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@sidesteeps-blog
✎
Ricin could not wrap his head around these actions. Why so desperate to cling to that item? Why react as if he’d kicked this stranger? Ricin had clearly kicked the instrument, not the living thing at his feet. He looked as if he were in a panic. For a moment, Ricin began to wonder if one’s life could be tied to an inanimate object. But rather than take things too far and strike at the instrument again, the boy held out his hand, offering to help this stranger to his feet. “Sorry,” was simply a word. Something easy enough to say without meaning it, but Ricin said many things without meaning them to people he could care less for. There was only one person who accepted him, after all.
“Y-you… surprised me…are you… all right?”
✎ } After the instrument kicking incident, there wasn't any way he could solely deal with assistance as if nothing had happened. The panic continued to rise, him rocking back and forth for a while, cradling the guitar. The hand that was held out was pointedly ignored, locks ruffling about as he shook his head, scooting back away again. Was the shaking a reply to the question, or rather how he didn't want to be touched, be neared? Even he didn't know. Slowly, he stood, the grip on the item so tight, the skin on his fingers were stretched, making his tanned flesh look ghostly pale. Another shake of the head, before eyes flitted about tentatively, trying to calm himself. He hated panicking like this in front of strangers, feeling mocked constantly because of such. Feeling useless, like he didn't belong. He said nothing, unable to stand straight, almost in a effeminate, submissive stance. If the stranger gave him a moment he would calm, and it would be okay. He could have a conversation, because the red was fading away, little by little and he would be better company if he wasn't freaking the hell out.
╰♗╮ ⇢ For the Saint whom had only interacted with people who used sign language once or twice, he knew little to nothing of it. It wasn’t something he looked into knowing, having by far only understood the basics. He knew it better back then — perhaps several years or so back but it hasn’t been of use. And for someone like him: lack of consistency caused his skills to falter before fading completely. So when the unfamiliar gesture was presented to him he merely nodded his head and widened his smile in a sort of feigned understanding. It must’ve been a thank you, having lacked any other knowledge to what it could possibly be.
Carefully his gaze then fell onto the money placed upon the table, a soft ‘oh’ and a shake of his head instantly coming forth. He lifted his hands to wave in protest at the tip presented; the saint refusing to take any sort of payment for the time being. A first time was always free, no matter what. “No — really, uhm..” Could the other hear? He wasn’t sure if he were merely mute or not. Biting down on his lower lip some he then shook his head and pointed to the money, gesturing to him right afterwards. Hopefully the two won’t have a sort of good citizen showdown. The angel was known to be very stubborn when it came to such things.
✎ } The smile, though small, left quickly when his offer was denied. Out of frustration he started to sign, but stopped midway. Almost no one, he had to remember (much to his chagrin , knew how to, or understand ASL, so his hand dropped. Though he wanted the blonde to take the money, he wasn't a stubborn person, so instead he left the money, moving his palm away. If the other didn't take it, someone else could have it. He'd feel a smidgen of guilt that he would of, more or less, thrown away his owner's money, but it would go away eventually. The boy did, however, take the paper back, reaching into his pocket and pulled out a pen he toted around. He leaned over, scribbling onto the paper, pausing his hand, then continued up again.
❝ I'm not going to take the money back, okay? Give it to someone, but it's for you. I want to thank you properly, if that's okay. What's your name? I'm Clayton. ❞
With the table as neutral ground, he slipped it over to the stranger, placing the pen on top of the crinkled sheet for the other to use. He then leaned back, peeking inside the bag at the boxes he knew contained the sweets. No doubt he'd get a pat of approval from Daniel for being able to do such a task on his own. For a while there was, of course, silence, as the teen waited for the other to reply back.
⁽⁽ ✬ ₎₎ Daniel didn’t possess much upper body strength or muscle but, being so used to carting Clayton around as he was, he had absolutely no problem carrying him. Clayton’s body was light, easy to handle; though, an tiny ache did start to form at the back of his neck, where linked arms just so happened to be.
Gentle exhales of oxygen swept across the sensitive skin of Daniel’s throat and lower jaw, earning a very subtle and promptly missed shudder. It felt good to have Clayton so close, comforting and commonplace. A second heart beat drummed against his own, and Daniel had to suppress the urge to sigh and just lay down. He became so relaxed so quickly. They arrived in the kitchen before he knew it. Daniel’s spine automatically straightened when Clayton’s warmth and weight disappeared, watching with amusement as the bags were removed from him after a silent question was offered.
