tornheart | you leave me little notes on my pillow

Entry tags:

hiei,
kurama

you leave me little notes on my pillow

Who: Vincent & Kit
When: Sept. 16th
Where: Green Valley School
What: Apparently some people take offense to others sleeping on benches.

[it's been almost a day and a half since his roommates were brainless enough to lead the police right to their apartment, and Vincent still hasn't managed to muster up any feelings on the matter beyond severe exasperation. he'd spent far longer in more dire circumstances immediately following his flight from home; all things considered, this was just a minor annoyance.

even so, hanging around various parts of Hagu had only served to keep his irritation hot rather than further cooling it down. for a change in scenery he's made his way to Eddan's most prestigious academic facility, although the choice has its practical components as well. even without a uniform it was easy to mistake him for merely another student hanging around after school, including (as he found out soon after his arrival) 'borrowing' a blanket and pillow from the nurse's office.

it's late in the day now, the realm of students with extracurricular activities, and Vincent's made himself quite comfortable on one of the many benches scattered around campus. he'd kept to one beneath a tree earlier in the day, but the weather had promised to get a bit windy during the night and so he's moved so as to avoid waking up covered in nature's refuse.

he seems to be pretty comfortable all the same, stretched out bodily with his legs crossed and guitar resting peacefully by his feet. it had been a small mercy that he'd been on his way home from practice when he'd heard the stupid news, preventing his precious instrument from suffering the same temporary lockdown as the rest of his belongings. a sloppily folded newspaper obscures most of his face from view, although the telltale smoke trail curling over the paper makes it easy to guess what else he's doing back there.

it's not the smartest thing to be doing when you're trying to lay low, but nicotine addiction is an ugly thing. every now and then Vincent pauses in his progress through today's sudoku to look over at any students he feels are staring at him too long, leveling a truly frightening glower their way. go on, it seems to dare them. just try and report this to a teacher.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Alright, that was more than fair. In Vincent's presence it did seem he was prone to being a little more spontaneous, but that didn't mean his actions had been entirely without purpose or sense. There was always some goal he was working towards or an objective he was trying to complete. His actions were never mindless.]

Don't blame me for your inability to see what's right in front of you.

[To the untrained ear, the words might have been sharp, but to someone like Vincent, who had come to know Kit quite well so far, the subtle edge of humor would likely have been unmistakable. It was restrained, however. Peppered with concern. He couldn't very well let someone sleep out here on a public bench, even if he knew that person was beyond capable. Eddan was dangerous at night, even for people like them.

He turned his attention back towards the student housing building and considered his dorm. There was, at present, one unoccupied room. He had space to spare...]

You'll be through that paper before long, and most of the ones lying around are more of the same. I have better material in my dorm. You can read whatever you like.

[it was true, Vincent easily caught the amusement in the other boy's voice. but he could also sense the worry holding back most of the entertainment he must be feeling, and that was what earned him such a flat look. pity was the enemy. he refused to take charity, especially from someone like Kit.]

I'm not one of these cats you can just lure back to your room with a treat.

[although there were certainly enough of them at this point. they made for pleasant company in his idle hours, although he'd never admit to slipping them bits of his meal now and then. it seemed like something only idiot delinquents with too soft hearts would do.]

[Carefully hiding his disapproval, Kit nodded. If Vincent was going to refuse the promise of books, then trying to persuade him with reminders of the dangers of Eddan at night would have the opposite of the intended effect. It was a losing battle either way...and anything else Kit could think to use now as a lure would be glaringly transparent.

With a sigh, Kit began walking in the direction of the residence.]

I wouldn't bring any of these cats back with me to my dorm.

[He had nothing against the creatures, but with such a swarm one would lead to more and some of the plants he kept could be considered quite toxic to animals. It was for the best if they kept to their own territories.

And as for Vincent...]

My room is in the north-east corner of the building. [Because of course it was.] If you change your mind, I'll be there.

[And after giving Vincent the room number he left. He didn't expect he would hear from the other boy tonight, but just in case he decided that he would make enough dinner for two.]

