ArchivedLogs:No Pressure

No Pressure
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Tag	2013-09-10 '
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. The front door opens and--in a turn of events no one could have foreseen--Tag walks in, shoulders hunched and steps dragging. He wears a lagoon blue seersucker shirt with royal purple stripes and startlingly plain gray slacks. His pink canvas sneakers match the magenta of his hair, which is gathered back in a perilously short ponytail from which a few locks have escaped to obscure his vision. He struggles out of his shoes and shuffles across the living room to collapse on a beanbag. Flop. Sink. Then, perhaps as a concession to his body's obnoxious need for air, he wiggles his way up so that his face is no longer smothered by the amorphous furniture. A head peeks out of the bathroom door when Tag enters. A brightly tattooed head, currently in the process of becoming /more/ colourful by dint of cheerfully sky-blue makeup dusted over Jax's eye. "Woah hey! Hi, honey-honey. You look, uh, beat --" He disappears back into the bathroom, though his voice continues, "-- d'you want some caffeine? I'm gonna need t'make myself a whole lotta coffee 'fore work nohow." It takes a moment longer before he actually emerges properly, sort of half-dressed in the transition between one job and the next, shirtless, the skirt he'd worn to Xavier's draped over one arm and traded for a bright but comfortable pair of powder blue UFO pants edged in silver. "How's it going?" "Hi..." Tag rolls onto his side so that his voice will carry better. "I would /love/ caffeine, if you are making some anyway. I had a ton earlier, so am crashing a bit now." He lapses into a bright and guileless smile when Jax emerges. "Could be worse, I guess? Still hunting for jobs." Rolling off of the beanbag and onto feet clad in Rainbow Dash socks--stealth Brony!--he offers a droopy hug. "I'm a terrible hunter, though. How're you?" "Did you try setting bait?" Jax curls his arm around Tag, his hug coming as usual with a rather fierce dose of feverish-high body heat. "How's that going?" His nose wrinkles with the question. "Don't envy you, job huntin's never fun." His head tips downwards, pressing a small kiss to the top of Tag's head before letting go. "Survived another day at school." This comes with a bright smile, though his laugh is a little tired. "Due to go babysit Io this evening. Should be alright." "I did! My CV must not make very good bait." Tag shrugs. "Should pretty it up. Maybe staple some candy to it." He pads into the kitchen and starts gathering coffee-summoning supplies in more or less arbitrary order: mugs, sweeteners, spoons, hey look another sweetener. "It's not going very /well/," he admits, gazing at the bottle of cane syrup in his hand as if it held all the answers. "I mean...is it really /that/ suspicious that I have a BS but almost no work experience and a birth certificate but no photo ID?" He throws in a wry grin with the last part, but it comes up a little faint. "I don't think they understand how hard it is to get one of those." The syrup joins the small cluster of gathered implements. "I'm pretty sure Io enjoys having you as a babysitter. Just about /anyone/ would." "D'you need an ID? I know some folks could hook you up." This offer comes a little distractedly as Jax disappears back into his bedroom, returning a moment later with his arms free of clothes, pulling on a black tank top. He follows Tag into the kitchen, getting out a tin of coffee beans to scoop some into the grinder. "I think it's just kinda a necessary evil for him. Well -- not really necessary yet, but it will be once the clinic is open. I don't know how much fun it is being babysat. I mostly only, uh, have Spence to gauge by." "Some places even want /multiple/ forms of ID. They say it's a security thing." Tag pours himself a glass of water and retreats to the doorway so he can drink it without obstructing the ritual of coffee summoning. "If you could point me at someone who can help with that, it would be awesome." His free hand wraps around his torso to grip the opposite arm, more tightly than seems entirely necessary. "I have my immigration papers and everything, but it's all pretty...outdated." Taking a long gulp of water, Tag swirls the remaining fluid in the cup until it forms a vortex. "Spence and I had a lot of fun while you were away, but I don't s'pose you and Io are going to play with robots and paint." He punctuates this with a mischievous grin. "What I /meant/ was that if he has to have a babysitter, you're probably more fun than most. From a certain point of view, you and Micah--and Hive, before--have been babysitting /me/. I dunno if I've said, but I'm really, really grateful." "I mean, I know social workers who can help navigate hooking you back up with /legit/ documentation but -- also a few people who can work up stuff that looks authentic enough to cover most situations. We've, uh,"Jackson blushes faintly, "had to get a /lot/ of people back on their feet who didn't have a lot of paperwork to work with." Coffee ground, Jax fills the machine with water and turns it on. He leans back against the counter as he waits for it to work its magic, palms braced against the counter's edge. "I don't know, we /might/. Most likely, /I'll/ paint while Io works. This job is mostly a whooole lotta sitting around for me." His blush deepens, gaze dropping to the floor where his toes (nails painted chrome) wiggle against the tile. "Oh -- I don't think of it like --" He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm just glad we can help, honey-honey." "To be honest, I'm not even sure how legit my paperwork was to /begin/ with." Tag half-hugs himself a bit tighter. "Besides, applying for a state ID requires proof of permanent address, which I haven't had in like five years. I'm probably better off just getting a fake ID--it's not like I'm apply for the kinds of jobs that run background checks or anything." He starts to drink from the cup before the vortex had full subsided, and manages to pour half of it on himself. A moment of startled blinking later, and he's laughing, wiping water from his face with a sleeve. "A /lot/ of jobs seem to be mostly sitting around. That's why I always have such a hard time keeping jobs. Well, /one/ reason, anyway." This with a bemused roll of eyes as he sets his glass down. "It's no excuse, though; I gotta take responsibility for my own life. And I know you didn't think of it like that--like anything, except for helping. That's how you both are, generosity first and questions...never. I love you for it, but it also makes me afraid I'm taking advantage of you." "Pfft, if I switch like. The gas bill into your name for a month you'll get proof of address easy enough." Jax shrugs a shoulder, fingers drumming restlessly against the counter's edge. A quick smile flashes across his face at the spill; he leans over, reaching out a hand to hover over Tag's shirt sleeve. A sunny-warm glow blossoms around his hand, radiant heat warming Tag's arm to encourage faster drying. "Oh, gosh, yeah, there's been a fair bit'a sitting around at a lot of my jobs. Y'just get used to entertaining yourself, I guess. Though some jobs expect you to sit around actually doing nothing and get cranky if you break out a book or a sketchpad, that's the worst. 'Least Io don't care what we do so long as we're there and ready." His words have gotten a little rambly, his blush spreading to tint the air around him red. "I don't -- feel like you're -- I mean I /love/ you, I'm glad to --" The red deepens. His toes press down harder against the floor. "Yeah, I don't know what possessed me to think that being clean would make me magically able to pass myself off like a good employee, when I know damned well I'm not." Tag looks down. His magenta fringes fall forward and cover his eyes, but not his smile. It's hard to say whether he is leaning toward the warmth of Jax's hand consciously or not. "You know, I was gonna ask you guys if I could stay...after I gotten my act together. Maybe 'cuz I know deep down that it'll take way longer than I'm hoping, and it's not fair to ask Mel to keep my room until I can afford to pay rent again." Tag tugs at the hem of his shirt, where the signs of wear are well-concealed by constant re-coloring, and forces himself to look up at Jax. "But I want to know if you would say 'no' if you needed to--for any reason. I won't end up on the street, regardless." His gaze slides away to the coffee machine, gurgling away happily. "My mother's offered to let me move back in." "Oh!" The flush remains in Jax's cheeks, and almost unconsciously his hand drops to rest actually /on/ Tag's arm, fingers very warm as they curl against it. "Oh! I'd -- hafta check with Micah," he says apologetically, "an' -- I mean, if you don't mind a bit of crowding -- the twins are moving back in proper by the end of the month though they're -- mostly here on weekends." He bites down on his lip, teeth wiggling at a lip ring thoughtfully. "Y'could /have/ the loft if I moved my art out of it, though it ain't a proper room." This sounds apologetic, too. "-- I don't see why you /couldn't/ -- can I get back to you after I've talked with Micah an' the kids?" His brows crease deep. "Y'wouldn't end up on the streets no matter what. Between us an' Dusk an' everyone upstairs an' Ryan across the hall an' -- you'll be alright without having to --" His grimace remains, for a moment. He shakes it off, offering Tag a bright smile instead. "If it was too much strain I'd tell you." Tag's shoulder relaxes under Jax's hand. "Thank you." He nods, fringes falling away from dark brown eyes. "Well, yeah, I'd be pretty /worried/ if you /didn't/ talk to Micah and the boys about it! I wasn't even actually asking you. More just, meta-asking? Because I didn't want you to feel pressured to agree." He sucks in a deep breath and shudders. "They say no one's seen Dad since he went after Mel. Tian-shin won't even talk about it. I still