Participants:
| Scene Title | No Regrets |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Logan is better at comforting than he says, as Toru comes to terms with being a zombie. |
| Date | November 1, 2009 |
Toru's Apartment
Figure Toru's been up and about in his proper body for a few hours, now. Enough time to get home, see that all the leftovers in the fridge have become science projects in his absence, throw those away, decide against taking out the trash for now, and get a shower.
The first bit took maybe half an hour; the last is still going on. Toru's been in the bathroom for… a while, now. A couple of hours, apparently. For a while, steam almost visibly came rolling out from under the door, but gradually it's gotten to where the water is ice cold and apparently Toru doesn't mind, since he's still in there. Scrubbing himself with a fancy loofah, v. exfoliating, in a mildly twisted attempt to get rid of that underlying feeling that something is wrong. The smell, at least, is basically gone; scrubbed away by any number of soaps and body washes both cheap and not-so.
Logan hadn't done much in the realm of helping when Toru went about cleaning out the kitchen, an innocent-guilty silence wherein he skulked around for a while until the other man disappeared into the bathroom. Since then, he's undressed, at least somewhat. Jacket shed, shirt shed, the shirt under that shed, until Logan is pacing through the bedroom in bare feet and expensive slacks. There's a swatch of bandaging taped to his side, since checked and replaced, although he's unwrapped his hand free of splint and bandages. The skin of his knuckles is scarred but healed, swell reduced but still there, more tender than anything else. His face is still marked from the very mean Triad gang member from a few of days ago. His insides are still sore.
He's had a rough month, and he almost looks like the thug he's been accused of being, and Toru has used up the hot water and is working on the cold. Slinking up to the door, Logan presses his good hand against its surface, though doesn't go for the handle.
"You haven't drowned, have you?"
"Lea'me alone."
The reply is just audible, tone just petulant enough to be one of those 'listen to what I mean, not what I say' tones of voice. If he wanted to be alone, he likely wouldn't be kicking up a fuss that will get Logan's attention, after all.
The door isn't locked; further evidence pointing to that very same 'hidden' meaning. There's a pause after his insistence, followed by a thunk that most likely isn't as disastrous as it sounds, given enhanced bathroom acoustics, and Toru's voice, a bit muffled this time, "I'm naked." A mild rebuke in his tone, as if Logan should have known that and really having conversation in tihs state is just improper.
The thunk, one will eventually find, was a bar of soap falling to the floor of the tub; this, followed by Toru kneeling to pick it up, and.. just not standing again. He rather finds himself kneeling on that same floor, letting the shower rain upon him like a cold drizzle.
Bare shoulders hike up in the beginnings of a sigh, which is released but a moment later, albeit not loud enough for Toru to pick up on. Surely, the boy cannot stay in there forever, but we're already headed towards forever as it is. Inevitably, Logan opens the door.
The scent of water is nice, strangely reassuring, like rain. Toru's shiny skinned hunch in the tub is not so, Logan knowing a disappointed kind of feeling at the bottom of his stomach. He'd wondered if he'd come back defective. He's not sure this counts, but, that's what finding out is for. The fan of the room is flicked off, now that there's no hot steam to combat, and instead switches on the heater at the feeling of the chill in the air from the icy spray the halfbreed sits beneath.
"I'm not very good at comforting," Logan feels the need to point out, edging towards the towel rack, and drawing one off it, hands grasping it rather than immediately offering or throwing it over Toru's shoulders.
Silence meets that note, but it does have the effect of pushing Toru into sitting back up again. He sets the dropped soap, now a bit misshapen from its fall, on a ledge within reach, lets the water rinse himself off, and turns the water off in a thrashing gesture. No anger to it, but something more like haste.
"I forgot," he replies, opening shower door - any steam long since washed away by cold water - and resting his head on the outer tub-ledge. This, at least, comes with the bare hint of a smile. His skin is red in several places from bring scrubbed overly hard, but this too is probably a welcome change from blue tints in his tone that a cold shower, fortunately, hasn't reproduced.
Ever so slowly he notes the towel — the change in apartment also found him buying fluffier bathroom accessories, which will certainly help some in a moment — but then, more importantly, bandages and such. "Are you okay?" The fact that he, himself, isn't actually currently injured leaves him finding it difficult to fish for sympathy on that end. He almost feels stupid doing it over the whole death thing, given that he wasn't alive to know he was dead and has only what he's been told to go on. This is, though, as good an excuse as any to crawl out of the tub, making it to his feet only with difficulty, and dripping his way across the floor to holds hands out for the towel.
The towel is passed off, Logan watching him rather than the transaction, or even really noting the question. Eyes tick analytical over Toru's face, pale-pinkened shoulders and chest, then once around to scout the bathroom before settling suspicious on the younger man again. "Me? I'm fine." The answer is more or less detached, not a lie while not being honest, either. Tension, searching, why—
Maybe he's worried. Or some evolution of, tailored specifically to those incapable of doing so. Annoyance is quick to replace it, these emotions transparent as if there were no one around to see them, and Logan swiftly steps forward. His hands grip either side of Toru's jaw, angling him into a demanding and very matter of fact kiss, because maybe that would have answers.
