ArchivedLogs:Negotiating Again
| Negotiating Again | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2014-01-27 Takes place immediately after Trib comes home. WARNING: Some alluded-to adult content. |
| Location
<NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton | |
For a room in the Sunrise building, this apartment is pretty well-furnished. There isn't much in the way of art - though on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of articles; most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines. Against one wall is a plush brown couch is wedged between matching end tables, with a matching ottoman seated in front of it, and a blue throw blanket draped over the back. Set diagonally from that, next to a brass floor lamp, is a matching brown recliner - clearly, the three are part of a set. Decidedly /not/ matching that furniture is another couch on an opposing wall with stripes in varying widths in shades of blue, green, teal and brown; this one is a bit cheaper looking, with canvas upholstery and bare wood arms. Under it all, a mottled brown-and-ivory rug covers the hardwood floor. The only other wall with only space has a set of hooks screwed into it, which usually has a blue street bicycle hanging from it, and a skateboard leaning against the wall on the floor beneath it. The whole living room feels a bit cramped, though the relative lack of clutter keeps it from feeling too over-crowded. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed; the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's likely stocked with bathroom-appropriate accoutrements. As is his usual tendency when he has the apartment to himself, Toru has been /tidying/. One of these days the apartment's going to look like it belongs in a nicer building, but for now it's merely 'nice'. He's even swiffered under the couch, and there's a towel spread out on the kitchen floor, against a bare patch in the wall. When Trib banged on the door, the teen had been laying on the couch playing a video game, but after letting the boxer in he turns the game and TV /off/, putting the controller away, and scratching the back of his head. "I feel like we oughtta get a coffee table. You bring me anything good?" Trib enters the apartment, whistling slowly as he closes the door and locks it behind him. Only then does he set down the bag of food he's carrying in order to kneel and remove his boots. "Got kung pao, an' hot an' sour soup," he rumbles, grunting a bit as he works his boots off. "An' pot-stickers, only I gave one to Tweety, so it's a fuckin' odd number." Boots finally off, he kicks them at the wall before he peels off his jacket and hoodie, revealing his grey thermal undershirt. "Oh, an' brownies from that place you like." He smiles as he picks up the bag and moves towards the kitchen. "You know that cat?" is casual as he sets the bag down on the counter. "He's pretty cool. Hey, what's with the towel?" "We.. run into each other from time to time," Toru answers, with a slow nod. "He kinda creeps me out." He brushes at his hair a bit, striding towards the kitchen and leaning on the counter, looking at the bags of food but not touching. "I kinda forgot with me not workin' it means I ain't bringin' food home, I should probably start learnin' how to make... stuff. I'll go grocery shopping. Tomorrow." His tone is just a touch on the apologetic side, though he doesn't offer any apology more overt than the tone. "The towel's 'cause sometimes my tires get muddy and if the bike ain't over the drip trays then it's gonna make a mess where it /is/ sittin'." "I like him," Trib says, rolling his shoulders. "He's fuckin' cheerful, for a fuckin' cat. I kind of like that." He moves to the silverware drawer, pulling out a fork and a couple of spoons. He grunts when Toru mentions going grocery shopping, and looks over to the towel for a moment before turning crinkled eyes on the teenager. "Well, lookit you. Suzy Homemaker, ain't you?" He takes the two steps to cross the kitchen and poke a finger into Toru's side. "Thought you liked it dirty."