[your loss, Kit. these cats were far more agreeable than the creature he was trying to tempt into captivity now. the other boy barely acknowledges the offer, simply making a low sound of having heard him in the back of his throat. as far as Vincent was concerned, it was information that he wasn't ever going to use, now or ever. he only needed to hold out for a week more; then he could collect the rest of his things and start looking for a new apartment.

unfortunately, the weather has other ideas.

meteorologists had called for significant but not overwhelming winds as the day transitioned into night, but it seems that had been something of a vast understatement. the wind was practically shrieking in outrage over someone daring to break curfew the way Vincent was, shaking the trees around him as if it meant to uproot them completely in its anger. occasionally the sprinkle of raindrops would drop from nowhere, threatening a much worse storm to come.

none of this on its own was enough to overcome his indomitably stubborn spirit. he had a blanket, and he was small enough that he could pull it up over his head comfortably. what was there he had to fear from a little wind and rain?

a lot, it turned out. a few hours into his dogged attempts at getting some rest a large tree branch breaks free from its confines - and the wind is powerful enough to carry it on a collision course with Vincent's bench, strategically chosen as it was.

ten minutes after that (unbeknownst to the other boy, of course) Kit will be hearing a relentless pounding on his door. if it sounds insensitive, that's because it is; Vincent is kicking the door repeatedly and with unnecessary force despite the fact that his hands are perfectly free with his bag at his side and his guitar slung over his back.

he wasn't going to stay here. this was purely to find a safe place for his instrument until the weather subsided a little. that was his plan going in, anyway.]

[By the time Vincent announced his arrival with half a dozen thunderous kicks against the door, Kit had long since prepared dinner and eaten by himself. The leftover primavera pasta with rose sauce was stored in the fridge, the dishes were all washed and put away, and he had curled up on the couch with a book to read by the sound of the storm.

He'd considered briefly that, somewhere out there, perhaps even where he'd last seen him, Vincent was getting rained on and maybe even blown around, but it wasn't any of his concern. He'd done literally all he could short of forcing the boy to come home with him, an act he couldn't abide by as surely as he knew Vincent would have disdained.

When the banging did not stop, however, Kit marked his page and set down his book before proceeding warily to his door. He expected to find one of the usual unsavory types who sometimes found out where he lived or followed him home, but standing just outside in the hallway was the last person he thought would ever show up.]

Vincent?

[He concluded at once that the storm must have been too much for even him and, stepping back and to the side, he held open the door for the other boy to come into his dorm.]

Come in and stay there. I'll get...a couple of towels.

[One for the other teen himself, and one for his belongings.]

Do that.

[it's the only sort of response that he offers Kit before skulking through the door, heading immediately to the couch. his pride wouldn't allow him to use any of the towels for himself - even with the cut across his forehead where the branch had come down - but it was imperative that his belongings be dried off as soon as possible. if his guitar was damaged in any way he'd never forgive himself.

there's a faint feeling of satisfaction in him as he recalls the surprise in the other teen's voice upon seeing it. at least he could be certain that he'd impressed his bullheadedness upon him, if nothing else.]

[It seemed that, for whatever reason, Kit was prepared for situations like this. He returned in short order with a stack of towels from his linen closet, a small first-aid case, and a dry change of clothes. Considering Vincent's smaller stature, a sweater and a pair of track pants with elastic bottoms. The articles were set upon the coffee table, the towels handed over first and foremost. He knew even without asking what the other boy's priorities were. It was clear in the way he'd disobeyed him, moving from the front door into the living area, dripping water everywhere. But it would dry...so Kit said nothing.

Nothing, that was, except...]

...it was idiotic to stay out in that so long.

I don't know what you're talking about.

[the only thanks Kit receives for his prompt service is a baleful look before the towels were snatched out of his hands. for several moments after there's no further communication from his impromptu guest as the other boy goes to work on toweling off his guitar and as much of the case as he can manage with mere towels and force of will. from the cursory inspection he gives the instrument (practically loving in its care) it doesn't seem as if it's incurred any lasting damage. thank god.

it's only as he begins drying off his bag and its contents that Vincent speaks again, sparing a glance up to wherever the other teen may have wandered off to at that point.]

I don't have any plans to stay here.

[that needed to be made abundantly clear right now. this was not an admission of defeat.]

[Unfortunately for Vincent, his host hadn't gone anywhere at all. He remained nearby, watching as the other teen attentively dried off his instrument and other personal belongings, the movement of his own steady hands giving no indication of what he was doing until it was already started.

The first-aid kit sat open next to him on the couch, a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol readied in one hand. Vincent had his priorities, it seemed, and Kit had his own.]

I don't really care if you stay or go. It's up to you, the same as it was before.