think...well, there's a lot of things I'd rather do than move back into that house. But...that's not actually why I like being /here/." Jax squeezes at Tag's arm, gently, hand rubbing down against the other man's bicep before he steps back to grab a pair of mugs from the cabinet. "I ain't feeling no pressure, I just --" The blush is stubbornly refusing to recede. "S'nice. Having you here." "I don't think /I'd/ be real happy, you moving back in anywhere without a pretty stoked solid guarantee they wasn't gonna be screwing with your head. But it ain't -- up to me." He sets the mugs down, watching the coffee maker for a moment. "Why -- /do/ you like being here?" There is a nervous edge in Tag's chuckle. "I doubt I'd feel safe there even if every person who ever knew him swore by eighteen generations of their descendents that he was gone. I'd have to see for myself but..." He hugs himself with both arms. "Well, I don't really want /that/, either. I can deal with some fear and uncertainty." His eyes track the movement of Jax's hands, but they look like they are focused on something much farther away. "I /do/ feel safe here, that's not why I like it here, either." He bites his bottom lip, hard. The violet lines on his shirt are /spreading/ out into the blue. "It's /you/, Jax. I love you. I had a huge crush on you before, but everything looks so different now. I'm not sure I can tell one /kind/ of love from another anymore. Or if I ever could. I respect your boundaries, and I'm not asking anything from you, but that's the answer." "/Can/ deal is different than -- should /have/ to deal, I mean, if it's avoidable I know /I'd/ at least rather --" But here Jackson trails off, his breath catching in time with a much deeper flush of crimson through the air around him. "You -- oh." His eye widens, his hand freezing on Tag's arm. "Oh." Slowly, he tugs, pulling Tag gently closer, though after a moment his hand just drops down to rest on the counter again. "I -- didn't think that you -- I mean /I/ wanted /you/ so --" He lifts his hand to clap it to his cheek, rubbing hard as if he could /scrub/ the blushing away. "Sorry, I just --" His smile is small, and crooked. "Didn't know you -- I mean since I /met/ you I've -- wow." The scrubbing continues a moment longer, and his smile fades into a small crinkle of his nose. "Um, I'm not really sure what," he admits, "I should be -- um. Like. I kind of -- really want to kiss you but I don't -- know if that would be --" His eye scrunches up, taking a moment to open again. "Your /shirt/ is blushing," he says instead. "It is?" Tag glances down at his shirt--now mostly purple--and then blushes a bit /himself/. The wide purple bands gain thin pink stripes of their own. "I just didn't think you liked me 'like that'. But since 'that' has kinda lost its meaning to me, I don't worry about it so much anymore." He reaches up to trace Jax's jaw with fingers slender and cool and calloused like a rock climber's. Then, bracing his other hand on the counter, Tag rises onto tiptoes. "In that case, may I kiss /you/?" "Oh --" Jackson's eye slides closed, his face turning to press his cheek against Tag's fingertips. "Oh." His voice has dropped quieter, and the colour around him slowly fades from deep crimson to a softly glowing yellow. His hand drops to curl around Tag, not pulling closer so much as just resting fingertips very lightly at the small of Tag's back. "I -- would like that. A whole lot." Though this is immediately contradicted by his small wince, his unhappily guilty: "-- I shouldn't. Oh gosh. Tag you're -- I mean are you /sure/ that you want to -- um. Just. With staying here and all I don't -- want you to feel like -- like you /need/ to -- like you owe me -- anything at -- all. I mean I -- want you," which comes with a slightly deeper blush again, "but are you /sure/ that you want --" His gaze is fixed on Tag's face; he swallows, tongue darting out briefly to wet his lips. "Sorry I just -- kind of. Love you, I wouldn't want you to -- feel pressured into -- anything." "You're not pressuring me, and I don't owe you." Tag wobbles a little, then rebalances himself. "I'm intimately familiar with my own free will now. I've held it in my hands...sorta?" One corner of his mouth quirks playfully as he reaches out to pass his hand through the warm yellow glow. "I /like/ that free will a lot more than I ever would have believed--with the bad decisions and the moments of weakness. So trust me when I say that I know what I want." He drops his hand to Jax’s chest and leans in to press their lips together. "Oh --" That is all that Jax manages, soft and decidedly /happy/. The glow around him warms further, spreading to envelop Tag as well. His hand presses gently to Tag's back, pulling the other man closer. There is a small pleased hum that sounds in his throat, his mouth pressing back softly to Tag's. The hand that Tag had braced against the countertop moves up and curls around Jax's waist. Being on his toes, his weight tips forward, pressing the