Participants:
| Scene Title | Just a Fuckin' Couch |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | That's all Nick's offering. Toru takes what he can get. |
| Date | February 9, 2011 |
Central Park, the nicer streets of Manhattan
Afternoon in Central Park finds Toru sitting on a park bench, regardless of the present relative chill of the day. It's been cold enough lately that he's pretty well used to it, and trees, however dead, do help cut down on the wind a little bit. Somewhat.
He does not, however, look to be in particularly good shape. Dressed in his usual hoodie-under-peacoat, he's got two pairs of gloves on, and a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. Serious stubble happening (Asian stubble, the worst kind), and his hair's starting to look questionably shaggy. Get close enough and one can see that his eyes are pretty red, too.
On the bench next to him is a large Starbucks cup, cool enough by now that there isn't any steam coming out the opening, not that he seems to particularly care about that anyway. No, his attention is focused on his hands, where he seems to be composing a very slow and thoughtful text message, except that he isn't actually holding anything. Just another normal day~
Not far from Toru's bench two men walk along; one older, distinguished in appearance and dress, compared to what might be the familiar form of Nick York. At a fork in the path the two men stop and speak for a few more moments, two far away for Toru to hear their words. Nick is smoking, a hand that's bandaged in white gauzed holding the cigarette, and then there's a nod of the younger man's head and the two shake hands. The older man turns on the path to head toward the east. Nick watches for a few moments until the figure disappears around the bend, before Nick himself turns to head to the west — putting Toru's bench right in his path.
His free hand pulls out a cell phone and he scrolls through his contacts, then looks up again, pale eyes falling on the Asian. His brows dip and he squints, before his long steps bring him closer, and Nick is sure he recognizes the man.
"Hey," he says, with a jut of his chin toward the man.
If it'd been much longer since their last meeting, Toru might be a little less recognizable! At least he doesn't have a beard yet, that'd be awkward. In any case, though, a long moment passes before Toru actually responds to Nick. He sort of nods a bit as if acknowledging.. then suddenly half-dives forward, hands clawing at the air to try to catch— something. Nothing. Wait.
Blinking, he looks around, momentarily completely uncertain of where he is— and looks up at Nick sharply. "Oh, er, fuck. Hey. Didn't — see you there." He leans back on the bench, suddenly trying oh-so-hard to be casual, and stretches his arms along the top of the bench's back. Folds one leg over the other. "Cold enough for you, homes?" Eyebrows raised questioningly as his coffee is retrieved, gulped from, and set aside with obvious disgust. Too cold. "I was just, like, waitin' for somebody. Don't look like they gonna show, though, y'know?"
Just waiting for a friend. Nick arches a brow and nods, then squints up at the gray sky as if to gauge the temperature by the appearance of the clouds. He shrugs his left shoulder, bringing that bandaged left hand up to take a drag from his cigarette.
"Not too bad. I'm used to cold weather," he says a little lamely. Especially given his American back story is that he's from Miami. But it never really comes up. As he speaks, smoke plumes out of his mouth before curling up into the sky, gray on gray. He nods forward, toward the western end of the park that lets out onto the street. "Just headin' out myself. Fresh air's over rated."
Toru runs a gloved hand through his hair, scratching at it a bit and otherwise trying to straighten it up as best he can without having a mirror handy. Shrugging vaguely at that remark about the cold, he merely shrugs and answers, "Well, it's New York." He isn't aware of the Miami backstory, after all. Thinking over the rest of Nick's comments, he finally pushes himself up to his feet, stumbling a little as he does, and stretches his arms.
"Well, like I said, I guess my friend ain't gonna show. Walk you out?" It's presented innocently enough as he finds a trash bin to throw his coffee cup into, pulling the hood of his hoodie over his head and tightening that a bit. Whether the offer is taken or not, he's gonna find someplace else to be anyway, so. "I mean, I'm headed the same way anyways."
The Englishman shrugs again, taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it onto the ground, his Doc Marten stepping on it a moment later. "Sure," he says as he begins to move on the westward path.
