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

[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.]

[it's a wise decision. Vincent would have been able to ignore an insult at this juncture, but the moment he hears the word beautiful it's all he can do to keep from lunging at the other boy a second time. his face is twisted up with a sort of rage he's never felt before - and unlike his other tempers, he doesn't care for this one.

that, above all else, is what prevents him from pursuing a second battle.

a few moments after Kit makes his tactical retreat, the sound of a door slamming reverberates throughout the entire dorm. it's forceful enough that one might assume an earthquake had hit on top of the storm, but it's merely the surly houseguest making a point. he was staying the night. wasn't the other teen happy? he'd won.

unheard is the selfsame door opening and closing as Vincent removes the sweater sleeve which had unrolled and gotten caught up, literally, in his theatrics. it really was just one of those nights.]

[His words weren't meant to be overheard. In fact, Kit hadn't thought that Vincent was paying close enough attention to him to even be aware he'd spoken. He'd been mistaken, a realization that was curious enough on its own, but not nearly as interesting as the blind rage which had been written upon Vincent's face as a result of what he'd heard.

What pain might Kit's guest have visited upon him if he hadn't put his bedroom door between them? He had all the time in the world to wonder, and very little inclination. He'd suffered enough at Vincent's hands already that night, and very unnecessarily, too...but he didn't have the luxury of resting yet.

As he listened to the other boy throw a tantrum, Kit stripped off his pastel pink sweater and proceeded to the bathroom. It was there that he saw in the mirror how his cheekbone had already begun to discolor. Within a few hours he'd have a glaring shiner if it wasn't iced, but going out into the common room so soon wasn't an option. Not even to wash the blood out of his shirt. Instead, he settled for using his sink, vigorously washing and ringing, and then washing and ringing again until no traces of rusty red remained on the fabric. It was hung to dry over the tub, and after Kit tended to the blood on his face and chest.

How often did he find himself doing just that, he wondered? Standing before his bathroom mirror, regarding his scars or some new injury, and cleaning up. It was a regular thing that his first-aid kit was often left out on the counter top where it could be reached easily in case of emergency. He'd even sewn up some more serious injuries in the past, times when he hadn't wanted to trouble Kiran with fixing them or he'd simply been too far away to justify the trip.

He kept meaning to be more careful, to walk a more moral path, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more frequently he wound up exactly here...

With a sigh, Kit finished washing up, wiped down the counter and sink, and then returned to his bedroom to finish changing, opting to throw on a loose-fitting pair of cotton pants and a half-buttoned plaid shirt.

It would be some time before he bothered to emerge from his room at all, giving his guest (and himself) at least two hours of time alone before he finally decided to venture to the kitchen to procure an ice pack from the freezer.]

[surprisingly, he'll be allowed to venture out into the common room with absolutely no opposition. there seems to be no indication of Vincent having left the guest room at any point during his host's begrudging cleaning binge, although if Kit investigates he'll find that the bedroom door is slightly ajar - either from carelessness borne of embarrassment after freeing his top or an aborted decision to roam free.

should he peek in to find the reason, it becomes abundantly clear why the door's remained open. sometime in between his sulking and whatever else had been raging through his mind, the past few days had finally caught up to Vincent and he'd passed out cold. from the ungainly position and the fact he was resting above the covers it was clearly not a premeditated rest, although his chest rose and fell peacefully all the same. he really was used to sleeping in any possible environment.

truly, it was a strange sight. he's wrapped himself up in the overlarge sweater almost like a security blanket, limbs pulled in close as if to ward off any unsuspecting attacks. the most bizarre part of the scene by far, however, was his face - completely tranquil and practically innocent. it must feel wrong to anyone who knows him in his waking hours, yet the expression sits with a strange sort of appropriateness on him. it's easy to see him as delicate in this way.]

[The dorm was quiet, eerily so considering the company occupying the spare room, and it was the knowledge that Vincent was still there that had Kit curiously glancing in the direction of that door. He didn't expect to find it ajar, especially not after the way he'd heard it slam earlier, as if threatening to break it off its very hinges, and curiosity got the better of him. Temporarily abandoning his quest to procure an ice pack from the kitchen, Kit instead started across the living area and peeked through the tiny open space between the door and its frame.

He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but it certainly wasn't such a peaceful-looking sleeping figure. Looking at Vincent there, one wouldn't know he'd struck him and tried to strangle him just a few hours ago. He seemed almost...gentle. And even sweet.

He also looked faintly cold, curled up tightly into a ball with that sweater wrapped so close around him. Kit knew that he should just leave the other teen alone, that after everything that had transpired between them, he didn't owe Vincent a thing, and yet...he felt a curious compulsion just looking at him. More importantly, he'd gotten away with being around his sleeping guest once...no, twice before without dire consequences. Surely this time would be no different? It was like a challenge.

Fetching the throw blanket off the back of the couch, he proceeded to enter the spare bedroom as quietly as he could, bare feet almost soundless on the carpeted floor. His hands were steady as he laid the blanket carefully over Vincent's form...but glimpsing the gash upon the other boy's forehead again, he found himself leaning a little closer as if to brush it with his fingertips...]

[in Vincent's mind, his peaceful dreaming was suddenly transformed into formless uneasiness. it was as if his unconscious sensed an intruder in his room, but remained powerless to do anything more than disturb his sleeping thoughts.

the only response to the blanket laid upon him is to curl tighter, soaking up the newfound warmth as if it might be taken from him again and required prompt storing. when Kit's fingers dance dangerously close to his skin, however, his eyelids flutter briefly and he lets out a quiet sigh.

it's not enough to wake him yet, thankfully. but he does turn his head slightly towards the disturbance, closing the distance for Kit and bringing his fingers into contact with his forehead. in the world of dreams, there's no shame in seeking out a little affection.]

[For a single heartbeat — or maybe it ten? — Kit held his breath. He'd thought for certain that Vincent would open his eyes and that all hell would break loose upon discovering his presence there.

And then the other teen didn't wake.

Instead, he turned and even pressed his forehead against Kit's fingers, the raised flesh from his wound rough to the touch, but softer than it would have been if not for the salve he'd applied earlier. He was pleased to know the gash was healing well, though it seemed almost appropriate for there to be such a marking on Vincent's forehead.

Kit likened it to the third eye Hiei had, the one he recalled seeing briefly in one of those memories. Along with many other eyes...none of which Vincent's body seemed to bear.

He caught himself staring then and, jerking back his hand, Kit took a step away from the bed. He'd come in here to do what he'd set out to, draping the blanket over his companion's form. He told himself there was no more reason to linger, none, and with that he made an abrupt exit from the room. It was a moment before he remembered what he'd really left his own bedroom to do of course, but an ice pack seemed an unimportant thing, certainly compared to hiding himself away in his own room and sleeping off...whatever weirdness had overcome him this evening.

Maybe it was the pasta.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject