ArchivedLogs:Still Here

Still Here
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah	4 January 2014 (Takes place several hours after Micah's run-in with Elliott and concurrent with 'Bastian's call from Dex)
Location <NYC> The Sharktank - Village Lofts - East Village
Everything in this bedroom comes in pairs. Two beds (pushed together to the center of the room to form one larger one), two desks, two bookshelves, two dressers, two closets. The walls hold a scattering of artwork in Jax's typically whimsical-surreal style. The right side of the room is impeccably tidy; desk neatly arranged: often a laptop or a nook, but otherwise cleared off, everything tucked in its drawers save for a small arrangement of textbooks and music books and little colourful glass figurines or pale bone sculptures on its upper shelves. Closet neatly in order, clothing (favouring pinstripes, vests, slacks) pressed and hung, shoes on a shoe tree inside the door. Books on the shelf neatly categorized. The left side of the room is a riotous spill of colour, bright eclectic wardrobe (lots of skirts and dresses and clothing with many bright patterns) haphazardly thrown together; desk cluttered with books and notes and an assortment of bones, its shelves also holding little glass or bone sculptures, though this alongside a wealth of mechanical parts or small robots in various states of completion. The floor here tends towards clutter; more robot-parts, clothing, treacherous Legos lying in wait for unsuspecting feet. The boys are supposed to be back at school. And yet. AND YET. They're very /distinctly/ home, evidenced by the drippy-slushy twin pairs of boots removed by the front door, by Sebastian's quiet voice talking to Someone in Jax and Micah's bedroom, by the soft (dirge-somber) strains of Prokofiev coming from behind the twins' bedroom door (pushed to, but not shut.) Shane is sort of half-disrobed from schooltime, slacks still on but his shirt generally the first thing to be shed, fabric eternally uncomfortable in its chafe against gills. There's a faint splotch of bruising dusted against his back although with his gleamy blue skin it can be hard to immediately identify the darker blue patch. He's standing by his desk as he plays violin, eyes fixed on a tiny bright-coloured collection of mythological creatures fashioned in glass that sits on one of the shelves. Micah's return from his last appointment comes with a confused look. His winter-wear accessories are in his pockets instead of /on/ him, still kind of gross wet-wool and road-grit mixtures. He finds them a spot to dry by the shoes (including unexpected twinshoes) until they can be laundered, removes his boots, and hangs up his coat. Beneath, he still wears his TARDIS blue polo work shirt and khakis. His auburn hair is actually less of a mess than usual for this time of day. He makes his way into the hall, stopping and considering the doors there. The talking from Jax's room deters him from that choice. He knocks at the twins' door instead. "Come in," does not actually come with a pause in Shane's playing. He does turn aside from the desk, though, to look towards the door. Maybe-expectant. Maybe-hopeful. The door opens, Micah's head peeking in but not actually moving any further into the room to avoid interrupting as much as possible. “I wasn't expectin' y'all home this weekend. S'everythin' okay? How'd y'get in? No trouble on the way, I hope?” His face is full of concern, worry, and a fairly red and slightly swollen left eyelid. "You're hurt." Shane drops his bow hand, eyes narrowing on Micah. He slips over towards the door in bare feet, pulling it open wider. "I'm getting you an ice pack for that. Do you want tea?" “I'm okay, honey,” Micah insists, stilling Shane with a hand to his shoulder. “I've had more'n enough of cold today. Was ice as got to it in the first place. Maybe a little road grit. Just needs some time t'stop bein' irritated. Prob'ly wouldn't've even left a tiny mark if it weren't for the eyelid. They're just...sensitive spots.” The hand on Shane's shoulder turns into an arm /around/ them, pulling the teen in for a hug. “Y'could answer my other questions first. Then we'll talk drinks.” "Mnngh." Shane sounds somewhat disgruntled at Micah's answer. He drops his violin to his side, leaning into the hug without returning it, with one hand full of violin and the other full of bow. His face mashes up against Micah's shirt, and he draws in a quicker breath as Micah's arms curl around his back. "Took the train. School was shitty. B didn't kill anyone on the way home. Barely. Do you want tea?" Micah's shirt likely smells rather uncharacteristically like apricot and flowers when Shane mooshes his face into it. He draws back at the teen's quick-breath, looking down at Shane's back. "/You're/ hurt," he accuses in return, though gently. "Did someone hurt you? Was it at school, or on the way home? What happened?" In lieu of the tighter hug he /wants/ to give, Micah presses a kiss to Shane's forehead. "Tea or cocoa or anythin' warm is good. If there's somethin' you want, go with that. You need some Ibuprofen for your back, honey?" "I heal." Shane continues to nuzzle in against Micah's shirt, drawing in deeper breaths now. "You smell different." It's not an accusation, just a quiet observation. Sniff, sniff, sniff, he stretches up on his toes as snuffling travels upward towards Micah's neck. Then rocks back down to pull away and go set his violin in its case. His head tilts at noises from outside -- footsteps, the door opening and closing again. He frowns, but snaps his violin case closed. "No. Sit down. I'll make cocoa." “You're still hurt enough t'wince at bein' touched,” Micah observes with a small frown. “I borrowed a friend's shower.” His cheeks colour faintly pink at that. “I can make it just as well as you can...m'back isn't achin' at me, either.” He shifts uncomfortably, still half in the doorway. “Y'didn't /answer/ me, honey. This is like talkin' at Lucien.” "I'm nowhere near that pretty." Shane rejects the comparison to Lucien with this sound logic. "I don't remember what I'm supposed to be answering. School was uncomfortable so we came home. Taking the trains home was shitty as hell. I kind of need to /leash/ B when people start talking shit about Pa." His gills flutter quickly as he moves back to the doorway, resting a hand against Micah's side to gently nudge-urge him in. "And I /want/ to make it. Because Pa and Dusk are in jail and Flicker's missing and B's crying all the time and Spence can hardly stay in one place and Hive's probably going to kill himself and I can't fucking /do shit/ but I can make you a goddamn cocoa." Micah frowns at Shane's reason for rejecting the comparison. “You're s'posed t'be answerin' why you're hurt,” he supplies. This gets lost in all of the other answers, however. His frown deepens, his brow crumpling to make a matched set. He walks slowly into the room, turns, and sits on the edge of Shane's bed. “Please, make cocoa.” Nothing else manages to come out, just these words, soft and nearly inflectionless. Shane ducks his head in a brief small cringe. He looks for a moment like he's going to apologize, but then he just slips out to the kitchen, quietly. It takes a bit for him to return. But eventually he does, with two mugs of spicy hot cocoa in hand. He nudges the door closed behind himself, moving towards the bed to settle down kneeling by the bedside. He sets one mug down on the floor and offers the other to Micah. "Look, I didn't --" he starts uncomfortably, eyes fixed somewhere around Micah's knees. "I just don't know what else to fucking do." Once Shane has left the room, Micah's breath comes in a harsh, ragged shudder. Tears start to well up in his eyes, but he blinks fiercely against them. He sits with his head cradled in his hands, shoulders slightly shaky, until the sound of approaching feet reaches his ears. He sits up before Shane makes it back into the room, accepting the mug when it is handed to him. "Thanks, honey. I'm not...upset with you. It's just that if someone's hurtin' you /at school/ I need t'know. 'Cause that /I/ can do somethin' about." His teeth meet with his lower lip. "The other...stuff was just. Some of it was new. Did Hive say somethin'?" Shane settles in on the floor by Micah's feet, curling his legs underneath him and picking up his mug. "Nobody's hurting us at school. I mean nobody's punching us at school. Kind of. I guess. B maybe punched Dennis but Dennis punched him too so it's kind of just a wash?" He shrugs dismissively. "But everyone's /weird/ and people don't talk to us or they talk to us /too much/ like we're going to fucking /break/ or they ask a million questions about everything and it's just too much." His eyes fix down on his cocoa, locking there as his gills shift open. "When does Hive ever say anything." This is tenser, a little unhappier. "I think you did good to have him here, though. It's not /right/ up there." “I understand, honey.” Micah's free hand reaches out and ruffles at Shane's spiky hair. “Who started the punchin'?” His head shakes at the comments on the upstairs apartment. “No...no, it's eerie up there. Shouldn't nobody be stayin' up there alone. I just...after what...I was afraid maybe I made things with Hive worse an' that made 'im...say he was gonna do somethin'. I dunno.” His breath comes out in a heavy, helpless sigh. Shane leans in close when his hair is ruffled, leaning up against Micah's shins and resting his cheek on Micah's knee. "B. It wasn't serious though and it wasn't like. I mean there were no teachers so it's okay." His eyes close as he nuzzles in against Micah's knee. "After – what?" "Was it friends-scufflin' punchin' or are we gonna have an ongoin' issue between those two? 'Cause they should set up with peer mediators if it's the second one." Micah brings the cocoa mug up close to his face, just letting the smells enter through his nose and mouth soothingly. "Just...last night." The blush that overtakes his features is sudden and deep scarlet-red from the outset. His head shakes as if to dismiss any further answering of that particular question. "Dennis /is/ an ongoing issue," Shane answers with a snort. "Pretty much since birth I'd guess." His cheek continues to nuzzle against Micah's leg. Possibly, therefore, he's missed the blush -- though it's likely enough it wouldn't deter him /anyway/. "... why would last night have made things worse?" “Maybe needs addressin' if he's givin' the other students problems. For his sake as well as theirs.” Micah's breath comes deep in, filling with cocoa scent, sighing out again. “I...mmn. Think I may've just...reminded him of somethin' he might not...be able t'have. An' it wasn't fair of me t'do. I just...didn't think hard enough.” The scarlet climbs to his hairline, takes over his ears and neck. Shane tips his head up, resting his chin on Micah's knee. His black eyes study the climbing blush, his gills slowly shifting open and closed. "I made him cocoa, too," he assures Micah, after a long stretch of study. “Ohgood,” is all Micah manages in reply, staring down into his cocoa mug, face still fiercely red. Shane continues to study Micah's face. He lifts his head from Micah's knee, lifting his mug to take a slow sip. "...it's not good to be alone." The cocoa mug clicks against his teeth. "I mean, he's been alone a /long/ while now." His brow rumples inwards. "... though I didn't think he liked guys." More puzzled, here. Micah's face reddens /deeper/, if it is in fact possible to do so. He nods agreement of Shane's assessment. “I...didn't think he did, either. Maybe...it gets t'the point where that don't matter as much anymore. I don't know. It's never mattered t'me, so I don't really /get/...orientations. I mean, viscerally. I get it intellectually. I just. Shouldn't've. Any of...what I did. It wasn't fair.” "... I'm the opposite," Shane admits. "I don't really get it intellectually, I feel like it /shouldn't/ matter. But then I just really like cock too much to get past that." He says this with a shrug, too, and another sip of cocoa. "What's not fair? Wanting to be close to someone?" It might be possible that Micah will continue to grow redder forever. His skin certainly seems to be putting in a good effort at it. “He was hurtin' somethin' awful an' I made it worse. I convinced m'self I was makin' things better, but prob'ly just 'cause it was what /I/ wanted...an' it was selfish an' I shouldn't've an' I'd've realised if I stopped t'/think/ for a second. What I was doin'.” "Maybe he was hurting because of being alone. Maybe you /were/ making it better." Shane fidgets where he sits, taking another gulp of cocoa. "/Especially/ right now, nobody wants to be alone. Maybe he --" He stops here with a frown. "Wait this is dumb as fuck, have you just talked to him about it?" “I'm pretty sure he /was/ hurtin' 'cause of bein' alone. But there's certain kinds of bein'...with a person that can make 'em feel even more alone than if they /were/ alone. It's...complicated.” Micah finally just drinks some of the cocoa to give his face something to do /other/ than blush worse. “I haven't yet. It's bad enough he can't get away from my /mind/ even if he wanted to. I don't...wanna crowd 'im. I definitely...already crowded 'im. Pretty badly.” This last he informs the /cocoa/. Because clearly it is an inquisitive drink. Shane's brows stay knitted together. He shakes his head, slowly. "... Okay." He sounds dissatisfied here, too. "But everyone's hurting and I think it's really probably -- better. If that doesn't happen alone." He takes another sip of cocoa, and pushes to his feet to settle again on the bed next to Micah, leg tucked up beneath him. "You beat yourself up too much." “I know...I know, that's why I told 'im t'move in down here in the first place.” Micah frowns down at the cocoa, but drinks more of it. It isn't the /taste/ he's frowning at, after all. He leans his shoulder over against Shane's. “I know. Told Jax I'd give the Catholic guilt a run for its money.” Even /this/ sounds rather regretful. Shane leaves his cocoa on the floor where he was sitting. Hands free, he curls one arm around Micah's waist, squeezing gently at the shoulder lean. "Well. I guess we do have an open position for guilt around here but honestly I think we could do fine not filling it." His fingers squeeze in gently at Micah's side. "I think you make this more complicated than it has to be, a lot." Micah just nods at that, at first. “People are complicated. I just...don't wanna hurt anybody. Ever. There's enough hurt around here as it is.” He huffs out a breath over his mug, skin finally starting to back down out of its extreme intensity of blushing. "Well, ok, yeah. People are complicated. But sometimes not very. Sometimes you just --" Shane shrugs a shoulder, forehead moving to rest at Micah's shoulder. "I don't know. Just should forget all the complicated everything and relax." “I do. Sometimes. It's just harder when everyone's already so...hurt. Raw. Every little thing seems t'hurt more.” Micah snakes an arm around Shane's shoulders, carefully avoiding the /literally/ hurt spot on his back. “Thank you for the cocoa, sugar.” He drinks from the mug again as if reminded to by the statement. "I don't think the /hurt/ is going away any time soon. So you just gotta be --" Shane tips his head back, lightly pecking Micah on the cheek. He squeezes in again, brief and light. "...I don't know," he admits glumly, dropping his chin to rest on Micah's shoulder again. "Do you want to go make dinner?" Micah's free hand reaches up to scruff at Shane's hair again. “Yeah, that's about the way of it,” he agrees with Shane's admission of not really knowing what to do. “Let's do that. Get everybody all together for a great big meal an' just...be with ev'rybody who's still here. 'Cause we're still here.” He hugs Shane tighter, pressing a kiss to his temple. “C'mon.”