Daniel lifted his own hand, now free to move them. ⟨ Open it up and see. ⟩ The teen trailed after Clayton, kicking off his work shoes and unfastening his silk bow tie. Black uniform vest was removed next, all of which were being slung over the back of a dining room chair, nimble fingers now working on one or two shirt buttons. Denim blue hues flickered over to Clayton, watching him wordlessly flit around. Daniel wanted to help, didn’t like the idea of letting his familiar prepare everything, but he never got the chance to intervene. Clayton was on a mission it seemed.
Smiling softly and shaking his head, Daniel rolled up white sleeves. ⟨ Yes, it went well. We were more packed than usual. ⟩ The magi’s hands moved fluidly, experience coloring each smooth shape. ‘Speaking’ with Clayton like this was a guilty pleasure of his, one he held onto selfishly. No one else had such a right. No one else saw what he saw. Daniel preferred it that way, much to his inner shame, as if he were keeping Clayton all to himself somehow. Ah well…⟨ You’re very welcome. I hope you like it. ⟩
Finally disrobed enough to be comfortable, Daniel went into the living room, sliding down next to Clayton, head turning to face him. “Ah, why of course~ It’s definitely an animated movie kind of night,” he says, nodding. Bending forward he takes his plate in both hands, resting back and setting it on his lap. Heat instantly seeped through the dark pants fabric.
✎ } Though aware Daniel wouldn't ever deny him, the noise that left his lips at the conformation was utter joy, hopping up like a child in excitement. The owl scrambled over to the shelf that held the movies, fingers deftly flitting over the titles until he found the one he wanted. Plucking it out, he quickly opened the case and removed the DVD, and in one swift motion opened the player and placed it in. Afterwards the youth basically dived for the couch, landing on his behind with a rather misplaced bump, almost falling on top of the magi.
Hands fidgeted with the remotes, fishing for the correct one before flicking the television on, the title menu playing for him, much to his pleasure. For a good bit of time he hummed along with the music, even huffing out along with Marty during his Afro Circus bit. After a while he cut off the screen by starting the movie, picking up his plate and began to dig into his food, making a show of cutting up his fish so Daniel wouldn't have to assist him ({See? I totally know how to do this by myself!}). The opening credits hadn't of even appeared by the time he was finished with the salmon, eyes focused on the movie, almost wrapped up in it.
Shifting closer to the other body heat, he knocked his knee as discreetly as he could against Daniel's, a small sign of comfort from his end. They did this so often: small brushes, like hand grazing or knee touching. It made him buzz inside with emotions, an odd mixture of bliss, giddiness and something else he couldn't, wouldn't want to place. However, his focus began to waver partially after the first handful of scenes, now obscenely aware of the heat transferring from their knees. Noticing how Daniel sat, not too close, but enough that Clayton could see the creases from his shirt, and how his lips were, if not always, tugged at the corners, like in a secret smile. After a while the beings hands weren't moving to eat, now willing away the odd heat pooling into his cheeks.
His heart was doing odd things, and he moved his body away, keeping a bit of distance. It wasn't too great, too noticeable, but it was a bit of a gap, just so he could still his heart, calm himself. It was only knee touching. He had basically thrown himself on the other teen not even ten minutes prior, but he was freaking out from a small touch. He could still feel the tingling sensation at the kneecap, and almost groaned outwardly. "Drink," he mumbled, only flickering a glance at the other, plate placed on the sofa as he basically dashed (and skidded, but, details) out of the living room. It took him mere seconds to slide into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door, knowing it would block his body from view at the angle they decided to place it. The cool air hit his cheeks and he exhaled loudly through his nose, leaning forward. He should of been used to this happening so often, but it was as if it was the first time, years ago. Those first touches: a simple ruffle of the hair, or the rub of the arm left a pleasant burning his young mind couldn't understand without research, and even now he was unaware of what it meant.
He ruled it out as the attachment that came with contracts, but that was a lie, to himself. He'd lie to himself as long as it took. And his knee was still buzzing with nerves, and he almost kicked himself. The blonde carded his hands through his hair, calming himself. Unaware he had been letting the cold air out by standing there too long, trying to gather his runaway thoughts.