[He leaned in and, with Vincent's hands tending to his bag now, Kit dabbed gently at his forehead with the cotton ball. He expected the other boy to recoil or retaliate, but he was honestly prepared for both and would tolerate neither.]

[with the amount of consideration he was giving his things, Vincent wouldn't have noticed what the other boy was doing even if he'd been literally hurling the first aid kit's contents around the room. it's only when he glances up does he realize what his intention is - and by then the cotton ball is already pressed against his forehead.

Kit was accurate in his expectations of his reactions. he jerks back violently, shifting both his head and his position on the couch out of reach of the offending gesture. the look he shot his host would have led the unsuspecting to believe that he'd just had acid poured on his face rather than simple antiseptic.]

Sure doesn't look that way to me.

[who even asked Kit if he could do that? presumptuous ass.]

[Vincent wasn't permitted to get very far, Kit's free hand coming to grab the boy by his bicep and tug him back within reach.]

Don't be such a child. This cut is deep. I can't stop you from leaving if that's what you really want, but I don't have to permit you to go in worse condition than you arrived in.

[He wondered where the gash across Vincent's forehead came from. Deep as it was, whatever had struck had probably struck hard. The other boy was fortunate not to have a concussion. If, in fact, he didn't. Simply by looking, Kit was unable to tell, but thus far he had exhibited none of the more noteworthy telltale signs. A fact that was relieving.

Sitting back, he grabbed a fresh cotton ball and then leaned toward Vincent to resume his work.]

Just sit still. I only want to make sure it won't become infected and that the bleeding is staunched.

[he resists, of course, but even outside of bad puns Kit has the upper hand in this situation. the only way he could feasibly break the other boy's firm grip would be to get really violent - but with his items so close by that simply wasn't an option.

he's lost this battle and knows it, judging by the ugly look on his face. the struggles cease, but Vincent's body remains tensed and ready for action. it's almost as if he really does expect for this to turn into an assault at any moment.]

Cuts on the head always look worse than they really are. You're wasting your time.

I could say the same for the way you're looking at me.

[He paused briefly in his work to level a stare back at Vincent, the sort that promised that he would see his work through to the end regardless of violence, and then he finished cleaning up the smears of red on Vincent's face. With his skin wiped clean and the wound washed, Kit pulled a small and clear jar from the case and opened it.

The contents smelled faintly of lavender, and a small amount was applied to Vincent's wound with one of Kit's fingers. It would help with pain, quite possibly with that bitter temperament, and (although he would never tell his companion this) even reduce the risk of scarring.]

In any case, my policy is that it is better to be cautious when it comes to head injuries. Especially for people like you and I.

[They had enough headaches without making things unnecessarily harder on themselves.

Speaking of unnecessary things, Kit was finished tending to Vincent's cut. He could bandage it, but allowing the wound to breathe a little would be better for now, and Vincent would likely be less inclined to bother with it if there was no irritating gauze slapped on top.]

[he could, and truthfully as well, but that doesn't seem to deter the irate glare boring straight through Kit's skull. if anything it seems to become uglier upon having its impotency pointed out, as if that were just the jab it needed to ramp up its psychic energy to something efficient.

this all reminded him too much of his mother. even before he'd drifted away from his parents, Vincent always seemed to be involved in some scrape or another. it would always be his mother who would wrangle him into something resembling stillness and patch up the injuries he'd sustained, admonishing him the entire time. he'd sassed her even then, loudly complaining that she was going to lower the chances of impressive scars.

even the floral scent of the salve unwillingly applied to his face reminded him of those moments. it was perhaps the reason that his stare had upgraded to what could only be described as foul once Kit pulled back - and certainly the reason for his nearly rubbing all of the other boy's hard work off then and there. only the knowledge that he'd likely dive in again to repair the damage kept the back of his hand from meeting his face.]

'People like you and I' might be better off with something else to worry about for a while.

[Cleaning off his hands, Kit began to pack everything back into his case for the time being, but he made no move to get up and put it away, as if reading Vincent's mind. He knew very well that, given half the chance, the salve would be wiped away, but if it remained obvious that he would simply start all over again, perhaps Vincent would behave.

For a time, anyway.

The case was, at least, set upon the table in favor of grabbing one of the spare towels which was promptly hung over Vincent's shoulder. An indication that he needed to tend to his dripping hair and the rest of himself before too long for that Kit would spare him the indignity of helping with.

