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

[ugh, that asshole. it had always been a possible outcome, but he'd been hoping that his actions would have been quick enough to get him to spit it out before that happened. if Kit were a dog, he'd definitely be one of those annoying ones who started chewing faster when they noticed you saw them take forbidden food.]

You didn't answer my question. There's still no reason to give a shit about where you drop your attention.

[his companion wanted to act like a toddler, huh. well, fortunately for him Vincent had the nonexistent temper and attitude to out-toddler any amateur performance such as this one.

as soon as he'd finished spitting out his retort Vincent is moving, closing the minuscule gap between them. he surges forward with the attention of snatching that damn piece of potato and trapping it between both their mouths, turning it into a battle for dominance, but even if he'd denied the food he still intends to hold fast to the liplock. one way or the other, he'd wipe that grin off Kit's face.]

[Kit had an answer ready to throw back in Vincent's face, but when the other boy leaned forward to capture that morsel of food, Kit's only thought was keeping it away from him. And the only sure way to prevent Vincent from stealing back what he had stolen first, and to keep it from landing on the floor, was to eat it himself. It was the perfect plan.

Until Vincent's mouth crashed into his.

Whatever smartass remark he'd had prepared instantly fled Kit's thoughts and he stared wide-eyed at the other boy. Or what he could see of him, that surly face pressed so closely to his own. What was he even doing? What point was Vincent trying to prove?

Kit still couldn't move, every part of him as rigid as stone. This made no sense. But he knew one thing...

Vincent's lips were warm and salty, fitting neatly against the shape of his own and tasting faintly of breakfast. It was strangely...pleasant.

A thought which had him swiftly relinquishing the stolen food, surrendering it to his guest at the same time his hands shot out to push the other boy away from him.]

[even as his tongue snaked out to try and wrest the potato bit away from his companion, Vincent himself couldn't help having similar contemplations. this was an act of war, plain and simple, yet he found that it was far less of an odious task than he'd assumed it would be. everything felt right, as if puzzle pieces had finally been slotted into place.

thankfully he has no inclination to dwell on the implications of such a revelation, nor does the world allow him to even make the attempt. Kit is clearly as rattled by this little trick as he'd anticipated - it isn't long as all before he's not only giving up the prize but shoving him back forcefully.

he allows himself to be moved quite readily, the triumph of a hard-earned victory more than enough to make him a little more complacent than usual. he grins widely at the other boy, already starting to chew his retrieved morsel. clearly there are no regrets here.]

Too easy.

[Brain still more than a little scrambled, Kit was unable to find the same sort of humor in his loss as Vincent. He was tempted to drag the back of his hand across his mouth to remove the taste of the other boy from his lips, but there was no way such a gesture wouldn't be interpreted as an insult. So he just sat there instead.

He wasn't entirely sure why he should care what the other boy thought after what he'd done, of course...just as he wasn't sure why he felt inclined to avoid instigating a fight through hurtful actions or words. By using that sort of underhanded and insensitive tactic, Vincent had stooped incredibly low. Worse still was the fact that Kit knew why it bothered him, even though it didn't quite suppress the urge he felt to want to clobber the smaller teen. Even if the brief contact their lips made was nothing more than an ace up Vincent's sleeve...he'd liked it.

A lot.

Which wasn't something he could say. Or if he could, it wasn't something he would say, especially not after having just invited Vincent to stay with him in the dorm.

By the time he could actually move again, he was clearing his throat and sliding off the couch, taking his empty plate with him and handing the dropped fork back to his guest.]

Just so you are aware, it will take more than that to convince me to rescind my invitation for you to stay.

[the thrill of victory is still running strong through his veins, but there's a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that will eventually make itself known whenever Vincent finally settles down: he's a bit disappointed by the other boy's reaction.

but for the moment he simply chuckles, taking the fork back and nonchalantly beginning to dig back into his plate. it was nice to have the upper hand on throwing Kit off for once.]

Is that so? Guess I'll have to take off my pants next time.

[he could leave it at that and really, he probably should. he'd made his point. but Vincent has never been one to understand restraint...and so when the other teen gets up and makes to walk to the kitchen he leans forward and pinches him right on the ass.

again, it's far less disagreeable than he'd anticipated.]

[If only Vincent had left it at that, Kit might have been able to restrain himself. But of course he hadn't. He'd felt the need to take things one step further, as usual. And this time it was one step too far.

For a brief second it wasn't red that Kit saw, but blistering hot white.

With a shuddering breath, he dropped his plate with a loud clatter upon the coffee table and glanced back over his shoulder as the smaller teen reached towards him. Lightning quick, his hand shot out and caught the other boy's wrist in a sharp, unrelenting grip, twisting it painfully in the opposite direction. His eyes were flashing with warning, other fist clenched at his side.]

