terrible. Hard. But, it doesn't work on people when they're not around you, right? So if someone decided... it was okay. To lose themselves to your power for a while. When they weren't around you... that'd make it okay, right? I..." Peter's eyes pop open. The violet intensifies. "--it's okay. For you to do this to me, I mean. As long as /you're/ okay with it." "It might be easier if you sat." Daiki gestures across to the bed; it's a gentle suggestion, though even suggestions from Daiki tend to be a lot more /compelling/ than from most. He pushes his rolling desk chair back just a little bit farther from the bed as he says it. "Inertia is hard to resist, too." His pencil twirls rapidly between his first two fingers; he catches it again in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. "That -- is complicated," he admits with a touch of regret. "Among other things, my abilities are something of a drug. They don't actively work when I'm not around people, but people who've been exposed to me /enough/ --" He shakes his head, his small frown deepening. "After a point are just conditioned to -- want me," he says with a faint dusting of blush, "whether I'm there or not. It's not quite as powerful as an addiction, but -- similar. People do not -- go to any great lengths to be with me when I am not around, but are still just conditioned after a while to -- think of me fondly, if the subject comes up. And you have known me for some time now." Peter blinks, sluggishly; he turns to look at the bed, as if in a daze -- and then approaches it, sitting down atop of it, on the edge -- his hands slipping out of the pockets of his coat to lay atop of his knees. As he listens to Daiki, the fluster in his cheeks darkens to indigo -- but then seems to back off, becoming violet. "...oh," Peter admits, a distinct note of disappointment in his tone -- along with a hinting flavor of sadness. "So you don't even know if... /oh/. Shane had mentioned, but I didn't realize... it was -- /that/ bad." He swallows; fingers curl against his lap. "Do you think that's why I came to you first, instead of Shane? I mean, I'm going to see him too, I just thought... with your power, you might have less people who you can trust to... Oh, man," Peter says, hands lifting up to rub at his temples, eyes moving from Daiki to his lap, rubbing at the sides of his head. "Your power makes hugs /confusing/." "It is -- pretty insidious." Daiki's blush deepens at this. "It may have been why," he allows, "but then, I am down the hall and Shane is in the East Village, so seeing me is also more convenient, today." He gives a small shrug at this. "When it comes to my relationships with other people I have -- very /little/ way to gauge what's real and what's. Just me." His fingers close together in his lap, his smile -- small, and wistful. "Yes. It does. I don't --" He swallows, fingers locking together in his lap, his pencil squeezed tight between his palms. "-- often. Hug." "Oh. Well, yeah, there is -- /that/," Peter admits, a little distantly, his eyes drifting up from his lap to look at the ceiling, then. As Daiki goes on, Peter's eyes drift back to watch him -- down to that pencil. At the sign of Daiki's agitation, Peter grows agitated too; as if the sight of someone /wanting/ a hug was nearly impossible to resist. His jaw sets, tightening. He exhales from his nose. "...I don't know, either. I know that -- even if I didn't /like/ you, I'd want to hug you. I want to hug everyone in that video. But..." Peter's eyes close; he concentrates on breathing, again. Forcing his racing mind to slow. "...but I know I'd like you, even without the power. You're very. Nice. And gentle. And careful. About your power. And... I don't think I'd stay away from you, if I knew all about you, but had never met you. I'm okay with..." Again, his eyes close. "...even if some of it is /you/, and not me. You still deserve -- something nice. You deserve..." The indigo returns, full force, now; Peter's eyes pop open. "Love." This last comment pulls Daiki's smile wider, and he breathes out a slow tired laugh. His hands unlace, one lifting to press his palm against his eye as he rocks slightly back in his chair. There's a sudden aching spike of pull, a wrenching /tug/ that goes beyond affection and into need; its keening pain doesn't really /match/ the look of amusement that's slipped across Daiki's face. "Oh," he breathes out, softly, "/Everybody/ loves me." "--oh," Peter says, sharp-yet-soft, as if he has just received a sock to the gut; his expression flickers between one of pain and want, and his hands -- previously curled up in his lap -- are suddenly on the bed itself, *clenching* into the sheets, fingers denting hard into the surface of the mattress. His whole body flexes, like a rubber band stretching out toward Daiki; he bites down into his bottom lip and -- slowly, almost painfully, /reels/ himself back to the corner of the bed. "...nngh. Oh. Oh. That's --" Peter's still catching his breath, flustered. His feet scoot across the floor, socks scraping over carpet, toes curled, as if slowly treading water -- pedaling, back and forth, in agitation. "--not the same. As... having someone give it. Just because. You /need/ it. Losing control. With someone who. Wants to let you... lose control." He's starting