[ Sen doesn't know whether to brain the little shit or -
Well. No. He knows not to applaud. That would just make this situation worse. As it is, he suspects he'll be spending a good portion of the evening reassuring Rin that they are not, in fact, a Pumpkin Spice Latte. (He understands that wasn't the boy's point. He understands that the insult was a false flag. He also understands that Rin almost certainly stopped listening after 'stale' and 'bitter'.)
The best possible thing he can do in this situation is pull Rin close and - with some managing of their hat - nuzzle against their ear. Murmur to them in the low, promising tones he used when they were separated from him by a bartop, when he thought they might launch themself over and at him. (In the before-times. Before they spoke those fateful words. Before they loved one another out loud.) (It's nice, he thinks, to be able to seduce them also out loud.)
In Italian, of course. While he can't confirm or deny the kid knows French, he's almost positive Enri doesn't speak that one. ]
Any complaint would fall on deaf ears, anyhow. Look at them - as though either in a state of passion could compare to 'nothing', where there is everything. Tolerate it a while longer for all our sakes. After, I'll have a taste and assure you there is no hint of staleness or bitterness. Only decadence on the tongue.
[ Teasingly, he nudges his head against theirs, his laugh an intimate, loving one, full of good humor. ]
I'll throw myself on that grenade. The most noble sacrifice.
[ Despite his words, the look he shoots Darius over Rin's shoulder is a warning one. You know better. Yes, it was Enri who did the shitstirring - all right, and yes, Rin might have been less than welcoming. But Darius could have warned his doggy that Rin has a talent for making bad first impressions.
With good reason. Life made a bad first impression on them. (And second, third, and twentieth.) They have little reason to trust anyone, much less yet another Puppy.
Unfortunately, Darius doesn't seem to be looking. Nor Enri, for that matter. They're utterly engrossed in one another, Darius inflicting the boy with praise, and Enri staring with that wounded calf expression, with a little hopeful smile. (Is that the same man who, half a minute ago, looked at him with a set jaw and had the fucking nerve to hold up a hand to tell him to stop moving?
It's either the genes or the military training. Maybe. He's an interesting study: part innocent naivete and part mutinous little shitheel. It -
Might be nice to know him. If he can avoid miffing Rin in the future, of course.)
He draws back and gives them a little tug, then flashes them three fingers - a silent communication not even Enri could interpret. Three, for I'll give you three compliments. Later, of course. Well-crafted and truthful and having no mention of lattes. ]
You've been on your feet all day.
[ Here, a faintly knowing smirk. They've been on their feet all day, indeed, including that interlude on the roof, where he thinks he apologized very well for the horse joke. ]
Stay a while, Pookie. Let's watch the doggy ruin Darius. Turn him unrecognizably romantic.
He'll be useless now, you know.
[ Enri, meanwhile, cocks his head, catching a look at Sen and Rin from the corner of his eye. It doesn't rankle him, the way Sen speaks; it's almost too obvious that he's trying to smooth things over.
(Rin said they love them - not just Sen, but Darius, too. And then Rin said your boyfriend, and he didn't sense any sarcasm.
Rin said I won't ask for your forgiveness and Enri kind of respects that. He prefers actions, anyhow; he doesn't have any real use for words from anyone but Daddy.)
Despite the petting and the soothing words Darius offers him, he feels awkwardly out of place here. These three have known each other for almost as long as he's been alive. They've got all kinds of history, all kinds of unspoken communications and knowledge and understanding.
He feels stranded. No, not abandoned - never that. But like he's got to struggle to catch up, and the weight of that struggle compresses his lungs. The way he feels when he's in his parents' element, listening to their friends ("friends") chat about events from fifteen years ago, when he was exiled in Iowa, shoveling horse shit.
Sen has sprawled himself on the sofa, limbs seeming too long for the furniture, and Enri thinks he doesn't sit much. It doesn't seem like it's his natural state. Sen leans forward and starts to animatedly regale the group (Enri included, maybe) with a story about someone named Marlowe, something about lighting equipment.
But Enri doesn't know Marlowe, or anything about lighting equipment, or half the references Sen makes to people, to things in the bar, to things that were said, and the problem with having shit for attention is, unless there's a compelling reason for it to fix (like Daddy), it wanders.
Enri tries to listen. For Darius, he really does try. But there's the discordant notes of a guitar being tuned, and the rattle of ice in glasses, and the drone of conversation, and Enri's stomach has soured after that squabble with Rin. (His whole self feels horrible - guilty. What if he ruined everything? Even if Darius is happy, even if he said Enri loves him well, and Rin capitulated a little. What if he just bombed this?)
(He feels tired.) (He wants to just go home.) (He wishes he could pull out his phone and scroll Instagram or something.)
There's this, though: Darius. Darius's hand in his, a focal point for a crumbling and chaotic world. Darius, who smells so good; who feels good when everything else feels rancid. Darius, who can make all his roiling thoughts turn to a grey and comfortable haze.
