lazy days help me through the hopeless haze

[mouthbreathing]

Who: Warsman (mouthbreathing ) and YOU
When: 18th- 21st of January
Where: Around the city.
Summary: Out and about in Siren's Port with the USSR's finest.
Warnings: None, as of yet?

[Time spent in the gym hasn't been quite such a solitary experience lately. Somehow he's managed to pick up a couple of sparring partners or even students who don't seem to mind his quiet manner- not that working out is generally conducive to conversation if you're doing it correctly, but simply being able to feel someone's presence is gratifying for Warsman. He might be hesitant to call some of them 'friends' so plainly, even if that's more down to his own uncertainty than anything on their part, but their company is still usually the highlight of his day. It's good to know there's someone who can keep pace with him on his runs, or someone who doesn't mind being thrown down onto the mat a dozen times a day. Lunch might be on him to boot, if you don't mind sticking around.

Work, too, might have the advantage of letting him meet people, but with so many of his clients being Port natives and his own natural shyness weighing heavily on him, interactions are usually perfunctory at best. Which is fine. He's a professional, after all. Usually he's just lifting and moving heavy furniture with the occasional bodyguard job thrown in here and there, but he's been asked to do just about everything there is to do: walk dogs, clean pools, shovel snow... he's not proud. He'll take almost any job- and any conversation that might come with it.

And then there's the trip home. Though he'd never say it aloud, with Sasuke on his couch his apartment feels a little less empty- not necessarily warmer, of course, but less like a place to stay and more like a place to be. He's taken to making sure he cooks enough for two and that he's around when Sasuke is, more or less, even if he doesn't expect too much more than silence. Even a shared silence is better than nothing, though. It's selfish, but he's probably going to miss the ninja when he finds a new place of his own.]

[ooc: Feel free to run into Warsman just about anywhere. At the gym, out running, sparring- or if your character might have hired him for any odd jobs at home or around their business or whatever that would be awesome too! I'm always open to suggestions, and I don't mind starting things off!]

Comments

[mouthbreathing]

Sasuke's discomfort forms a strange counterbalance to Warsman's ambivalence. There's always been something about winter that's called to him, a peaceful sort of calm that hums through every fall of snow in silent solitude. Feeling cold is, after all, feeling- and feeling is a sweet reminder of humanity. But it's a loaded time of year, and seeing a city freeze over has always stirred darker memories for him, too. Sitting alone on the front step and shivering, listening to coughs wrack his mother's body; an old friend buckled over and bleeding onto the white blanket; Mr. Barracuda in profile while he stands with extended claws, receptive and supple and wholly empty.

He thinks all of these things and none of them at all as he sits by the window, one foot jammed against the frame. Strumming his balalaika had seemed like a reasonable way to pass time until Sasuke arrived, but now he's listless, unable to string notes together in any pleasing fashion. He had a melody in mind, but it's gone now.

The sudden knock at the door comes as an immense relief, and Warsman is up on his feet in seconds, at the door in only a couple more. Mostly, he's relieved that he's even turned up at all; part of him was convinced that pride alone would force a change of heart and he'd stay huddle up in the mall, but no, he's here.

A few clicks and rattles later and Warsman opens the door- and it is Sasuke. He gives a soft sigh. "There you are. I was starting to worry." As much as he aims for 'light and conversational', he's concerned that he's already given his relief away; quickly, he steps aside. "Come in quickly, before you catch your death."

[bondsoflove]

I was starting to worry. As light as the words are, Sasuke can still hear that worry in them--the relief.

Because of him. Because he's safe.

He doesn't know what to do with that--no matter how many times he does it, Warsman's expressions of concern, of actually giving a shit one way or another about Sasuke's well-being--it puts him in mind of his old team in Konoha, and of his brother. It's a concept he's never processed well; the idea that it matters to someone else whether he lives or dies.

With Team Seven, he simply refused to accept it--pushed it from the equation and hardened himself to it. With Itachi...he still hasn't figured out where to put it. Warsman is much the same. Confusing, and different and somehow Sasuke wants to be around it, wants to hear it again--I care about you. I worried about you.

The fact that he wants it makes his throat tighten up with the first stirrings of panic, so he shoves those thoughts down, kicks the snow off his boots and makes his way inside--"before you catch your death", Warsman says, and the thoughts rumble again like a nest of wasps exposed to smoke.

Sasuke grits his teeth, looking over one shoulder and around the sparse apartment. Cramped, as Warsman had said, but not as cramped as he'd made it out to be--then again, Sasuke doesn't take up much space by himself.