Toru takes the towel, gives his torso a quick dry-off before wrapping it around his waist, corner tucked in to keep it secure. Not modesty so much as practicality; given that he'd planned on doing just what Logan beats him to, he didn't want to get the other man's pants wet.
And given that Logan does beat him to kissing, Toru tenses up for just a brief moment, being caught off-guard. He moves in closer, wraps arms around Logan's back and holds him firmly, with an unmistakeably possessive grip. Mine. Kiss is met almost with desperation on Toru's behalf; one hand glides up Logan's back to tangle fingers in blonde hair, keeping his head in place just in case he might try to break free.
…Except that it's Toru himself who does just that, after a moment. Pulling away, his face suddenly a bit flushed, he moves to rest his head on Logan's shoulder and stands there for a moment, holding him quietly. Shoulders shake, and in a quiet voice he whines, between stifled sobs, "I don't want to be alive if it means I'm going to be a zombie." … It would be ridiculous if he didn't seem completely sincere about it.
There's a bodily twitch, an inclination of stepping back even if Logan's feet don't leave the ground. Reluctance in the curve of his spine away when Toru's head rests on his shoulder, but ultimately, he gives in to the embrace, an arm having come to rest around Toru's waist somewhere midway the kiss. Toru's wetly spoken words have Logan blinking towards the shower, a hand coming to grip Toru's arm like he might push the boy away—
Though in the end, he wraps that arm back around Toru's shoulders, fingers curled against the nape of his neck. "Don't be ridiculous," the Englishman murmurs, voice edged with a brittle kind of tension. "You don't want to be dead. No one wants that. You're not— " He's not going to say the word zombie, thank you. "You're okay, now." He did say he was bad at comforting.
Steadfastly, Toru avoids commenting on the whole 'bad at comforting' business. No need to rub it in, after all. Still, though, eventually he's crying and that's rather embarassing. He avoids talking, for a minute, instead focusing on trying to make himself stop the waterworks. Shaking his head, he holds Logan just a bit tighter — though not yet uncomfortably so — and sobs, "Then why do you keep looking at me like that?! You're acting like something's wrong and— "
Grip relaxes a bit; Toru lets out a small sigh, lowering his hands a few inches and almost slumping against Logan. "Do you even want to be here or are you just staying because you feel sorry for me?" A hand is lifted to rub at his eyes, then wrapped again around shoulders. "If you really want to go, I'll let you."
The logical response would be that Logan is not looking at Satoru like anything!!! Except he was, and would still be, and denial seems like a pointless road to go down. At least he's not wearing anything Toru can be crying into, just warm skin made more so with hot tears and the curl of his breath going in and out. "Would you?" Perhaps everything has reset. Bringing him back, ripping out all the hardwire that biological conditioning had once installed. Toru won't be able to detect the twinge of anxiety that goes with that thought, but Logan tugs him away, although tangles long fingers through Toru's damp hair, directing him to look.
"I don't feel sorry for anyone," is cold honesty, spoken plain. "I'm here because I brought you back." Mu-Qian did, technically, but she didn't have to swallow poison for it. "And you're mine. I'm just— "
He's reluctant to stop touching. Control, his brand of it, requires touch, for the most part. Although nothing is triggered at this point in time, Logan keeps his hands where they are even if he looks as though distance would be appreciated. "I was just checking. That you're the same inside."
Toru lets Logan pull his head about, though he lowers his gaze to avoid showing off tear-streaked face. A hand is lifted to wipe at it again amidst sniffles, but he's still red-eyed and puffy even if the tears have mostly stopped. He gives a slow nod at the question of whether he really would, but is otherwise silent throughout Logan's explanation.
Statement of ownership is noted, but not remarked on for the moment. And touching isn't shied away from; the fact that Toru prefers it is certainly a factor in his not pushing Logan away with frustration right now. As it stands, however, that last remark elicits… some sort of frustration, in the Asian boy. Or maybe irritation. In any case, he grips Logan's back with one hand, for just a moment, and shakes his head, letting out an exasperated breath. "Of course I'm the same, baka." Idiot. "When's the last time I reacted calmly to shit like this?" Despite that initial annoyance, though, his tone does grow gradually more light-hearted at the end of that.. and he punctuates the statement by leaning forward and gripping Logan in another firm embrace. Not enough to crush bone, but that's probably excusable.
Not even a twitch of resistance, this time, although Logan's arms settle looser around Toru. It's not really out of nobility that he doesn't make a sound of pain when he's squeezed and stitches in his side tug and twinge as a result, just pride, though his breath catches in his throat. Still, he rests his chin on Toru's bared, scrubbed shoulder, the scent of water and soap so much more preferable to damaged flesh and rot.
"Good." His tone doesn't betray anything but that. Good. Which doesn't mean it doesn't mask doubts or insecurities that Logan can't really put a name too. He catches a slice of reflection in the mirror, enough to note that his pale eyes have gone a perculiar shade of green—
It's alarming, a little, to know your ability is working without particular conscious effort, though Logan does nothing to stop when he realises he's releasing euphoria throughout Toru's system. Rather than the gentle nudges of serotonin, bliss has always been more overt, and in some regards, more effective. Logan's arms go stronger around Toru's frame, as if in preperation to steady him.
