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

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.

How convenient.

[it's probably the worst thing he could say at the moment, but Vincent only intends for his comment to be the typically sardonic sort of observation that he'd come to throw at the other boy effortlessly. to be perfectly honest, he likely could've consumed both servings by himself.

that fact is Kit's savior, as his guest's attention becomes completely fixated on the food as soon as it's handed over to him. he moves immediately to the table, beginning to eat before his rear has even completely touched the chair. homelessness was something familiar to him, but that didn't make having to carefully portion out his meals (and money) any more pleasant. he didn't need to offer up a reply to the invitation for it to be clear he fully intended to raid the fridge once more.]

Hope there's something better in there than last time.

[someone wasn't much of a fan of eating healthy, it seemed.]

[After Vincent had taken the plate from him, Kit's thoughts immediately returned to trying to puzzle out what was wrong with him. He had no answer, nothing he believed in concretely, but there was one plausible solution that he found himself lingering on that wasn't too difficult a pill to swallow.

In whatever previous life he and Vincent had led, they were partners. Perhaps the fact that the other boy had decided to show up at his dorm after all, and had trusted him to treat his cut and look after him, even if he'd protested loudly and violently much of the time, maybe that meant something of their old selves was returning to them.

That wasn't such a bad thing, really. And the more Kit thought about it, the more he thought...maybe it was even good. He did keep telling people he'd rather this whole mess be over with already, that he didn't like having half-answers or being teased with information.

Already the tension was beginning to leave his shoulders and, when Vincent finally spoke again, he was able to answer him a little less stiffly than before.]

I'm afraid not, but I can make something else with what I have on hand.

[It would still be healthy, but at least it wouldn't be basic.]

As if that'd improve anything.

[it's sort of impressive, really. in the small time it had taken Kit to slap a safe rationalization on his reaction and reply, his guest had somehow managed to plow through half of the plate already. was that his ill-conceived choices finally coming back to haunt him, or simply a natural occurrence with his appetite..?

either way, Vincent's opinion on his host's culinary skills seemed about as bright as the ones he held towards healthy options. the fact that he was rapidly consuming a homemade dish now didn't seem to deter him from being so derisive. if anything it could merely be counted as a fluke.]

[How hard would Vincent hit the floor if his seat was kicked out from underneath him, Kit wondered? It was a thought he wouldn't act on, but pondering the question and its possible answers distracted him from the very brief flicker of annoyance he felt at the other boy's comment.

His cooking was just fine. Years of choosing to fend for himself had forced him to become capable at many things most people thought beneath them. He had taught himself first-aid, culinary practices, how to sew, and many other everyday things, all of which had come in handy at some point in his life.]

You can help yourself then if there's anything else you want.

[Pushing away from the counter Kit clasped Vincent on the shoulder and then proceeded towards his bedroom. The curfew bells would have sounded by now, and just in case Vincent changed his mind about staying, Kit was going to pull some of his own linens from his closet and make the spare bed.]

[you might as well just act on your impulses, Kit. it's not as if the company is going to get any more polite as time goes by.

said company puts up a hand to half-heartedly attempt to knock off the one on his shoulder before it can be removed by itself, too busy with the food (and a little too tired, in all honesty) to give it a more robust effort. it wasn't as if the other boy could really escape him in their current setting.

by the time Kit returns from his sojourn into the bedroom, Vincent has polished off the remainder of his dinner and already made an initial foray into the fridge. he's seated on the couch with a carton of cherry tomatoes, momentarily paused in his rapid consumption to readjust a drooping sweater sleeve.

the sheets in his host's hand earns him a suspicious look. he'd completely forgotten the original offer that had been made to him after all the fuss over his face and hair.]

It's a little late for that.

[Vincent's comment earned a perplexed look from his host until Kit managed to piece together his likely train of thought. Even though the weather had very clearly failed to let up, it seemed that Vincent was under the false impression that the clean bedding was for Kit, not for him.]

It might have been if the storm had let up, but it doesn't seem like it's going to.

[He continued across the living area toward the spare bedroom, no longer bothering to look at his guest as he continued to speak.]

Since you'll be here for the night, you may as well be comfortable. I'll make up the spare room for you.

I told you that I wasn't staying!

[he raises his voice to make sure the protest is heard even from the guest room before digging into the tomatoes with a vengeance. Vincent was pretty certain in his decision, but a nagging thought had been digging at his mind for the past few moments - would Kit enforce his executive decision the way he'd done with the others?

it's entirely possible, and he's not certain which outcome he'd prefer. the latter would almost definitely guarantee a fight, and while he was tired he wasn't that tired. any excuse to brawl with the other boy is a good one.]

[Kit didn't bother with a response, letting his actions speak for themselves. He disappeared into the spare bedroom and immediately set to work making the bed, covering the mattress with a dark fitted sheet, laying a top sheet on next and smoothing out the creases before he tucked in the foot, and then the comforter, a rich burgundy, black, mousy brown and white affair. He'd had to spare one of his own pillows as well, but it wasn't as though he didn't have more than he needed.