"I'm a ninja, I'm not going to die because of a little bad weather," he mutters, and his hands go in his pockets to keep from clenching into fists.

[mouthbreathing]

The protesting is about on-par for Sasuke, Warsman's come to learn over the past months: he's neither deterred nor surprised by his general surliness anymore and right now he's the very picture of it, hands in pockets and muttering as he shuffles past.

Warsman closes the door. Even with all of that in mind it's still a strange moment for him, and he catches himself trying (and failing) to search Sasuke's face for disapproval now that he's actually inside and looking around. He doesn't have to be houseproud to be worried that the place isn't up to scratch; as ridiculous as he knows it is, he's half-waiting for Sasuke to change his mind and walk straight back out again. Not that he'd stop him, of course.

"Even so. That coat isn't nearly thick enough for the snow." He doesn't sound too concerned now that he's managed to wrangle the ninja inside, though, his tone set to more of a gentle nudge than a nag. "Can I get you anything? I've got tea- no coffee, but..."

He doesn't even drink tea all that much, or even like it especially- but having it around makes him feel more as though Robin might magically walk through his doors at any second, and that eases a little of his homesickness. It's strange how the smell of a strong cup of Earl Grey with a slice of lemon and half a sugar can do so much.

[bondsoflove]

Tea. His brain latches onto it as a distraction, something to direct his mind towards. Besides, it is cold out, and his fingers are a little stiff. The earmuffs Warsman gave him were part of the property he lost when the Core sent them back in time, along with the anonymous gloves.

"I'd like some tea," he says, shifting his weight onto one leg. He can feel Warsman looking at him, and it makes him uncomfortable--as though he's supposed to be reacting in some way that he isn't. The nervous energy is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

So he gives a half-smile, and crouches to unlace his boots. "It's not as bad as you made it sound."

[mouthbreathing]

Good. Tea. That gives Warsman something to do with his hands- it's a small something, but having something physical to do usually helps his nerves- while Sasuke settles in. "Make yourself at home," he says over his shoulder quickly before heading through to the kitchen area.

Sasuke's just out of his periphery as he rattles cups and spoons and tea about, but he does at least catch him over the domestic hum of the boiling kettle. "You think?" he asks- but that almost makes it sound as though he's seeking approval. A little self-consciously, he adds, "It's a place to stay. That's good enough for me. Make yourself at home, by the way."

'Make yourself at home': it's a trite little expression, but hopefully that won't bother his guest. He re-enters with two cups, putting one on the small, slightly chipped coffee table in front of the sofa.

[bondsoflove]

Biting down the thought that he hasn't had a home in nearly a decade, Sasuke finishes untying his boots so he won't track melted snow into the living room. Regardless of the truth of it, it would upset Warsman; Sasuke's already imposing by taking up his couch, and he doesn't want to repay Warsman's kindness by dropping reminders of his tragic past.

He pads on socks into the living room, letting the clinking of dishes take up his focus. It's familiar--he remembers doing it for himself, on particularly bad nights--but a little jarring, too, bringing up memories of his mother. It's been years since he had a home, and longer since anyone has made tea for him.

He pulls himself out of his own head when Warsman re-enters with the tea. The steam is fragrant; suddenly, Sasuke is aware of how cold his hands are. Make yourself at home-- he takes a seat on the edge of the couch, reaches forward and just holds the mug for a minute.

"I told you, you worry too much." He picks up the cup and puts it to his mouth, inhaling before taking a sip.

[mouthbreathing]

By the time Warsman comes back Sasuke's boots are off and he's perched almost warily on the couch, as if he expects it to swallow him whole if he should dare sit back and relax, but that's alright. Shoes off means he's stuck here for a little while just out of practicality- which might be a terrible thought to have, but part of him is still worried that his new guest might vanish if he turns his back for too long.

He manages a quiet little laugh, at least, at Sasuke's accusation. It feels as though they've had this conversation so many times it's become a running joke of sorts. "I know, and I'll go on worrying anyway." Gauging even his own tone is difficult; he's being flippant, but he can't seem to shake the apology that underlines the whole thing. The trouble is, he does feel a little guilty for worrying when Sasuke can obviously take care of himself and his attention has even more obviously made him feel uncomfortable in the past.

The tea provides a welcome excuse to stay quiet for a moment or two. Warsman swallows a mouthful and lets it relax him. Why is he even tense at all? He's among friends.

"You couldn't get any of your things?" he asks after a moment, glancing up from his mug (mug. Robin would have a heart attack if he saw him serve Earl Grey in a mug).