Blue eyes dart sideways to take in Toru's appearance, and his brow furrows a bit. "You doin' all right? I mean… I know this city, the way it is, a lot of people are in hidin', yeah? If you're not registered for whatever reason, it's kinda a bitch. You need help, I might be able to swing it. I know you were hoping for a better job, last we talked. I never got any leads, and shit's been pretty busy."
Stepping back a bit defensively, Toru eyes Nick up and down a minute, frowning just slightly. He walks on in silence for a moment, head lowered a bit as he debates just how honest he should be in regards to that question. Finally he opts for a helpless shrug and an involuntary shiver. Walking makes it a little colder.
"Naw, I'm…" He frowns, shakes his head. "It's like, that fuggin' dome thing, right? I don't remember where I was when that shit started up but next thing I know that's where my apartment turns out to be. I got some shit on the outside but I'm runnin' outta places to stay." Looking over to Nick, he offers a sheepish grin and shoves his hands into coat pockets. "After a while the theater ushers start to recognize ya."
The story sounds sketchy and Nick arches another brow. "The next thing you know, that's where your apartment is?" he says a little dubiously, a slight smirk curving one corner of his mouth upward. It's the right corner — offsetting his left-shouldered shrug.
He keeps walking, eyes straight ahead for several steps before glancing back at Toru. "You need a place to crash? I ain't usually at my place, and it's more like a glorified motel room than an apartment, but I have a spare couch." The words are tossed out with an air of indifference, his blue eyes flicking back to the path in front of them.
Backing up in his explanation a bit~~ Toru manages to only slightly stammer, "I mean, on accounta— it coverin' that part of the city— like I went to go back to my place and it was inside the thing. 'Cause I didn't know how much it was covering."
Awkwardly silent for a moment, he stares at the sidewalk as he continues walking, thinking over that offer for a long minute. It's hard enough keeping himself from falling to the ground with gratitude like a dog, much less come up with a… slightly less humiliating (and significantly more suave) way of accepting. "Oh, er. I guess— that'd be cool?" He chews on his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, taking one step to the side away from Nick so he can glance over at a better angle. "I don't wanna be a burden or nothin', I mean. I don't — I ain't a charity case, okay? I can take care'a myself. I don't need you feelin' bad for me." He's saying it nicely, at least.
"I know," Nick says tersely, the words honest if not kind in tone. Something twitches in his jaw as he shoves his hands into his pocket. "Trust me, I ain't gonna be coddling you or anything like that. It's nothin' fancy but it's winter and if you don't have a place to stay or your shit with you, you can crash on a couch without it being charity, right?"
His eyes dart to Toru and back away again. That he's been in worse situations, he doesn't say. "It's in Brooklyn, if that's all right with you." He'll have to lock away his Interpol paperwork, let his superiors know not to show up unannounced.
Toru shakes his head. "I didn't mean— I just mean— fuck, whatever. Yeah, Brooklyn's.. okay." He clears his throat, shakes his head again, and stiffens a bit against the cold. "Yeah it's all good. I just— I don't want— I ain't homeless or anything, aight? I don't like it when people feel bad for me like I'm all pathetic or some shit like that." Which, you know, he sort of is.
Letting out a small sigh, frustrated mostly at his own inability to get his point across, he finally settles for just nodding quietly. "I guess I just ain't good at takin' favors. The last broad who wanted to help me out tried to like, give me money? It's friggin'.. I just don't wanna look like I'm pathetic."
Nick nods as they make it through the gates of the park to the sidewalk beyond. "I get it," he murmurs. "I owe a few people some favors and it irks the hell out of me, too." He actually smiles a little at that.
"Tell you what. That dome thing might be up in no time, right? But you're free to stay on my couch 'til then, or 'til you find something else. And when you can get to your shit, your money, whatever, you can pay me back for like a quarter of my rent for however many days you stayed if you want," Nick offers, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket and moving toward a black F150. "I mean, I gotta pay the whole thing anyway, and I'm lazy as shit about turning off the television or the lights and I probably waste too much water anyway, so I doubt you're gonna make much impact on my overhead. But I get not wanting to take charity."