When he was finished, he emerged from the bedroom empty-handed but looking pleased with himself. Never mind the fact that, if Vincent did stay, all the trouble he'd gone to in order to make the room presentable would have been for naught.]

Everything's ready. If you require anything else, just let me know.

[Was he deliberately pretending not to have heard Vincent's raised voice a few minutes ago? It sure did seem like it...but then, that was also typical of him.]

[it appears as if Vincent hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, but the illusion would be shattered whenever the other boy deigned to check his kitchen garbage. his guest had managed to finish the tomatoes and go through several other items in his fridge all within the span of time it took him to make the bed. it's truly a remarkable talent.

when it becomes clear that Kit is attempting to simply shape reality to suit his wishes, however, he rises back to his feet with a heavy scowl on his face. it didn't come as much of a surprise, but god did it still chafe him something awful. how could anyone stand being around such a self-satisfied bastard?]

How about a little respect? Or do you honestly think if you pretend you can't hear me then I'm just going to give in?

I heard you.

[Kit's glance strayed from Vincent to the window. Beyond, the storm continued to rage like a teenager in its first mosh pit, whipping around tree limbs, spraying rain against the glass with a heavy thud, the shower so thick it would be nearly impossible to see the yard below. Kit supposed there would be cats there. Some were as thick-headed as his friend, refusing to budge even when it was obvious remaining in the thick of a storm was only asking for trouble.

He shook his head and, turning his gaze back toward his guest, shrugged his shoulders.]

I just don't believe you.

[...he wasn't looking to fight, he really wasn't. But he knew those words would be like a match to gasoline if he didn't explain himself.]

You might not care very much for your own well-being, but you care about your belongings. Here at least they'll remain safe and dry. It makes sense to stay. And besides...it isn't permanent. There really is nothing at all to be upset over.

[If anyone should be upset, it was Kit. He'd more than repaid his debt by now, but Vincent continued to take advantage of his hospitality. Though he supposed he'd invited him to this time...]

[Kit was right on the money - his guest had already taken several angry steps forward before he could even squeeze out the rest of his explanation. the words keep him from springing into ill-advised action, but they only serve to darken his gaze rather than eradicate it.]

Are you saying my things aren't welcome here unless I'm with them..?

[because that had been his stubborn intention from the moment he'd started pounding on his host's door. it would be a criminal breach of pride to stay here, but there was nothing wrong with storing his items somewhere safe for a brief period of time.

after Kit had been so conscientious towards his items on more than one occasion, the idea that he'd use their well-being against him had simply never occurred to Vincent. it was a jarring thought, and one he seriously despised. when had he gotten so relaxed about things like that..?]

[There was little that could be done about Vincent's irate disposition, and Kit knew better than to think for a moment any answer he had would assuage his temper. Truly, anything he could say now would only make things worse. But it was either the bitter truth or a lie to placate, and he had never been one for pulling punches...]

I'm allowing you to wait out the storm with your things, but you don't live here and my home isn't a storage locker.

[His voice wasn't clipped, but it was certainly to the point.]

I think I'm being more than fair, don't you?

[he probably was being more than fair, all things considered. but Vincent rarely, if ever, considered things like that. all he saw was that he was yet again being pushed into a situation without his consent by a smug asshole who continuously shoved his face where it didn't belong.

with the bubbling frustration over several days of forced homelessness, his temper never stood a chance. he gives his reply in the form of swinging a fist at Kit's face with a growl; the consideration that had been visited on him in the past half hour is completely forgotten in that single moment of pique.]

[Kit wasn't surprised by Vincent's choice to lash out, but rather it was the fury behind his fist that was unexpected. He felt the other boy's knuckles connect sharply with his cheekbone, but wasn't aware of the way they'd grazed his nose until the spray of blood shot down the lower half of his face and the front of his shirt.

He was fortunate to be so near to the wall that he could catch himself to keep from falling, but after an attack like that, Kit couldn't help thinking the wall was just as much a problem if Vincent wasn't finished yet.

Dragging the back of his hand over his face to wipe his own blood away from his mouth, he glared at the smaller boy.]

Do you dislike hearing the truth that much?

[if he was being perfectly honest with himself, Vincent isn't entirely sure whether or not he's 'finished' with the other boy. the uncertainty doesn't keep him from locking in the potential of further violence, anyway - he quickly closes the gap between them, preventing Kit from easily escaping the wall with one hand and pulling him down to eye level with the other.

his host is wearing an impressively angered look, but he meets it easily with a foul glare of his own. if the supernatural were even remotely real it would have petrified the other teen by now.]

This has nothing to do with the goddamn truth.

What then?

[Kit's hand was a blur between them, aggressively seizing Vincent's and prying it off his person. He thought about striking him, but the idea that he might bleed all over a set of borrowed clothes and not his own stayed his hand — just not his anger. It was boiling as readily as the other teen's by now, made all the more unpleasant by the smear of blood decorating his otherwise handsome features.]

What is it that offends you so much? My generosity? Or your need for assistance?

[He shoved away from the wall and pressed closer to Vincent, free hand curling in the front of the shirt he wore to hoist him up on the tips of his toes.]

I didn't ask any questions about why you were out there, not one. I offered a room and not just my couch. I have shown you respect — or is that the problem? You don't know how to handle that?