to ramble, brain reeling. Again, his eyes close, brows wrinkling, drawing in a staggered, sharp breath. Daiki closes his eyes, head bowing in apology. "I am sorry," he offers in soft Japanese. For a time he just breathes, slow and deep. The painful-sharp pull subsides, somewhat. Still strong, still heavily laced with want and need, but melting back down to a more manageable level. "With Shane, sometimes, I --" His blush deepens. He shakes his head quickly. "You did watch the video." He gives Peter a small twitch of smile. "When I lose control, it does not tend to end well for anybody." Peter doesn't understand Japanese, but he gets the gist of what Daiki is saying. His eyes do not open; his breathing grows steadier -- still quick, but less chaotic and needy. Some of the wrinkles smooth out of his forehead as he listens, his fingers continuing to clench at the mattress underneath him -- now with a steady, pulsing rhythm. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. His feet continue to backpedal against the carpet, but the pace slows, becoming more of a languid undulation. "Nnnmh," Peter responds, to the mention of the video. "I -- oh. Oh, oh. No, I don't -- is it always like that?" he asks, his voice much more /quiet/, now. "When you lose control -- is it always... bad? I... I'm really strong -- maybe I shouldn't -- I could /hurt/ you," he says, a little shocked at the realization -- shocked enough that his eyes open again, a little wider. He draws in a sharper breath, scooting back on the bed. "You could." Daiki just says this quiet and simple. "Many people have. It isn't -- always /sex/. People's -- needs, their desires, manifest in very different ways sometimes. Often sex but sometimes just -- possession." His eyes fix down at his lap and not at Peter. "But it's often ugly. And while it would be nice," he acknowledges wistfully, "to be more affectionate with my friends, losing control isn't -- likely to end anywhere /either/ of us want. I don't --" His blush is still deep. "Generally want that type of attention any more than the other person would generally want to be giving it to me. I'm just often in the uncomfortably unique position of /actually/ being the cause of my /own/ --" There's a beat of hesitation, a deeper flush before he finishes plainly, "-- rape." At the last comment, Peter's eyes get bigger, wider -- and, once more, he seems /drawn/ to Daiki, though this time, the draw is not accompanied by a spike in Daiki's magnetic pull. His hands squeeze down hard against the mattress; a whining sound escapes his lips, his jaw set, his eyebrows mashed together. "O-oh," he says, weakly -- then: "Oh, oh, I'm -- sorry. That's... that's..." He squirms, struggling, apparently desperate to do /something/. Hug /someone/. Peter's wrist snaps out; there's a THWP -- the hidden shooter firing a webline out behind him, to catch one of the pillows on Daiki's bed. He reels it in with a single jerk of his hand, catching it -- and suddenly, Peter's arms are both wound about it, /squeezing/ it with a savage fierceness. His chin is propped up on top of it, watching Daiki. "--terrible." Daiki pushes out a slow breath, letting his eyes close as he rotates his chair back towards his desk. "It is what it is." He sounds tired, here. "Everyone's abilities, I imagine, cause their own form of struggle in their lives. In /that/, I'm not unique." Peter hugs the stuffing out of that pillow. "You're /strong/. For living with that. This. I mean. I guess--" He gets up, his grip on the pillow loosening, flustered. "--I guess you have no /choice/, you either have to live with it, or... but, I mean. You're... alive. Here. Now. Controlling it. Maybe, um, maybe someday," Peter continues, moving toward Daiki -- carefully, but briskly, pillow in hand. "--you'll get a break?" He steps to Daiki's side -- and offers him the pillow, even as he begins to step back, away. "--I guess I shouldn't hug you but I hugged this and you can hug it if you want to that's like, /almost/ a hug. Hug by -- transference." Daiki's eyes fix on Peter with his approach, locking on him long and thoughtful. It's tentative-slow when he lifts his hand, taking the pillow. His arms curl around it slowly as well, squeezing it tight; he tips his head down, burying his face against the cushion with a ragged unsteady exhale. Peter smiles, albeit a bit sadly; he watches Daiki hug the pillow -- even as he takes careful, calculated steps backward. "...I should," Peter admits, "go check on Shane and Sebastian. Do you -- want to come? Or..." His lips purse. "--do you want someone to... just. Be around? I... could just. Hang out. Read. Or something. If you don't want to be -- alone." Daiki's expression is hidden against the pillow, but he just gives a small shake of his head. He stays with face mooshed into the pillow for a long while before lifting his head to smile, small and thankful, at Peter. "Thank you. No. I have -- quite a bit of homework to do. Please, just --" His smile skews a little crooked as he swivels back around towards his desk. "... give them all hugs from me." For a moment, it looks like Peter wants to say something else to this, but -- once Daiki swivels back to his desk, his expression calms -- and he gives a silent, quick nod. Before wordlessly slipping out the door.