two of them close together. When his calves refuse to hold him up any longer, Tag pulls away with a reluctant yet happy sigh. Only when his heels touch the floor again does the disparity in their height become truly glaring. Somewhere in the interim, his hair has gained a myriad of colors--not even a rainbow, just a riotous starburst. "I love you." The technicolor explosion is working its way down onto Tag's shirt, tendrils of color weaving in and around the vertical stripes like ivy. Jackson's fingers lift, threading through the end of Tag's ponytail. "You're -- beautiful." The glow still surrounds them both, Jax's cheeks still faintly flushed. For a moment he stands where he is, other hand pressed to Tag's back. It is with a noticeable reluctance that he pulls back, to retrieve the pair of mugs Tag got out and pour two mugs full of coffee. "That's -- gonna keep me bouncy through the rest'a my shift." "Oh, frak!" Tag slaps the side of his head lightly. The colors in his hair shift and swirl independent of the movement of the strands. "I forgot you were headed to work! Sorry." He slides over and pulls a carton of almond milk from the refrigerator. "You are so good at keeping it all sorted. When I /do/ get a job, I'll have to...I dunno, set up a Rube Goldberg system of interlinked alarms to make sure I actually /go/ to work." Tag stirs a bit of cane syrup into his coffee and passes the bottle to Jax, tapping his forehead to the other man's shoulder. "Oh," Jackson stops, laughs, his head shaking, "naw, I ain't in no /rush/. Just -- bouncy enough to last." He takes the bottle of syrup with one hand, his other arm slipping around Tag's shoulders as he (/heavily/) sweetens his coffee. "I just -- put /everything/ into my calendar, then my phone takes care'a reminding me things. I think a Rube Goldberg machine'd be a way more /interesting/ way to keep it all straight." He nabs a spoon, tipping his head down to kiss Tag on the forehead as he stirs his coffee. "Smartphones are /kinda/ like Rube Goldberg machines." Tag nuzzles Jax's chest, dislodging more and more of his chaotically colored hair. It really isn't /quite/ long enough to make a very secure ponytail yet. "Just all the crazy stuff is code instead of levers and cranks and ball bearings." He pours some almond milk into his own coffee, and it blooms up in unsteady shades of red, pink and orange. "Brains, too." This afterthought he punctuates with a fey smile. "I kinda just think of them like magic," Jackson admits. His hand curls upwards, helping the ponytail along in its disarray by brushing his fingers through the brightly coloured strands again. "-- Brains are pretty crazy." For some reason the smile prompts another blush; he steals another quick kiss before lifting his coffee to take a gulp, apparently unbothered by the fact it is still piping hot. "-- You're still gonna be here when I come back." He says this with a good dose of /delight/, like he is reminding himself of this fact. "... probably means it's safe to let go, right?" "Any sufficiently advanced technology...you know." Tag sips his coffee, which is considerably less hot by virtue of cold almond milk. "Depending on /when/ you get back, I may be at Geekhaus already." He rubs his face against Jax's chest, cat-like, once more before pulling away, if only to admire the other man over the rim of the mug that half hides his grin. "But I'm not leaving the /building/, if that's what you mean. No more job-hunting until tomorrow for me." "Littlebit latish," Jackson admits with a small grimace. "Don't get off till midnight." His hand trails against Tag's arm and then drops to his side. "Kinda feel like I'm gettin' spoiled. Just hoarding /all/ the people I love close." His smile is bright, though soon hidden as well behind another gulp of coffee. "Okay. Right. Work." Not that he's yet /moving/. "I'll see y'later, then, honey-honey." "I'm /sure/ we'll still be gaming." Tag wraps both hands around his mug and inhales its vapors. "Ah... And anyway, when I drink coffee this late in the day, the die is cast. I'll be up most of the night, with or without gaming!" He rocks up onto the balls of his feet and, seeing the coffee slosh dangerously close to the edge of the mug, slowly sets it down before he resumes bouncing in place. "Have a good shift! Say hi to Io for me?" He holds out his arms to hug Jax, though it seems probable he only refrains from tackle-hug to avoid coffee spillage. Jackson laughs, quiet and warm to match the soft glow that still brightens the air around him. He transfers his coffee to his off hand, his other wrapping tight around Tag. Another kiss, and then he disengages, gulping down the rest of the coffee in one long swig. "I will. Have fun, sweetie. Um -- there's soup in the fridge, if y'want to haul the pot up there to heat it back up. -- /Right/ okay work." His gaze lingers on Tag a moment longer, but then he flits away for the door, grabbing his keys and shoes and then disappearing out the door, his glow fading away with him.