"I noticed," Trib rumbles, beginning to extract the food from the bag and setting it on the counter. "I fuckin' like it. I hate a fuckin' mess." He wrinkles his nose as he pulls out the soup cups, setting a spoon next to each. He grins when Toru realizes there are brownies, and he turns to close one eye at the teenager. "Got some good news today," he says. "I'd have been home fuckin two hours ago to tell ya, but the fuckin' trains are slow as shit in this weather." He turns back to the counter, digging out chopsticks for Toru and the two cartons of kung pao. "I don't think money's gonna be an issue for a while. Few months, anyway." The remark about hating a mess elicits a bit of an uncomfortable silence from the teen, and while he tries to hide his shift in demeanor, once Trib finishes talking Toru lowers his head, biting his lip and asking, "Can we.. can we talk about that?" He takes a deep breath. "I mean, I wanna hear your news too, but--" He doesn't touch the food, but does force a smile, shifting the topic back to that first matter. "--did you finally get your boxing stuff worked out? I mean, I've been lookin' forward to that, on accounta y'know. It'll be nice you gettin' your stuff together and obviously I wanna see things goin' right for once." "Talk about what?" Trib says, furrowing his brow as he fetches paper towels, tearing off two and holding one out for Toru to take. "Hatin' a mess? You know that, by now. Even when I didn't have anything in here, shit was fuckin' tight. Makes things easier to find an' shit." He frowns at the shift in demeanor, and his brow furrows further as Toru presses on. "I got a line on a card," he rumbles, setting his paper towel on the counter and leaning heavily against it. "I'm goin' tomorrow to check it out, an' see what I need to sign on." The boxer tips his head slowly, probing his lower lip with his tongue for a long, thoughtful moment. "What's on your mind, pup?" Toru takes the paper towel, setting it next to his food, then reaches out to grasp Trib's hand firmly. With a deep breath, he continues, "You said before you didn't want to make me uncomfortable. I just.." His grip tightens, the teen moving to lean in against Trib's side, avoiding eye-contact in favor of physical contact. "I dunno what happened to you this weekend, but the whole... I ain't upset at what you been doin', I just-- I wish you would talk to me," is what he finally settles on, and now he does tilt his head up to look at Trib. "It's like you get these weird /moods/ and you take 'em out on me but you don't tell me what the hell's goin' on in your head and I'm tryin' to catch up but you're in a different country by the time I even know you're gone." Trib's eyes narrow when Toru takes his hand, and when the teenager leans into him, he uses that claimed hand to loop his arm around that narrow torso. When Toru finishes speaking, the boxer's eyes are narrowed to tiny, thoughtful slits. Then, slowly, he /un/winds Toru, gently releasing his hand and disappearing into the bedroom. A few moments later, he comes back with a ten-gallon hat in his hand. He's studying it carefully as he comes back, turning it slowly in his hands. When he's back in the kitchen, he takes the hat and drops it on Toru's head -- a thing which it is entirely too big for. "Remember that?" Nudging the hat further back on his head so that he can actually see under it, Toru gives a little nod, though he looks more confused than anything when it's brought up. "It looks better on you than me. I never really noticed it around before but I figured it was in storage or somethin'." It doesn't take long for him to decide it really doesn't look so great on him, though, and soon enough it's removed and set on the counter. "I take it it's got somethin' to do with your whole... thing?" He gestures with one hand vaguely, pointing up-and-down along Trib's body, not indicating any region in particular. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I ain't /mad/." "I never saw it before Sunday mornin'," Trib says, stepping back and leaning against the counter. His brows twitch, and he ducks his head. "Well, I guess that ain't /exactly/ true. I saw it in a fuckin' dream I had." He chews on his lip, thinking. "It was a good dream, but I was fightin' this cowboy who was wearin' that hat. An' I beat his /ass/," he adds, a bit fiercely, swelling out his chest. "An' when I woke up, the hat was hangin' on the door." He reaches out to pluck at the brim. "My pa had a hat like it, when I was a kid," he says. "My ma stomped it flat, an' threw it out. I don't know where this one fuckin' came from." He shrugs. "But. Somethin' about it makes me wanna..." he narrows one eye. "Well, you know. If it ain't somethin' you want to do, I'll fuckin' stop." This sounds sincere, and Trib tugs at the brim of the hat. "'Cause of that thing I don't say." The last remark elicits a warm smile from Toru, though the rest of the explanation has him just as confused as Trib seems. "So you had a dream about a guy in a hat and woke up and had the hat, that's.. okay." He frowns a little, slowly shaking his head. "I guess seein' as how I can turn my hands into bones I can't really think that's /that/ weird, but that's still... pretty weird." Finally, he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he moves on to the meat of the matter. "I kinda... feel funny sayin' I don't want you to stop." His voice is lowered in a /just/-audible mumble, as if if he says it quietly enough he's not /really/ admitting it. "...but I think we oughtta have some kinda boundary conversation." Striding over to Trib, the teen lowers himself down a bit, coming up to gently headbutt the boxer's ribs. "It's just-- you gotta stop doin' stuff first and expectin' me to tell you if I don't like it when you know I hate seein' you disappointed. You can /talk/ to me." His hands slide up under Trib's undershirt, Toru smiling mischievously. "If you can't trust me with your shit then who the hell else are you going to?" "Yeah, I thought it was weird, too," Trib says, wrinkling his nose. "But, it's kind of nice, too. Makes me feel good. Which is usually pretty good for you, yeah?" He grins, a quick flash of teeth that fades as Toru drops his head and mumbles his admission. He groans a bit at the mention of having a conversation, and he drops his chin to his chest with a huff of laughter. "Jesus. You an' your negotiatin'." There's no heat in his tone as he says this, and when Toru's hands find their way under his undershirt, he lifts his own to to trap them there as he stares into the smaller man's eyes. Like he's trying to stare this situation out of existence. Eventually, he exhales heavily in a mock-defeated sort of sound. "Argh. Fine. We'll talk about it," he acquiesces, and squeezes Toru's hands before he leans in and plants a kiss on the teen. "But over food. I'm fuckin' starved." | |
