“I’m down for that, I don’t really give a shit if the others come or not. I’m fine with it if we’re the only ones that end up going, I just want to lay out under the sun and get a tan before the fall sets in,” Rhys stated simply, scratching at the back of his neck, his shoulder lifting languidly. As much of a people person as he was sometimes, he also didn’t care for them sometimes. He wondered if that was the creative side of him, or the part of him that had experienced so much hatred from other individuals throughout his life. He supposed it was probably a mix of both, yet he couldn’t live without others in his life.
“Hey, according to him, it means he gets all the bragging rights and that he is better in every single way,” he said with a laugh, rolling his eyes at the memory of his brother’s antics. He couldn’t really complain much though, he found them amusing, even when they were directed at him. Tristan would always be there for him when it counted, and that was ultimately what mattered most. “I’m sure it would be a nightmare for both your sister and I should that actually happen.”
Snapping his gum, Rhys shook his head, furrowing his brows at James’ question, as he pulled out a few of his leather jackets from the pile on his bed to hang up. “No, shit, I’m not a slob,” he said with a laugh, putting a hanger in one of the coats and placing it in the closet. “What I mean is, I tend to forget to fucking eat or drink constantly, smoke a lot, forget where I put shit, that kind of thing. Tristan’s always really on top of that. He’s always been good about making sure I have coffee or tea first thing, I remember my keys and my phone, and then that I’m taken care of. Suppose I’m lucky to have him in that way. I’m just shit at self care, but I’ve been trying.” He had no problem admitting his downfalls, he knew where he lacked and where he needed to be better, but it was always a struggle for him to improve when on some level he just didn’t care.
“Ja, tell me about it. I try and play and I get frustrated so fast when it comes to the guitar. Drives me batty. Course, I’m kind of a giver upper,” Rhys muttered, snickering a little at himself. “If it doesn’t go right the first few times, I want nothing to do with it, which is shit when it comes to learning new things. But we’ll definitely have to play together sometime. I’d like to see what you can do.”
It felt good to talk to someone who had so much in common with him, someone that he didn’t have to feel like he was trying too hard. There was an easy cadence in their conversation that made him feel comfortable with the other. As rare as it was for him to make good friends, he saw potential in James, and in some ways that worried him.
“I can’t sit still when it comes to my hair,” Rhys commented, beginning to line up his shoes in the bottom of the closet. “I just can’t stand looking the same all the time. I don’t know why, I crave the change… but yeah, I took both actually. Surprise, surprise, I hate school but I love to learn about this shit.” Moving to grab another one of his suitcases from the hall, he dragged it into his room, considering James’ dilemma. “I don’t know what I want to do either, actually, I guess I just don’t care. I don’t give a shit what people think of me. Hell, half the people I met when I was in my teens thought I was a girl,” he said with a shrug, opening his suitcase. “Sometimes shit isn’t worth selling your own soul for. You just have to be you. Anyway, I’d be game for designing something for you. What were you thinking?”
“A tan? Really? Alright,” James replied, shrugging. “Let’s go this week, then.” With a day trip with a new housemate already in works, it was shaping up to be a decent semester. He hoped they continued to get along like this. “But hey, feel free to invite your brother. Maybe he and I can conspire against our younger siblings together.”
A smirk tugged on James’s lips as he continued to organize his books. His instruments and posters would come next. Clothes were unimportant; simply throwing them into the dresser would suffice. Organization with such things never mattered much to him as long as he could grab would he needed and run.
“So you smoke?” he called. “What do you smoke?” James tilted his head, observing his bookshelf. He’d need to get some kind of decorations to help make it look better, to put his own flair on the appearance so it wasn’t simply books after books lined up. “Guess we all need some kind of care taker now and again. But hey, maybe it’ll be good for you, living without him. You going to expect me to pick up your slack?” James teased, releasing a laugh. In truth, he probably would not mind. It was second nature to him to help people through daily tasks, but also in deeper, emotional ways. Maybe that was why he’d chosen to major in psychology.
“How good are you with piano?” James asked curiously. “I play the dueling piano gigs a lot down at The Cave and we’re looking for someone else. Pay’s pretty good, plus you get tips and it’s a blast.” He pushed himself up, satisfied with his bookshelf, and moved over to his box of posters and photographs, deciding to spruce the place up a bit. He began taping them up over his bed.
James listened to the other above the music, turning it down just a little to better hear him from the adjacent room. Rhys was himself. Maybe it was a mask- but James had always been a little skeptical of people who claimed to know who they were. It wasn’t easy to identify yourself, to be self-assured, especially in college, but he seemed genuine.
“That’s a good attitude, I think,” James said. “I mean, going into the arts or design or music-- those fields seem more open to such things. I just-- chose Psychology because it is safer, to a degree. But unfortunately, they do care about tattoos and that kinda shit. And I wouldn’t want to risk not landing a decent job because of a few tattoos. Maybe someday, though. If I open a practice or make it big with my music.” He pinned a poster up above his desk and realized he did not have as many as he wanted to cover the walls and made a note to get more of those, too. A run to a music store would be good; they tended to have quirky decor items and posters. “Anyway, I’m thinking of something meaningful. I think that’s stereotypical, yeah. Most people say that, right? I don’t necessarily think all tattoos need to be meaningful in some grand way, but-- I don’t know. I’d like something that is personal to me. Something unique. Nothing worse than everyone and their mother’s sporting the same infinity symbol or anchor tattoo, right? So-- I don’t know, yet. But something big. Guess that’s not really helpful.”
At last, James grabbed his guitar and moved to the main room, which was quite open for all the artists that would live in this building this year and the years to come. It gave plenty of space to draw and paint, to play music and get creative. He positioned a comfortable folding chair in the corner with a music stand and his guitar, figuring it could be used as a practice area. He hoped no one would mind.
“Hey- you want to order some takeout?” James called, realizing that it was a little after lunch and he’d not yet eaten.