Try that again and I will break your arm. Do you understand?

[He never had liked people touching him from behind. And even if Vincent was his partner...there was only so much disrespect he could tolerate.]

[it's not the anticipated result of his action, but Vincent would be lying if he said that this didn't excite him just as much - if not more. the smug grin on his face widens into something challenging and a little crazed. his wrist aches under the other boy's grip, but the pain only goads him on further.]

Why wait? Do it now.

[or maybe he should prompt the retaliation a little further? with that thought in mind Vincent rises up from the couch, standing so close to his partner that they're practically pressed up against each other. come on, then. escalate this.]

[What was it Vincent had said to him the night they first met?]

Only people who think themselves worthless blindly chase that thrill.

[He held Vincent's twisted arm for a moment longer before, with a violent shove, he knocked the other boy back onto the sofa. It didn't get more sit down and cool off than that, especially as Kit took a breath, and then collected both plates before heading to the kitchen.

This was fine.

He'd made his point and Vincent knew there was a line drawn now. As disrespectful and antagonistic as he could be, he wouldn't forsake those boundaries, would he?]

[he's sharp enough that he can recognize his own words when they're thrown back at him, but it's the denial of a fight that rankles him more. Vincent grunts, trying and failing to withstand the superior force acting upon him. all it results in is him hitting the couch at a strange angle.

it's not like Kit to reject a fight when the both of them are free and able, even more so when he was obviously riled up. it's the curiosity over something so obviously amiss that prompts him to violate even his own set of rules and follow after the other boy into the kitchen. prideful as he was, soothing a bruised ego mattered less in this instance.]

And people who are afraid?

[With considerably more care than he'd demonstrated a moment ago, Kit placed both plates and forks in the kitchen sink. As he turned on the faucet and the sink began to fill with water, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and seriously considered ignoring his guest.

Of course, that would only prove harmful to the both of them. Vincent had lashed out at him the night before for even seeming like he was disregarding what he'd been saying. Doing so now, when tensions were obviously running so very high, would lead to a more serious exchange of blows...]

Fear isn't what stayed my hand.

[He added a little soap to the water and then turned off the tap before turning to look at his guest.]

Neither of us has anything to gain by fighting right now. That's all.

[Or so he said.]

[without so much as a pause he hoists himself up onto the counter right next to the sink, providing himself with a better vantage point and Kit with nowhere to hide. moving away before finishing the dishes would only prove avoidance.]

You make it sound like that's a difference from any other fight.

[of theirs, anyway. there was nothing practical or tangible for either of them to gain from clashing so often, and yet they continued to do so. why? because it provided an incomparable thrill. so, then, what else but fear could keep the other boy from licking some of that up?]

[So pushy...

But there was little to be done about Vincent's forcefulness if Kit wasn't willing to push back.]

The difference is clear. For our first fight, neither of us was in his right mind. The following confrontation was owed as per my promise. And the rest...

[Good grief. They really fought a lot with each other, didn't they? Kit sighed as he sunk his hands into the water and began scrubbing clean the plates.]

...those were the result of poor judgment and a lack of self-restraint.

[He paused then, adding quietly...]

I like to think I can enjoy your company without always resorting to violence.

[Or at least, he didn't wish the fights between them to come from a place of darkness or hate. They weren't Hiei and Kurama, not yet, but Kit wanted very much to preserve that partnership.]

[there had been worse situations in their past where self-restraint would have been more than welcome, and yet it had failed to make an appearance. what made this instance so different?

the nagging voice in the back of his head knew, but up until this point Vincent had still managed to ignore it. it's only when he catches the soft postscript to the conversation that it's thrust front and center, unable to be ignored.

did Kit really..? no, that was ridiculous. just the thought of it was making his heart pump faster in what could only be involuntary panic.]

I'm not here to be enjoyed.

Of course you aren't.

[Kit wasn't a fool. He wasn't operating under any misconceptions about why Vincent was there. It was for himself, obviously. As was everything the smaller teen ever did. That was why he'd even followed Kit into the Kitchen and why he was prodding now at an open wound. He didn't know how to let sleeping dogs lie, and wasn't inclined to if he could make them spring into action instead.

He wasn't there to be enjoyed. But everyone else where there to entertain him.

The thought made Kit feel bitter...but realizing that he'd been washing the same plate for a few minutes snapped him out of that emotional pitfall.

He set the clean plate aside and moved onto the next...]

I suppose that settles everything. You do your thing and I will do mine. We'll stay out of each other's way.