The truck is unlocked and Nick nods to the passenger door, moving around to the driver's side. Once Toru's inside, he glances at him. "I, uh, forget your name. I think it's still in my phone, but. I'm Nick." He offers his hand to shake.
Toru gives some thought to that offered negotation as far as the rent goes, filing the idea in the back of his mind though ultimately not actually offering a response just yet. He'll think about it, anyway. "Yeah, somethin' like that's probably.. I mean, I got some money on me, I just.. didn't wanna go blowin' it all on motels when I didn't know how long this was gonna go down. I kinda hoped I'da found someplace to crash by now." Helpless shrug.
When he approaches the car, it becomes almost painfully clear for a moment that it's been a while since he actually rode in one. He gets in fine enough, but struggling with the seatbelt takes a minute. And in close quarters he probably doesn't smell as good as he could. "I got some clothes in a storage thing down by the train station, I can head down there tomorrow or somethin' to get a change of clothes," he muses, idly. And he actually laughs a little at the confession of his name having been forgotten, and takes the hand with almost a grin, even. "Toru. I remember yours, but I guess it don't got as many syllables, right?" Teasing~
"I can drive you there," Nick says with a snort at the joke and with another left-shouldered shrug, throwing the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb. "Off work for the time being, and still trying to figure out my own shit. Waiting on that other thing I talked to you about last time, so it's a lot of hurry up and wait, y'know?"
He drives in silence for a moment, stopping at a red light. "So I ain't had a roommate since I was like, just turnin' 18. Don't expect much from me, and I probably won't let you down. And all I got in the fridge is some beer and some frozen dinners. Spoiled milk, too." He waits a beat. "The shower's all right. Nice water pressure, stays warm."
Toru starts to protest that notion, but ultimately shuts his mouth. Does make things easier on him, after all, so he finally shrugs. They aren't really that far away, anyway, even with traffic. So he sorta nestles into the seat, getting cozy (and, more to the point, warm) and nodding quietly while Nick talks.
"It's all good, you pretty much can't be any worse than the guy I been livin' with. He's, uh.. somethin', anyway." Awkward sort of chuckle there. "I mean I guess he ain't that bad but him and his girlfriend had a fight or somethin' and he's been all.. bleh about it. I dunno, I try not to get in the middle of 'em, and I don't really spend a lotta time at the place anyway. S'why I'm out here instead'a in the Dome."
"Well, nothing to worry about on that end. I don't get visitors, usually, so no lovers' spats to get in your way. The last girl I dated turned out pretty badly so I'm off for a bit," Nick says, blue eyes watching the road carefully as he drives, left arm resting on the paneling, his bandaged hand curling into his black hair. The car doesn't smell like smoke, and the ash tray is full of quarters for parking — the car lacks any sort of individual "presence" altogether.
He glances at the clock. "After we grab your shit, I could use some groceries, so we can run through a market and get some food, and then I'll show you the place, let you settle in while I go run some other errands." Like, getting rid of anything in the apartment that he can't let Toru find, giving away his Interpol status. "And if I snore? I don't fuckin' care or wanna hear about it."
He doesn't. But he can't really know that for sure.
Ah, there's the abusive fauxmerican that Toru fell in love with to begin with. Except that he's really too tired to make any remarks to that end. Instead he just sort of smirks and comments, "Harsh, dude." Like, totally. He settles in to rest his head against the window, watching buildings as they go past, sort of zoning out for a while as he does. Trying very hard not to fall asleep.
"Anyway, if you do I ain't gonna notice, I pretty much sleep like the dead. Sorta. Not exactly." Awkward pause. "— But anyway I can like, give you some cash for food or whatever. And my stuff's up like— turn here, go down a couple blocks and you're there."
Nick shrugs at the offer of cash. "Whatever. You can pay me when you're out." His Interpol paycheck is much bigger than his means and the life he's supposed to live while undercover. Which he really isn't any more.