People were so strange. So odd. The things they held dear to them in their own selfish ways made no sense. It should be other people they cherished. But everyone was rotten in some form or another. This human and his fixation on this hunk of wood and strings. There was no remorse in the stranger’s extra step that resulted in ‘accidentally’ kicking the guitar further away from his grasp. It skidded a little, and suddenly the ‘girl’ was more interested in what sound it would make if ‘she’ kicked it hard enough to break. But instead she simply stared down at this unfamiliar face. How odd a person.
✎ } Before his fingers could nimbly grasp at the object, it was kicked away and a sharp pain racked along his body, as if the kick had been to vital organs. A barely audible gasp left his lips, almost sounding close to a whimper. Crawling quickly, the familiar grabbed the wood and clutched it to his chest, it heaving. Though almost unaware of the other's thoughts, he was hurt, wounded. It was a misconception to others about what was important to him, to his life, unable to speak sometimes and used such a tool to communicate. Selfish, it could be, but he wanted to be selfish. Sometimes, selfish was good. His grasp was tighter, brows furrowing, red cracks starting to form at his vision. His body shifted away from the stranger, curling into himself. Pleaseleavepleasegoawaypleasedon'tgetcloserplease. The cracks were widening, fingers clutching at the wood as he stared down at the instrument, chest heaving, moving quickly. Pleasedon'thurtitpleasedgoawaypleasepleaseplease.
Shout, shout let it all out! { i’m talking to you, come on; }
▲ madefrompoison; ▼ vorsipellis;
✎ } Today happened to not be the boys day. Not only had he snapped not one, but two strings on his instrument, but after buying new ones and replacing them, he was out of sorts and couldn't play correctly. Every other note was sour, coming out horridly and making him cringe. After a while he sat there on the grass beside the bench, the acoustic on his lap, fingers absently running along the cords. Sadly, the random fraction of notes here and there sounded better then anything he had played all day. Shifting, the youth went to grab for the guitar, only for it to slide away, rolling in the pathway of the walkway. Scrambling to get it, he grabbed for the neck, and almost knocked (or rather, knocked over) someone, and rolled silently away from his prized possession There was a wheeze as he reached for it, aimlessly grabbing at strings, trying to pull it close. Hues of red slipped into his cheeks, not making eye contact, silently willing away the embarrassment. They'd get a laugh out of this, wouldn't they?
{ sidesteeps }
One would think a shiny white smile of a crescent moon could be anything but out of the ordinary or unsettling; perhaps that is what made Jaden seem so off. Fallen into the human world on accident again, and she couldn’t stand how strange a night sky lacking red tones and a moon that missed a bloodied glow were. She could go home, sure—keeping the needed stick of purple chalk with her, unlike her older brother Skylar—but wouldn’t that be just boring? The scenery at Moonlake was the same almost every day, the castle never changing, the flowers always the same colors…exploring somewhere new, for the time being, would be more fun than sleeping longer than needed in a world with ninety-minute hours, wouldn’t it? If only apprehension could stop eating her from the inside out.
Finally deciding she could take it anymore, and after catching the scent of tea on her walk, the vampire dipped into a coffee shop just a few steps away—and promptly tripped over a table leg, landing flat on her face with the table turning over close by. Rather ungraceful for a vampire, much less a princess, but things happen. She already gathered enough attention from her long white hair and sparkling ruby eyes, but clumsiness? Sure to draw in more unwanted stares, and her pale cheeks were already turning rosy from the embarrassment.
✎ } Testing the boundaries of his comfort zone had always been something he disliked, but if he wanted to get better, he'd have to do it. No matter how many failures it took, pinned to his chest like an unwanted ribbon. So as the blondes head ducked down as he sat at the table, hands wrapped around the Styrofoam cup, eyes watching the steam trail upwards, he wondered if this was actually "pushing", per se, at said boundaries. He was in a (fairly) crowded coffee shop, yet he sat alone, feigning independence, though the lonesome look couldn't be fabricated. He was actually getting bored, only shaken up about twice: once being accidentally jostled by a woman with her bag, and secondly by a man in a hurry.