As if it could've been any other way.

[but he's not satisfied with that decision, even as he readily agrees to it. not going forward and certainly not with all the uncomfortable questions still swirling unanswered in his head. leaving things the way they were would be akin to abandonment, and that was simply unacceptable. he never backed down, and he certainly wouldn't do so now.

for the moment, though, he simply watches his companion finish up the dishes. as Kit is putting the second plate away he reaches out, catching him by the chin and tugging him to face him. he holds him there for a moment, as if gathering up mental strength, and then leans in to kiss him again.

it's a kiss this time, not a military gambit or show of strength. there's clearly very little experience behind the gesture, but the softness of the gesture cannot be denied. after several moments Vincent pulls away and wordlessly hops down from the counter, starting off towards his bedroom. if he was being entirely honest, he couldn't explain why he'd just done that.]

[While Kit failed to respond to the kiss, he also failed to push Vincent away. There'd been plenty of time. And if he'd really wanted to, he could have easily taken one of the forks still in the sink and stuck Vincent's hand with it. He'd had no shortage of ways to prevent their faces from coming close together or their lips from meeting.

But he'd done nothing.

And he continued to do nothing as Vincent hopped off the counter and walked away. He forgot about what was left in the sink. Forgot about drying off his hands. And he didn't dare turn to watch the other boy go. He wasn't sure what to think let alone say.

One moment Vincent was telling him he wasn't here to be enjoyed, the next he was kissing him. The mixed signals he was giving were giving Kit a headache...]

[this was probably the best possible outcome that he could have hoped for. without any explanation for his actions, and with the way that Kit had nearly broken his arm over a similar one mere moments ago, he'd completely expected violent retaliation. it was just the way that their relationship seemed to flow.

instead, what he got was complete silence. Vincent watches the other boy from the corner of his eye all the way to his bedroom door, but he never moves from his place in front of the sink. there's something to be said for taking chances with people who insisted on thinking everything through before acting.

his door closes softly behind him, and in short order he's sprawled carelessly out on his bed with his notebook open. whenever his mind was storming with foreign emotions the way it was now, the only way he could calm it was to write.]

[Several more minutes came and went again before Kit finished at the sink. A job that should only have taken two at most had taken him nearly ten, and even then he still felt obliged to tidy up the area before deciding to disappear into his own room...

...where he did not stay.

After grabbing his jacket and keys, Kit stole a glance in the direction of the spare bedroom across the flat. Vincent had shut him out. There was nothing there to see. And if he stayed here to dwell on what had happened or what the other boy had been hoping to accomplish by being so confusing, nothing good would come of it.

But a walk, now that might clear his head. A little productivity would help him shake off the lingering feeling of the other boy's mouth on his and to brush away any of his own confusion or irritation at being much too invested in someone. So he was on the phone almost immediately upon leaving his room and heading for the front door, speaking to someone on the other end about a job in Eastmount.

It sounded simple enough. A young man's dog was stolen by a neighbor in an apartment one block over, but police had failed to take his complaints seriously because he didn't have papers declaring himself the owner. He had photos, however. Which he'd happily supplied Kit with. As well as the address of the culprit.

The trip there had taken maybe twenty minutes by train, and breaking into the flat itself took no time at all. Unfortunately, while he'd been told the man who'd stolen the dog wouldn't be home, the information had been incorrect. There'd been a scuffle upon breaking into the apartment, one that had resulted in Kit's skull being struck with the back of a pan and his left forearm being cut upon with a kitchen knife, but in the end he'd overwhelmed his assailant and rescued the dog, an affectionate and floppy-eared beagle named Charlie.

Charlie was happy to be returned to his true owner a short time later, as long as it took Kit to halfway bandage his arm and clean up any evidence of his having been at the apartment. But no one was as happy as Charlie's owner who, despite being built like a truck, broke down into tears when he was returned safely. Evidently, he was the sort of person who didn't believe in violence, because if he had, retrieving the dog himself would have been no trouble at all. But that was none of Kit's concern. Things had ended well, he was paid for his work, and he took the next available train back to Green Valley.

It was early afternoon by the time he was walking back into his dorm, but his work wasn't done yet. Now he had to properly tend to the gash on his arm, which was probably going to require ten to fifteen stitches...]

[Vincent could hear his roommate leaving thanks to the phone conversation, but he's so engrossed in his work that it only registers in the faint way that a bird's song outside his window might. it's only several hours later that he acts on it and emerges from his room, having written and edited two entirely new songs from his troubled mind. eating hearts features prominently in one of them.

the rest of the morning and afternoon is spent in a similarly productive fashion. he helps himself to more of the fridge's contents before calling several clubs in Hagu to solicit some opportunities for his band; the amount of profanities spewed makes it difficult to imagine these are professional conversations, but he seems quite pleased with the results.

when Kit enters the dorm once again he's moved on to rewarding himself with some television, sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place. Vincent at least makes the cursory attempt at politeness by sitting up when he catches sight of the other boy, eyebrows raising slightly at his wound.]