Pointing in the direction of the spare room and shoving the dry pair of clothes into his hands, Kit smiled.]

Worry about putting on something dry so you don't get sick. And I can dry your wet things so that when you leave, it's in your own clothes.

[If Kit had any idea how motherly his actions were, he gave no indication. It simply made sense to him to take care of those who set foot in his abode.]

[ugh, he knew it. and with the deposit of the towel around his shoulders, it's clear that his host was more than willing to use the same strategy on getting him dried off and into clean clothes.

he really should have just taken his chances with the storm.]

Do you really think I'd let you hang onto my things either way?

[you mean the way that Kit had with his other sweater, Vincent? but the thought doesn't cross his mind as he rises; all he's wondering now is whether or not it would be safe to leave the guitar in the living room while he was forced to change.

in the end he decides to trust in the same consideration that had kept those belongings safe throughout their brawl. he really doesn't have much choice. thankfully it doesn't take him very long to change, even with the petulant way he drags things out. the sweater is once again several sizes too big and summarily rolled up, although the elastic in the pants prevents him having to visit such an indignity upon them.

at first it may seem that he's finally gotten with the program, but only before he was out of the doorway enough to take a look at his hair. Vincent's completely neglected to towel it off at all, the linen sitting jauntily around his shoulders once more. not only does the dripping render most of his other work pointless, he takes the time to pause and shake his head out in the living room, sending little raindrops flying everywhere.

your move, Kit.]

[A gentle laugh was the only indication that Kit had even heard Vincent's muttering, and even that he was careful to keep reined in. He felt that the point the other boy had made was best left uncontested for now, particularly as Vincent finally relented and went to change into the dry clothes that had been provided.

Giving him any reason at all to regret his decision to acquiesce or to cease cooperating wasn't in either of their best interests, and so until his guest was out of sight and earshot, Kit was a model of good behavior.

Even after Vincent had disappeared behind a closed door he stifled any amusement he felt with busywork. It wasn't his place to touch the other boy's belongings, but the longer they sat in dampness, the more likely they would be to become damaged, even after having been toweled off. So the guitar was laid out carefully separate from its case allowing the materials to breathe and to prevent warping, just as the items in Vincent's bag were spread out neatly across the floor. The carpet would dry.

He'd thought the same of Vincent's hair until the other boy emerged then, black tresses still dripping and leaving wet spots on his newly donned dry clothes.]

Hopeless...

[The word was barely audible as Kit rose, crossing the short distance between the living area and the doorway to the spare bedroom where Vincent stood. He looked him over, avoiding his eyes and what was sure to be another baleful gaze residing there, and then without so much as another word snatched the towel off his shoulder and dumped it over his head.

His hands were gentler than he'd made it seem they would be, careful not to pull hair beneath the towel even as they firmly worked the excess wetness from the wild ends.]

[he'd expected a reaction like that to his little rebellion, but damp chills have a way of working into your bones without you ever realizing. Vincent's reaction time is just slightly off, knocking the towel askew rather than keeping it completely off his head.

a flow of obscenities pour forth from his mouth at that, accompanied by the kind and considerate movements of his arms as he attempts to forcefully pry the other boy away from him. he even goes so far as to stamp down on one of Kit's feet to at least get him to back away.

unfortunately he finds as much success as he had in preventing his wound from being treated. in a last ditch show of petulance he rests his head against his host's chest, pressing down hard to try and keep the towel from being able to move and efficiently dry more than a small patch of his hair. it was childish, but Vincent simply refused to back down.]

[Profane language was to be expected. In a way, its predictability was even a little endearing. Less so was the way Vincent began to throw a tantrum, pulling at his hands and even going so far as to stomp on his foot, and yet Kit still found himself smiling through the trouble, his hands never once relinquishing in their efforts.

In fact, he didn't pause at all until Vincent's head landed upon his chest...with a thump whose cause Kit couldn't be certain was external or internal.

What was Vincent doing? Was this some bizarre sign of deference or was he grasping at straws for a way to distract Kit and get him to stop? That...it had to be the latter. But the truly troubling part was that it had worked. Even now, Kit found himself standing very still, his hands resting upon the towel atop Vincent's head and unmoving. Why?

Why wasn't he doing something? Or saying something? Anything at all had to be better than this frozen silence...right?]