So when the peace was disrupted, his head shot up, almost knocking the hat on his head off, noticing the source before actually wanting to. Someone had fallen, all limbs and knocked over objects, hair shadowing her form in waves, cascading around her. There was whispers, soft bouts of laughter, all eyes aimed at her direction. Hands clenched at the edges of the cup, leaving indentations. He understood that shame, and bile burned hot at his throat. For a while he stared, no better then the individuals around him, the hushed whispers like a loud static ringing in his eardrums. He stood up, fingers digging out of the cup, striding over to the fallen form. If initiating it, he could withstand it. Assisting and then leaving was no harm, and it was simple. There were already too many changes.
Without making eye contact, an arm extended out towards the girl, other hand fixing the cap on his head. If she refused, he'd be embarrassed as well, but then again, no contact. No harm.
⁽⁽ ✬ ₎₎ Daniel was extremely lucky to have the job that he did. Not only because the pay happened to be fairly good or because he really enjoyed it-but also for the sole fact that he could freely bring home left over meals. A simple, small privilege but one he fully appreciated nonetheless. After all, he always brought back food he knew Clayton would like the most, if only to see a smile on the familiar’s face. Call it an over achieved attention to detail, but Daniel didn’t mind.
As usual, the magi was one of the only staff members that got off earlier than the rest, saying his goodbyes and giving the usual polite grin/wave combination, plastic bag handles hanging from pale wrists, carefully padding down concrete steps so as to not tip or disturb the containers of food in each bag. Daniel wanted to get home quickly. A smile he didn’t notice crawled upon Daniel’s plush lips, flutters of eagerness vibrating into the tips of his fingers. It was already half past 8, but he needn’t worry about whether or not Clayton would be awake, being nocturnal and all.
Luckily, their apartment complex was a mere two and a half blocks away from the restaurant where Daniel worked, which he meant normally walked to and from, unless bad weather permitted him to. It took him eight minutes, which was honestly quite impressive seeing how getting there usually ate up ten or more. Long legs and determination did wonders.
Daniel was through the lobby and into an elevator in no time, taking a split second to greet the doorman. ‘I hope the food’s still warm’ he thinks offhandedly, shoes silent on a patterned maroon rug. Stopping, Daniel reached out his hand and knocked quietly once, unable to reach into his back pocket and grab the room key. The door shot open quicker than he originally suspected, blue eyes widening briefly before a huff of air was forced from his lungs, stumbling minutely as a breathless laugh followed suit.
Plastic shifting, Daniel patted Clayton warmly on the back, inching into the room and closing the door with a foot. “Now, now, silly, let me at least get inside!” he teased, managing to walk through the hallway while simultaneously sporting a dangling familiar.
✎ } When the taller began to move the grip got tighter, feet now not even placed on the ground, being toted without much effort. Instead of moving, the boys face buried in his owners neck, inhaling the scent of Daniel and it was so him that his face moved in closer, if even possible. Being carried was nothing new of any sort, so for a while he continued on like that, feeling similar to how it felt being perched on the other's shoulder during training or exhibitions. He had a mind to wrap his legs around a slender torso, but the owl didn't feel like moving, so with dangling limbs he hung.
A soft exhalation before he knew he'd have to move, aware it was the only way he'd eat anything. Arms loosening he leaned his head back with reluctance, letting go completely and falling backwards, landing on the balls of his feet before crashing onto the carpet. Without looking back up, his hand began to move, high enough that the blonde could see. {What's in the bag?} A tanned appendage shot out, touching the plastic, testing the temperature. Reheating was required. A soft sigh before he took the bag all together, turning on the heel quickly, gliding into the kitchen without much fuss.
Beginning to remove the bags contents the familiar placed them in the center of the table, spreading them out, inspecting. Salmon and Tilapia were what he noticed first, and his fingers tapped the fish, only to drift back to his side. Then there were sides, mashed potatoes and coleslaw and fries. He peeked a glance to the magi, smile on his face, corners of his eyes pinching, signaling silent approval. Tittering around the table, the blonde slid into the kitchen, rummaging cupboards and drawers for plates (they had a set of special plates, matching ones that the owl thought was cute. Cute, in a sense that they were the same color, different pattern variation). Grabbing them he skated back to the table, setting up their plates with an even amount for both parties, going back and forth for a while, skirting around certain areas, decorating the plates while finding it necessary to peek over every few seconds.