He follows Toru's directions, pulling up to the curb near the station so that Toru can run in and get his stuff. "I'll wait here," he says. Toru most likely expects Nick to pull away as soon as Toru's out of the truck.
Instead, Nick waits, glancing up at his rearview mirror to survey his weary face with something of bemusement.
Toru climbs out of the car, trotting into that building hurriedly, if nothing else than just to get out of the cold faster. He's inside for a few minutes, but finally exits with a Converse duffel bag and his peacoat folded under one arm. He's faster to get back into the car because of that, but it's a little more comfortable sitting in a car seat without all that bulk on.
Tossing the bag and coat into the back seat, he slides into the front, pulling his seatbelt on and jamming his hands into the kangatoru pocket. "Look, man, I guess maybe I should probably be honest with you about somethin' if we're gonna do this, but I don't wanna go freakin' you out, you know?"
When Toru re-enters the truck, Nick glances up from the cell phone he's scrolling through — quick messages to his superiors not to stop by his apartment, not like most of them would have. Avi's no longer on the payroll so to speak, anyway.
He shoves the phone back in his pocket, and turns down the music he'd turned up while Toru was in the station. Trent Reznor's voice dips to a murmur.
"Yeah?"
Running a hand over his hair, Toru shakes his head a bit, thinking. "It's just like. I guess you kinda remind me of somebody I used to date, right, and I sorta.. I dunno, I guess a lot of people do anymore. I'm.. kinda not really in a great place right now." If the bloodshot eyes, shaggy hair and five o'clock shadow weren't any indication. And the fact that he lives in a duffel bag that he keeps in a storage locker.
"So I guess what I mean is like.. that's part of why I'm so tense, I guess, is I keep expectin' you to act certain ways. And tryin' to like, chess out what I'm gonna say like three moves ahead. So if I seem like I'm bein' an idiot or whatever, it's probably 'cause of that."
Nick's brows furrow together and he turns back to the windshield, moving to put the truck in gear again, edging it out of its parallel spot barely missing the taxi cab in front of him. He's only been driving for about a year, and New York City isn't the place for novices.
"I don't play chess," Nick says tersely. "And I ain't about to try to suss out your moves, all right?" Suss being very British — but then Nick doesn't remember that he spoke like a Limey when he was in his drugged stupor on Christmas Eve.
"I promise," he says a little more lightly. "No games, right? It's just a fuckin' couch."
Toru grins sheepishly at that. Well, at least he didn't get thrown out of the truck~ Looking down for a moment, then finally settling on leaning back and watching out the front window, he clarifies, "I pretty much figured that since you ain't done it yet, I just figured I oughtta throw that out there. So you don't think I'm crazy or anything."
Rests an arm up against the window, rests his head against that, stares forward and sits quietly for another few minutes. Not overly chatty today, anyway. "I don't really eat much, anyway, so don't worry about that. I'll probably just go out for food most of the time anyway." Because that's the best plan when you're on a limited budget~ "And I do kinda part time food delivering so I usually can get a discount like that, or if the food's wrong then I get a free meal. Stuff like that usually works out okay for me."
Tossing a glance at his new roommate, Nick releases a huff of a laugh. "Yeah, you don't look like you eat much," he says. Of course, in November, he was a concentration camp survivor, so who's he to talk? He's gained back those pounds, minus a couple.
He turns his eyes back to the road for the ride to Brooklyn, one hand reaching to turn the volume back up on the stereo. Apparently he's used up all his words for the time being. At least there's music.
Hopefully Toru likes NiN.
Fortunately, Toru is all about thrashy metal! And even if he wasn't, he's tactful enough not to complain to someone who's doing him a rather significantly huge favor. He nestles his head into his arm, leaned up against the door, and idly brings his other hand over to lock the door just to forestall any potential arm-slippy-accidents.
And that business about sleeping like the dead ends up being pretty accurate; even despite being in a relatively awkward position, sitting in a moving vehicle, being overdressed and being serenaded by an angry white boy, eventually, he actually ends up falling asleep.
He doesn't snore.