There is an embarassed sort of shuffle once Toru realizes he's clinging just a bit too tightly; he lets his grip loosen a bit, at Logan's catch of breath, and murmurs a vague apology. "I just don't know how to feel," he sighs, rubbing bare skin lightly. "I.. don't really feel like anything's happened. Just.. last I knew I was— you know. Next I know we're in a garden and you're telling me… you know." Let's just avoid mentioning any of that.
As chemical influence starts building up, he just holds Logan gently, leaning against him a bit overly much. Head rests on shoulder, tilted so that he can kiss the man's neck and jaw gently, eyes half-closed. "It doesn't really feel real, but it still bugs me, you know?" Except that now, he doesn't sound so upset about it — more detached, really. "I asked Teo where you were, when it was happening. I asked and he said you were coming, but then I— I guess it was over before you made it. I don't really remember after that."
News of Teo's kind lying gets only vague interest, an eyebrow raise no one can see, and Logan only tilts his head to provide better access for those kisses. "It was over fast," he confirms anyway, a hand stroking down Toru's spine, up again, as if he could physically guide the plague of euphoria still spiralling through Toru's system. "All of it was, really, but we did win. At no small cost." His voice has lost its edge, as well as its volume - no flustered impatience or aggravation, or clipped syllables of dismissal. Low and soothing, placating, as blood runs warmer under Toru's cool skin.
"I don't think you're supposed to remember it." A kiss, on the curve of Toru's throat. "And if you don't remember it, you shouldn't need to feel for it." And another, lower down towards his shoulder.
A good thing, really, that Toru doesn't remember all of it — what he does remember is enough. It only got worse from there. So. The bathroom is small, as bathrooms tend to be, and Toru reaches out with one hand in search of the dimmer switch, turning the lights down from a harsh glare to a more subdued glow. "Yeah, I'm.. not trying, I just.. wanted to tell you that." He shrugs somewhat, lowering his hands a bit further down Logan's back, to grip around his waist.
… And with that, he steers him over to the counter, moving his hands in a way so as to indicate that Logan should sit up on it. He'll go so far as to lift him up if the need arises. But, once he's up on the edge one way or another, kisses make their way down Logan's neck and towards his chest. "'Cause I've been thinking about all this and I think I worked something out, y'know?"
Bare feet scuff damp tile, token resistance when he's manipulated towards the counter but nothing true. Logan levers himself up onto the white ledge when Toru begins to reach to lift him, mirror flashing just behind him in the dimmer lights, cool when his shoulder go back enough to touch it. Everything is still slick from clouding steam made liquid in the drop of temperature, but it's the least of Logan's concerns, and those are dwindling as Toru responds in a way that makes sense. To him.
Logan's eyes drift shut, open again only a fraction to peer down at the other man. An arm wraps lazily around Toru's shoulders, and the other hand strokes through his hair, before snagging a gentle fistful enough to nudge and angle him to tilt his face up. "And what was that?"
"I think," Toru replies, very conspiratorially, "that you have a crush on me." He presses a finger against Logan's chest — notably on an uninjured bit — and smiles what would perhaps be the first genuine one since his resurrection if not for the chemical manipulation coursing through his system. Maybe it still is; impossible to tell either way. Either way, his tone isn't entirely serious — while he does mean what he's saying, he isn't attaching any sort of significant 'weight' to it, at least not verbally.
Hands on the edge of the counter, he pulls himself up the few inches necessary to place a kiss on Logan's lips; toothy and almost feral. "But that's okay," he purrs once it's broken off, lowering himself back down again. "I think I have one on you, too." Which may contribute to his resumed course of kisses leading downward along Logan's chest.
Crrrush. Is an ironic word, all things considered. Irony is only appreciated within, however, as Logan's wry half-smile can really only be attributed to flirtation and foreplay, and a mirror of Toru's fuller smile. The one that's impossible to know whether it's from something apart from endorphins. "That's an interesting theory." His shoulderblades rest right back against the wall and the mirror stapled to it, chin tilting up, hand remaining in Toru's hair enough to guide in small, needy pulls.
Euphoria is allowed to dwindle out on its own, as slowly as it was built, vivid green draining away into their usual watery quality, diluted and withdrawn. "No regrets, then." It's not a question, or a reassurance, or even insight into his own attitude. If anything, it's an order.
An arm curls around Logan's waist, resting partially on the counter — which is fortunately relatively clean, Toru not being one to leave things lying out most of the time, in addition to not really having much in the way of bathroom accessories in the first place — and Toru looks up at the older man, curious for a moment. "Well, no." The tone is almost confused for a moment, but ultimately he soldiers on.
Despite the artificial mood alteration dissipating, natural endorphins have kicked in enough by now for Toru's mood to keep riding that pleasant wave. His other hand sets to dealing with articles of clothing that get in the way, heart rate jumping just a bit —
— probably not necessarily a wise choice, proving he hasn't changed by doing something he's always previously shied away from, though ultimately the odds are that this decision won't lead to any regrets either.