His hand rose again, in sight of the other presence. {Was work OK? Thanks for the food} It was normal conversation, routine he was used to and comforted by, change being something he disliked the most. A dash and he was to the microwave, heating both of their plates before smoothly coming back, only this time actually making an effort to go all the way into the living room. After setting down their plates he perched himself on the couches armrest, fingers drumming against the material as he watched, finally, with intent and interest in the responses he'd get.
Lips moved: "Want to watch Madagascar 3 with me?"
╰♗╮ ⇢ Mouth open to speak but no words came forth. Hands lifted slightly but never extending out to grip onto something. For a moment the boy were merely silent as he watched the person before him; understanding seeming to finally seek in once his eyes connected to the other’s own in that brief moment of eye contact. The look of pain and near fear was still foreign to the boy but he made no foul judgement against it — having never been the judging type to begin with. Carefully and slowly his gaze moved from the boy’s face to the paper within his hand. Before he could ask what it was, the other had stepped forth to give it to him only to retreat back into the space of his own comfort. In that moment the angel had felt the energy and emotions spill over his own form before vanishing as quickly as it had come; leaving goosebumps to trail over the flesh hidden away under a long-sleeved blouse. Opening up the wrinkled thing, his eyes quickly scanned over what was written on there. He was half expecting a sort of S.O.S. message, caught off-guard somewhat by the list of items. Sweets. With this he nodded slowly and allowed lips to grace up into a soft smile. Backing up some he then turned on his heel and was quick to disappear into the back kitchen to fetch what was needed of him. Everything was organized carefully; number by number into boxes without a moment or word to spare to the confused chief in the back kitchen - smoking his cigar out the open back door. After it was all packed and placed within a bag, the boy was sure to include a few little extra sweets for the pure — well, he was an angel. Giving and giving was always in his practical nature, was it not? Said and done with that he was quick to step out of the back room with both the two bags and the paper still in hand. From then he placed it down upon a table, gaze falling to the other. “Here you go. Would you like anything else..?” And then he backed up until there was more than plenty of room between him and the table he was standing before moments ago. “I’m sorry if I made you nervous. Ah — have a nice day, okay? No need to pay. First time is always on us. Uhm — be careful.” Simple little words then as he interlaced his fingers behind his back and gave a polite bow of his head.
✎ } When left alone, it was as if a pressure was lifted from his chest, no longer restricting air flow. Chest rising and falling in heaves, the blonde carded hands through dirty locks, evening out the nerves that were standing on end. He was hunched over, the feeling of feathers and prickles along his skin wanting to release but the panic was almost gone, he'd ride it out. By the time the other returned his hands were rubbing circles into the jean fabric, a method that soothed him. Head lowered he didn't acknowledge the footsteps nearing, face finally expressionless, mask of calm. The rustle of plastic caused him to snap out of the trance, hands stilling, eyes sliding towards the source of the noise. Blinking glassy eyes, his hand reached out, only to recoil, at least momentarily.
The voice spoke up and even though he didn't look from the bag, he listened, almost intently. Heard the unsure, apologetic tone and reached out again, fingers finally clasping onto the bag handle. The familiar feeling of it against his skin caused him to sigh softly, it a degree cooler then expected. He was unaware his body had risen in temperature. He shook his head and slowly stood straighter, the sound of his knees cracking echoing in the empty shop, finally glancing back over to the gentle stranger. He dug around for money, at least a tip, and placed it on the table, now back at a reasonable distance. Making eye contact he placed his hand on his chin and the extended it outwards in the other's direction. Thank you. There was a sliver of a smile, hardly noticeable but there, all the same. He then scoot the money closer, actually moving a bit so there was less of a large gap. Seemingly meaningless, but it meant more then it let off. He wouldn't leave until what he had given was taken, eyes shining like the sun as he waited expectantly for the small amount of bills to be taken.
╰♗╮ ⇢ For a moment he had thought the other was in pain, by the way he was acting. He looked like a doe caught in headlights, eyes wide and — oh wow. Sometimes the most worry-provoking people stumbled into this Cafe. Yet there was no blood or exact panic that he could pick up on so he assumed himself wrong for the time being. “Sir?” Rose lips pressed into a thin line as he settled the broom against a table before carefully making his way over to the being person. Stopping short to avoid crossing a possible bubble of personal space and scaring them away right when they showed up, he then bowed his head a bit. “Uhm, — pardon my asking but… is all well?” Once more he permitted a smile to cross his lips, small and careful in it’s usual nature. This being wasn’t mortal, that much he knew, but exacts were unable to be pinned for the time being. “Do you need something to drink or eat?”