You look like shit.

[Kit hadn't been expecting his new roommate to be lounging on the sofa when he'd returned home, and he paused en route to his bedroom, one hand covering the tear in his jacket and the cut beneath, but also doing nothing to conceal the blood stains. He wasn't certain how to read Vincent's expression. Was it concern or simple curiosity that had lifted his brows? And why was he bothering with trying to read into it?]

It's just a scratch.

[Alright, it was absolutely not just a scratch, but he'd had worse, or that was the logic behind his lie. Vincent didn't need to worry about him. He could go back to watching whatever it was he had blasting from the television set. Kit would deal with his appearance, some of which was Vincent's fault. The shiner from the night before had taken a faintly purple hue beneath his eye. But again...he'd had worse.]

I'll be back in a moment.

[So he said, but as Kit disappeared into his room and closed the door, it seemed clear that he didn't plan to emerge again anytime soon. He peeled off his jacket and wandered towards the bathroom. Temporarily, it was hung over the side of the tub to be cleaned up and sewn later. Kit's primary focus was the process of rolling up his sleeve, opening his medical case, washing off, and then disinfecting the gash on his arm.]

[both statements earn a disbelieving "pffft" from his companion. it was just like Kit to understate these sorts of things, but after having hung around him for long enough it was no longer adequate in fooling him. even if he decided not to repair his jacket now, this would still take some time to patch up.

for once he doesn't invade the other boy's boundaries, perhaps a flash or common sense or merely exhaustion from the similar actions of earlier today. instead Vincent settles against the couch cushions and waits, only half paying attention to the program nearly shaking the dorm walls.

how many stitches would that be? he decides to make a guessing game out of it while he waits for Kit to emerge once more.]

[Three stitches more than the fifteen he'd estimated were required. It took some time, especially working one-handed, but after cleaning the site, sterilizing it as well as his tools, and then sewing the skin shut, a process that was mostly painless for the numbness of his flesh closest to the edges of the gash, Kit was finally done. He was grateful for a steady hand and for being familiar with things like sewing. The final dressing looked quite professional.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be done about the shiner or the lump on his head, and after rinsing off what blood he could from his jacket, Kit realized it wasn't going to be salvageable.

It was at least an hour later when he emerged wearing a new shirt with long sleeves. Carrying both the old one and his jacket with him, he headed in the direction of the kitchen and deposited the items into the trash. And it was only after ducking his head into the fridge that he bothered to speak at all...]

What have you been doing all day besides eating my food?

[by the time Kit reemerges from his healing coma, his roommate has moved on to more practical endeavors once more. the television still blares in front of him, but his focus is on the paper he's frowning down at in his hands.

he'd compiled a list of the possible clubs they could play at after the phone calls, arranged by priority and with the accompanying email addresses so he could send videos of their past performances. it was frustrating that he still didn't have his laptop with him; he'd have to wait until he felt like heading over to the library to do most of this.

the fact that Kit had ruined his private little game by covering up his handiwork with long sleeves only increases his faint ire, and the frown plastered across his face only deepens as he watches him walk by. given all that, his response is rather predictable.]

None of your business.

[that said, if Kit was going to make a proper lunch, he'd be more than happy to eat that too.]

[Although he wouldn't admit it, Vincent's response stung the way a slap across the face might have. Of course, just as he would have done if he'd really been struck, Kit closed the fridge door and smiled, the expression free of any of discontent and masking perfectly his hurt. Bringing an Asian pear with him, he wandered over toward the arm chair and sat down, long legs draped over the side of the chair furthest from the sofa where his companion sat.]

So mysterious.

[As he took a bite of the fruit, the sweet crunch quite satisfying, he decided to play his own game and guess at Vincent's activities.]

Reading the obituaries for inspiration?

Edited 2017-09-27 21:08 (UTC)

[completely oblivious to the way his surly response had injured his companion, Vincent shifts so that he's better facing the other boy. it was a natural sort of back and forth for them, so why should he presume that anything was off this time?]

It's part of the look.

[gotta keep up appearances even here. if he let up now then he might not remember to get back in the groove of it where people could see him.]

If I was looking for inspiration I'd be reading homicide reports. Obituaries are boring as hell.

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i got so sucked into husbandos i totally forgot to finish these tags