[for such a desperate final gambit to have worked was almost beyond comprehension. Vincent remains where he is for nearly half a minute more, certain that this was simply another bait and switch strategy planned out by his much more strategic foe. it wasn't like him to be deterred by something so simple as a stuck towel.

but time drags on and Kit continues to stand unmoving before him. it's almost...no, it's definitely concerning. his hands move up once more to try and detach the other boy's from both the towel and his hair, the movement and accompanying question far more gentle than they have any right to be coming from him.]

The hell's your problem?

[It seemed Vincent's voice was enough to jar Kit from the endless obstacle course of questions his mind had concocted and, with only a small start, he released the towel and Vincent both, taking a step back to put some much needed distance between them. What on earth had he been thinking? He could just have reminded Vincent to dry his hair, he hadn't needed to go to such great lengths.]

I'm sorry, I just remembered something.

[The lie came more easily to him than he cared to admit, but it was the sort that could do no real harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. The truth would no doubt introduce an awkwardness between him and his guest that Kit just didn't want to deal with. Better to put it completely from even his own mind, in fact!]

I trust you can finish with your hair. And...in the closet over there you'll find a washer-dryer for your own things.

[He'd been willing to wash them himself a few minutes ago, but now the idea seemed like a very bad one indeed.]

[it's certainly a plausible reason, and one that Vincent's not particularly interested in pushing as it means that he's been freed from doting prison, but at the same time he isn't quite certain he believes it. but what else could it have been? another triggered memory, this one unpleasant?

he makes a grunt of acknowledgement before collecting his things and wandering over to the indicated area, but even between the edge of the towel continually dropping down into his face there always seems to be one eye following Kit. despite his determination not to press the matter, he can't entirely shake the feeling of something being off.]

Didn't think I was that much of a disturbance. Are you really that dedicated to your routine?

[...well, certainly there was no harm in teasing him a little about the excuse. they'd thrown jabs at each other for far less.]

My routine?

[Seeming to realize what the other boy was referring to, Kit flashed a brief smile and shook his head.]

You're no trouble, I just thought that you might prefer to see to your own clothes after all.

[...he was no trouble? Had he really just said that?

Vincent was nothing but trouble every time he came around, instigating fights or eating all his food or bleeding on his couch. What about that wasn't problematic?

He was starting to wonder if the one who'd hit his head wasn't his guest but him.]

In any case, I took the liberty of laying out your other effects to air dry properly. I hope that was alright.

[Was he aware of Vincent's gaze now and then lingering on him? It seemed like it. And why shouldn't he have been? Over the last couple of weeks he'd become very familiar with the feeling of being watched, only it seemed so much more disconcerting all of a sudden, like the more those eyes followed him the less likely he'd be to recover his composure.

But by drawing his guests attention elsewhere, perhaps he'd have enough time to venture into the kitchen and preoccupy himself with pulling something from the fridge and popping it into the microwave.]

[no trouble? that had to be a little passive-aggression, or else he was going to start wondering what exactly had been going on in this dorm before he'd arrived. but the intended distraction does work; his gaze drifts over to where his items had been spread out like a rummage sale, gratefully soaking up the dry air.]

It's done now, isn't it?

[an answer typical of him, indicating neither approval nor disapproval and yet somehow managing to sound irritated. while his host retreats into the kitchen Vincent finishes fiddling with the settings of the foreign washer and stands up, sending the appliance juddering into action.

after a few moments to ensure that the machine isn't going to burst into pieces and take his clothes with it he wanders into the kitchen, leaning up against the counter and idly watching Kit go about his work. there's no real reason for it, aside from perhaps intending to snatch the meal from him as soon as it comes out of the microwave. still, his gaze is deceptively sharp.]

[As if he somehow knew what Kit was thinking, Vincent followed his host into the kitchen, depriving him of those few extra minutes he needed to collect himself. Instead, under sharp scrutiny, Kit was forced to try and shut down his mental processes, to turn off whatever it was he was feeling and focus on the task at hand.

The pasta dinner he'd made didn't need to be reheated for very long, but it did require stirring partway through to make sure it heated evenly and nothing dried out. And when it was done? Vincent would find that he didn't have to reach for or snatch the meal away. Kit pulled a fork from the drawer and handed both the plate of food and the utensil to his guest.]

The recipe only made two servings...

[That was another lie. The recipe was a single serving meal, he'd modded it himself to have enough for two meals. Which was, itself, another problematic realization.]

...and I've already eaten, but if you're still hungry after, help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.

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