[there's not much that he can do about the exploitation of his slight frame, but the sweater he wore was so much larger than him that he could easily escape if he wanted. if only that was a thought currently on his mind...

instead Vincent growls, his fingers tightening around Kit's jawline. the arm that had been flung away moves into action once more, flying up to wrap around the other boy's neck. the pressure is only forceful enough to remain a constant reminder of his presence there, but from the ugly look on the boy's face there's an almost guaranteed promise of further violence should he be pushed those last few steps.]

None of this has been respect. All you've done is decide what's best and manipulate the situation to suit it. I don't need self-righteous pity like that.

[in a perverse way, he's almost glad they're so close. like this he can try to feel out the other boy's angry heartbeat.]

[Unflinching, Kit's grip on that sweater tightened. He wouldn't be deterred by eyes that promised violence. His would only promise an equal share in return if that's what it came to. He didn't want to brawl with Vincent in the living room if it could be helped...but he also wouldn't back down. Not in his own home.]

You make it sound as if you have no will of your own. Is a warm meal and a clean bed enough to manipulate you? Can either of those things keep you from walking out if you're so unsatisfied?

[Kit's gaze flickered in the direction of his dorm's exit and then back to Vincent. His pulse was racing more than he'd like, but not nearly as much as it might if he wasn't trying so hard to keep a level head.]

You didn't have to come here. You don't have to stay. You can hate the choices you're left with, but don't blame me for the choices you make or for being well prepared.

[as if he had no will of his own. how could Kit have the gall to say that when he'd systematically met every attempt of his to exert his opinion onto the evening with an unconquerable wall? from the moment he'd slunk through the door the other boy had been enforcing his desires.

just thinking about how his 'host' was brazen enough to attempt to turn all of that back onto him is enough to cause Vincent's fingers to clench tightly around the throat in their grasp. his thoughts seem to race at the same rapid pace as the pulse beneath his hand, the adrenaline of his opponent quickening his own blood.]

I'll blame you as much as I damn well please so long as you keep putting yourself in my way.

[they'd been fighting from the first, really. it was only now that they'd chosen to bring it to physical blows.]

[With his airways restricted, drawing a breath was difficult. The less oxygen taken into his lungs, the greater the beat of his pulse, such that Kit could even feel it in his throat and hear it in his ears. It was a strange thing to be so physically aware of his own anger and to be unwilling to stand down, to taste his own blood on his tongue and yet not be pushed over the edge by the fact that it had been spilled at all.]

I'm not in your way...

[Releasing his hold on the other boy and even leaning into the hand clutching his throat, Kit's stared piercingly at Vincent. Daring him, it seemed, to punish him for the insult he thought he had suffered.]

[bullshit you aren't, Vincent wants to say, but his tongue remains silent. it can all be seen in his eyes anyway, locked unwaveringly in combat with his enemy. from the first time they'd met, all Kit had ever done was thrust himself where he wasn't needed.

freed from his nearly dangling position, his puts his improved angle to work in applying even further pressure to the taller boy's throat. if this were to be a test of wills, he know that he would come out on top; there was no twinge of conscience preventing him from choking this nuisance out and doing as he pleased with the rest of the night.

time seems frozen between them, the world shrunk down to the nonexistent space between their bodies. as the point of unconsciousness inches nearer and nearer Vincent continues his relentless assault, hand cupped almost tenderly around his host's throat -

wait. tenderly?

as soon as the thought catches up with his mind Vincent's taking action, slamming Kit's head roughly against the wall behind them before relinquishing his hold on the other boy. he brushes the back of his hand against his mouth, as if to wipe off even the association of him, muttering darkly as he goes.]

Pathetic.

[the distance between them suddenly feels stifling. he can easily chalk it up to common sense dictating retaliation for his actions, and his stubborn mind accepts the explanation without question. the spark of oddity which had jolted him out of his grueling punishment was already all but forgotten.]

[Between asphyxiation and having his head cracked off the wall, it was a wonder Kit didn't lose consciousness when Vincent let go, and more surprising still that he didn't hit the floor. Through sheer tenacity and force of will he remained standing, though the support of the wall certainly couldn't be overlooked.

What had caused Vincent to become so violent and then relent? It was almost as if he couldn't put enough distance between them, but without proof to support such a suspicion, even Kit couldn't put much stock in it.

Instead, he found himself mumbling under his breath, almost with a hint of amusement...]

Hellbore, as beautiful as it is toxic.

[He'd classified the other boy quite well, he thought. Vincent was a fascinating person, but attempting to ingest and understand any part of his soul, the very root of his being, would likely prove fatal. Why he continued to try despite all of the pain it caused him was beyond Kit. Perhaps because, like Vincent, he was reluctant to think too long, or too quick to slap the least offensive explanation upon the problem.

Just as he was quick to assume the best solution now was to remove himself from his guest's presence. Not to ask why he had stopped, not to press any more buttons in an attempt to pry answers from him, but to simply, and silently, push away from the wall, cross the small living space, and retreat to his own room.

If he heard Vincent's insult, he didn't acknowledge it.]

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