[bondsoflove]

Up and running isn't on Sasuke's agenda--not yet, anyway. For one thing, he's too cold, although he has started to get used to the snow; for another, he can't sleep in trees here and his spine is decidedly unhappy with wooden benches, and he really doesn't want to develop a muscle spasm in the middle of a patrol.

He does want to avoid getting attached, though. He's already tempted to sink back in the couch and tuck his feet up, just sit and breathe for a minute--and that's dangerous. The thought of being dependent on someone else, whether it's for half the rent or a name on a lease or even regular cups of hot tea, is deeply disturbing. It makes him feel weak, soft. Scared, even.

With attachment comes pain at the inevitable separation. Sasuke knows that better than anyone.

He can still feel Warsman's eyes on him, but he keeps his own directed towards the small rippling of the tea in the cup. Another sip warms his throat, and he manages a smirk at the first comment--then abruptly forces it off his face when he realizes it's another sign of familiarity.

"No. Landlord wouldn't tell me where any of it went, but I'm pretty certain I'm not getting it back," he answers, tonelessly. He might not be able to force his feelings down, but he can damn well keep them from showing.

But then his stomach twists a little. He bites the inside of his cheek and stares at his lap. "Sorry about the earmuffs."

[mouthbreathing]

There's a fleeting moment wherein Warsman thinks he might just have made a breakthrough of some sort, catching sight of something close to a smile just about tugging at the corner of Sasuke's mouth- but then it melts away as quickly as the snow on the hallway carpet and he's back to the baseline.

"I see..." Warsman hesitates, clasping both hands together around his own mug. Privately he's grateful to have something to hold when he'd ordinarily be twisting his fingers round and around each other so that he'd have somewhere to channel his nervous energy. He doesn't need to be able to read Sasuke's body language- a good thing to, when it's locked down tighter than Fort Knox- to know that he's probably feeling unsettled enough without picking up on his host's...

He looks up abruptly- Sasuke's speaking again, and this time it's about something that catches him off guard. "It's okay. I could always find you another pair," he answers, his entire frame seeming to soften under the gentle weight of his tone. "I wouldn't want you to go cold for the rest of the winter."

But it's not really the practicality that matters, is it? It's the fact that they were a present- at least, that's what would bother Warsman. He watches Sasuke curiously for a moment, trying to work out if the feeling is mutual. He's not sure that he had him down as a sentimental person, but he's had a sneaking suspicion for a while now that he might be sensitive enough under the stoicism.

[bondsoflove]

"Don't worry about me," Sasuke returns, speaking almost before he really thinks--he said me, not it, and it's such a tiny difference, but the implications seem maudlin and dramatic now that he's voiced it.

It's true, though. Don't worry about me. He doesn't want Warsman investing anything in him, although there's the chilling suspicion that it's a little late for that; still, there's time to build up enough of a blockade that he can slip back out of the apartment without leaving prints.

He can't afford to feel safe. The luxury to want to was taken from him before he learned what it was.

But he knows he's dwelling. If he does it long enough, it will start to darken his face, no matter how hard he tries to keep it under--that unpleasantness always seems to be simmering just under the surface, waiting for any chance to explode out of him like so much lava.

Which gives him an idea. He takes another swallow of tea. "I'm a fire user--worst comes to worst I can light up a stick and carry it around with me." This smirk, he allows to stay--it's attached to the quip rather than to any interaction between the two of them.

[mouthbreathing]

Easier said than done. Warsman's been trying his hardest not to worry out of- ironically- worry that it might be unsettling Sasuke, but that doesn't seem set to happen any time soon. He has just about too much of an idea about the sort of person he is for that: the sort who'd rather swallow their problems than their pride. A risk-taker in battle. The independent sort. It's likely been difficult enough for him to accept this invitation without the prospect of being fussed over looming ahead.

Which only worries Warsman all the more. Talk about a vicious circle.

He tries to shed the thought with the bulk of his concerns, focusing on the present. He does his best not to question whether or not Sasuke's little joke is really heartfelt and instead gives an obliging little laugh.

"Maybe not. I don't want to have to rescue you from the police station when they arrest you for attempted arson," he answers wryly. Only after he's said it does he realise what an all-too likely scenario this is, considering the politics of the Port, and suddenly it doesn't seem like quite such a clever thing to say.

He pauses awkwardly before trying again, changing the subject this time. He's caught himself off-guard enough in his scramble for something else that there's no guile whatsoever in his words. "I'm glad you're here, anyway. This place can get a little lonely."