He rests his head on Daddy's shoulder and pretends to be listening. ]
no subject
Well. No. He knows not to applaud. That would just make this situation worse. As it is, he suspects he'll be spending a good portion of the evening reassuring Rin that they are not, in fact, a Pumpkin Spice Latte. (He understands that wasn't the boy's point. He understands that the insult was a false flag. He also understands that Rin almost certainly stopped listening after 'stale' and 'bitter'.)
The best possible thing he can do in this situation is pull Rin close and - with some managing of their hat - nuzzle against their ear. Murmur to them in the low, promising tones he used when they were separated from him by a bartop, when he thought they might launch themself over and at him. (In the before-times. Before they spoke those fateful words. Before they loved one another out loud.) (It's nice, he thinks, to be able to seduce them also out loud.)
In Italian, of course. While he can't confirm or deny the kid knows French, he's almost positive Enri doesn't speak that one. ]
Any complaint would fall on deaf ears, anyhow. Look at them - as though either in a state of passion could compare to 'nothing', where there is everything. Tolerate it a while longer for all our sakes. After, I'll have a taste and assure you there is no hint of staleness or bitterness. Only decadence on the tongue.
[ Teasingly, he nudges his head against theirs, his laugh an intimate, loving one, full of good humor. ]
I'll throw myself on that grenade. The most noble sacrifice.
[ Despite his words, the look he shoots Darius over Rin's shoulder is a warning one. You know better. Yes, it was Enri who did the shitstirring - all right, and yes, Rin might have been less than welcoming. But Darius could have warned his doggy that Rin has a talent for making bad first impressions.
With good reason. Life made a bad first impression on them. (And second, third, and twentieth.) They have little reason to trust anyone, much less yet another Puppy.
Unfortunately, Darius doesn't seem to be looking. Nor Enri, for that matter. They're utterly engrossed in one another, Darius inflicting the boy with praise, and Enri staring with that wounded calf expression, with a little hopeful smile. (Is that the same man who, half a minute ago, looked at him with a set jaw and had the fucking nerve to hold up a hand to tell him to stop moving?
It's either the genes or the military training. Maybe. He's an interesting study: part innocent naivete and part mutinous little shitheel. It -
Might be nice to know him. If he can avoid miffing Rin in the future, of course.)
He draws back and gives them a little tug, then flashes them three fingers - a silent communication not even Enri could interpret. Three, for I'll give you three compliments. Later, of course. Well-crafted and truthful and having no mention of lattes. ]
You've been on your feet all day.
[ Here, a faintly knowing smirk. They've been on their feet all day, indeed, including that interlude on the roof, where he thinks he apologized very well for the horse joke. ]
Stay a while, Pookie. Let's watch the doggy ruin Darius. Turn him unrecognizably romantic.
He'll be useless now, you know.
[ Enri, meanwhile, cocks his head, catching a look at Sen and Rin from the corner of his eye. It doesn't rankle him, the way Sen speaks; it's almost too obvious that he's trying to smooth things over.
(Rin said they love them - not just Sen, but Darius, too. And then Rin said your boyfriend, and he didn't sense any sarcasm.
Rin said I won't ask for your forgiveness and Enri kind of respects that. He prefers actions, anyhow; he doesn't have any real use for words from anyone but Daddy.)
Despite the petting and the soothing words Darius offers him, he feels awkwardly out of place here. These three have known each other for almost as long as he's been alive. They've got all kinds of history, all kinds of unspoken communications and knowledge and understanding.
He feels stranded. No, not abandoned - never that. But like he's got to struggle to catch up, and the weight of that struggle compresses his lungs. The way he feels when he's in his parents' element, listening to their friends ("friends") chat about events from fifteen years ago, when he was exiled in Iowa, shoveling horse shit.
Sen has sprawled himself on the sofa, limbs seeming too long for the furniture, and Enri thinks he doesn't sit much. It doesn't seem like it's his natural state. Sen leans forward and starts to animatedly regale the group (Enri included, maybe) with a story about someone named Marlowe, something about lighting equipment.
But Enri doesn't know Marlowe, or anything about lighting equipment, or half the references Sen makes to people, to things in the bar, to things that were said, and the problem with having shit for attention is, unless there's a compelling reason for it to fix (like Daddy), it wanders.
Enri tries to listen. For Darius, he really does try. But there's the discordant notes of a guitar being tuned, and the rattle of ice in glasses, and the drone of conversation, and Enri's stomach has soured after that squabble with Rin. (His whole self feels horrible - guilty. What if he ruined everything? Even if Darius is happy, even if he said Enri loves him well, and Rin capitulated a little. What if he just bombed this?)
(He feels tired.) (He wants to just go home.) (He wishes he could pull out his phone and scroll Instagram or something.)
There's this, though: Darius. Darius's hand in his, a focal point for a crumbling and chaotic world. Darius, who smells so good; who feels good when everything else feels rancid. Darius, who can make all his roiling thoughts turn to a grey and comfortable haze.
He rests his head on Daddy's shoulder and pretends to be listening. ]