✎ } When the other's voice spoke up he paid no mind, eyes trying to focus on everything else, only stilling when steps were gained closer to him. They snapped at an inhuman speed over to the shorter of the pair, watching closely, lips tight and pressed together. The panic started to rise, heart beating wildly against his rib cage and it took all he hand not to grace a step back. There was space given, and it barley calmed him, because youareclosewhoareyou and pleasedon'tgetanycloserafterthis and whydidIcomehere raced through his mind, almost making him reel from the intensity they had on his being. A clipped nod was given in retaliation to the question, quick but probably noticeable, watching silently, brows so furrowed he looked almost in pain. He was still internally a mess, but his face was a bit more concerning. A second nod to the following question, hand easing into jean pockets to reveal a crumbled, tattered paper. The scrawl he had placed on it peeked out through his fist, not nearing as it was clenched at tighter, crinkling the piece more. No steps were taken for a while, until he quickly neared, shoved the paper at the blonde before jumping back to his original place. There, he could breathe. They came out shaky, but evenly placed, so his panic was settling. On the sheet was a large order of deserts, ranging from croissants, to cake pops and even tarts. All of his choosing, he mused, because Daniel didn't care as long as he got something out of the batch.
{ it’s amazing how easily a face could a p p e a r - - - && then d i s a p p e a r ❧ }
✦ sidesteeps
╰♗╮ ⇢ Having been sweeping the inside of the cafe practically all day, the angel was starting to think that today they’d be void of customers entirely. (Which to him was a bit worrisome — and too much of a relief to the chief who practically never left the back kitchen.) It wasn’t until the familiar sound of a bell chiming had he even lifted his gaze from up off the floor to look to whomever had just come inside. “Hello~!” He greeted with a wave, holding the broom in his other hand all the while.
✎ } He would get the magi back for this, one day. Sure, he had expected the other to be a complete, pardon, twat, but sending him of all people out to fetch food, well, that was a whole new level of jerk. He silently prayed that no one was inside, and that he could leave and say they were closed, but as a hand opened the door, greeted by a loud chime, the voice made him freeze. Owlishly the blonde stared at the (woman? man?) person, their smile inviting, though he didn't take it as one. He didn't want to acknowledge the greeting, but with them being the only two, it was hard to ignore the one before him. His hand didn't even reach up to wave, emerald pools darting around the room, not focusing solely on the one before him. Standing there for what seemed like eons, his feet moved forward on their own, knuckles, now white, filling with color as he let his grip go off the door handle. Listened closely to the soft shut of the door, of his labored breaths. He then pinched his brows together, eyes still darting around. Awkwardly he stood there, the paper in his pocket heavy suddenly, like dead weight.
Tears for Fears - Shout
Shout, shout let it all out! { i’m talking to you, come on; }
▲ stille-fristed
✎ } A soft groan echoed loudly from somewhere in the apartment, not loud enough for one to notice, but it still hung in the air like a fog. Silence, then a whine, then a grumble. Now it was noticeable loud enough that one could hear it from outside. But, really, the one it came from was like a lonely puppy wanting attention, so it could be ignored. A glance around the corner, he could be spotted, head in his arms, feet waving back and forth in impatience.
Honestly, if Daniel took any longer, his stomach would resort to self-cannibalism, and he rather not deal with that. Like he had to (begrudgingly) deal with the odd pain one in hunger would suffer through after not eating all day. Though, if he actually considered it, he'd rather starve then eat without the magi. So when a soft noise came from the door, his head snapped up, eyes wide, neck turning so fast his neck could of snapped.
A soft click and he sprung from the seat, ignoring it falling with a loud clang to the floor, and put a racehorses speed to shame with how quickly he got to the front door. Without hesitation a hand grabbed the knob, twisting it, eyes meeting the one person he had missed all day.
There was no words, only arms shooting outwards to wrap around the taller male's neck, and like a child he latched on, grip basically like a vice.