Deeper in the jungle, it's still a fucking mud pit, but out here by the shore, the ground has almost started to dry out. There's sunlight peaking out over the trees, and even though it's obvious it's not going to last -- there are angry, dark clouds hanging low over the horizon -- it's a pretty fucking welcome change from the damp hell we've been slogging through for the last few weeks.
But for now, that takes a pretty obvious backseat to the naked guy standing there in the sun. I watch him for a long moment, amusement tugging at the corner of my lips, then finally, I say, "You're gonna get sunburn on your ass, walking around like that."
Trying to wash off with sea water was turning out to be a bad decision. It just left me as itchy as before and the wind was cooler than expected. Yet the freedom, as transitory as it might be, is relaxing. It was very peaceful, up until someone called out and, surprised, I turned to face him. He looked like he was enjoying the view, regardless of what he'd said.
"I tan. Looks good?" I questioned with just a little teasing and a smile. It's good to be distracted from the same painful thoughts of everyday, even if just for a moment.
"Still gonna be skinny as hell, but maybe," I tell him, like I'm one to talk. He's new. So new he might as well have a goddamn sign around his neck, and I'm not even sure he understands everything I'm saying, but the smile is something I recognize.
sorry for the random tense switchingotherbedsJuly 21 2010, 03:24:14 UTC
It takes a lot of attention to keep up, translating one word at a time. Skinny, sure, he's heard that one before. Some clients have even complained he's too bony, but there's nothing he can do about it. He perks up a bit at the word "shower" and when he's actually interested the come-hither flirting smile fades a bit.
"Yeah, come on," I tell him, taking a step toward the path and motioning for him to follow. The rec center's the closest shower I know of, but it's not exactly right around the corner.
"It's kind of a walk. You got any clothes to put on? Not that I give a shit, but you're gonna attract attention."
[[It's no problem. I know Neil's first person narrative can be kind of jarring at first.]]
Neil isn't making it easy to follow along, but when he motions towards the path Tooru catches on and goes to get his stuff. The pants he arrived in he pulls back on without the underwear - a waste of time, if he's getting undressed again soon - and the shirt, left unbuttoned. The shoes he leaves in his bag along with the underwear. He flashes a smile as he catches up to the other guy at the entrance to the path. He was cute, certainly, and carried himself confidently. He hadn't been bothered by the nudity either, a plus mark in Tooru's book.
Putting his shoes on might have been a wise decision, but he's a city boy and not all that sensible to begin with so he might just have to learn the hard way.
There's still no doubt in my mind that he's new, but it's strange how easily he follows along, quiet and agreeable, and the lack of utter panic that I usually see from the newly arrived is pretty fucking glaring. Maybe it's the language barrier, but I kinda have a feeling it's something else.
The jungle is damp, leaves hanging low over the boardwalk, heavy and glistening with recent rain. I take him along the easiest of the paths. For one, he doesn't have his fucking shoes on. And I don't particularly feel like wading through knee-deep mud on some of the rougher paths, either.
Glancing sideways at him, eyes flickering over him and doing nothing to hide my curiosity, I tell him, "I'm Neil."
Being looked at is something Tooru has been used to and he rather takes it for granted; he's not much of a peacock but attention is always nice. He looked around him, taking in the unfamiliar jungle with more like mild curiosity than anything close to freaking out. Nothing really seemed worth freaking out over, even mysteriously waking up on a beach with a bunch of English-speaking foreigners. The world-weariness was not, unfortunately, an act, but a state he'd been struggling with for the better part of a year now.
"Neil," he repeated thoughtfully, sounding more like "Ne-a-ru". It would have to be shortened into something easier to say sooner or later. For now he pointed at himself and said, "Tooru."
"Right," I say, snorting out a faint laugh. Close enough. Knowing I'll make just as much of a disaster out of his name as he did out of mine, I repeat, "Tooru," back to him, as close a mimic as I can manage.
"Most people are, you know... more afraid when they first turn up," I say conversationally, even though I kind of doubt he'll understand. I was... I don't know what the hell I was, but I'd just been beaten and fucked within an inch of my life and dumped on the goddamn street, so I kind of had other shit on my mind. After four years, that first day on the beach is pretty much a blur.
Tooru shrugged and quirked a smile, it's not as though it really mattered anyways. He could imagine the disaster and confusion if they tried his last name.
He would sympathize, if either of them ever developed enough of each other's language to have a conversation about it. As it is now, it takes him a few seconds to puzzle out the sentence.
"Ah, afraid? No. Why?"
Or at least most of the sentence. As if it has heard him, he stepped on a stick and swore, hopping and clutching his foot for a few steps. It had drawn blood, but just superficially.
He goes stumbling and I catch him by the elbow, keeping my fingertips there against the joint for the span of a few steps, until he regains his balance.
"Because you're not at home, anymore. You can't go home."
That did get a pause out of Tooru as he stood and tested his foot against the ground, glowering at the stick behind him. If Neil knew this maybe he knew how he'd got here in the first place. He would miss Hikaru and Shige-san. Ni-choume was familiar, at least, and it surprised him how much he would miss it if he truly couldn't go back. But it wasn't really home. Matsuoka had been a home. And that was already gone. He looked hollow for a moment, like someone who didn't have any tears left to cry, and wrapped his hand around the black elastic on his wrist. The moment passed and he gave a thin smile.
But for now, that takes a pretty obvious backseat to the naked guy standing there in the sun. I watch him for a long moment, amusement tugging at the corner of my lips, then finally, I say, "You're gonna get sunburn on your ass, walking around like that."
Reply
"I tan. Looks good?" I questioned with just a little teasing and a smile. It's good to be distracted from the same painful thoughts of everyday, even if just for a moment.
Reply
"You need a shower?"
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"I can use?"
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"It's kind of a walk. You got any clothes to put on? Not that I give a shit, but you're gonna attract attention."
[[It's no problem. I know Neil's first person narrative can be kind of jarring at first.]]
Reply
Putting his shoes on might have been a wise decision, but he's a city boy and not all that sensible to begin with so he might just have to learn the hard way.
Reply
The jungle is damp, leaves hanging low over the boardwalk, heavy and glistening with recent rain. I take him along the easiest of the paths. For one, he doesn't have his fucking shoes on. And I don't particularly feel like wading through knee-deep mud on some of the rougher paths, either.
Glancing sideways at him, eyes flickering over him and doing nothing to hide my curiosity, I tell him, "I'm Neil."
Reply
"Neil," he repeated thoughtfully, sounding more like "Ne-a-ru". It would have to be shortened into something easier to say sooner or later. For now he pointed at himself and said, "Tooru."
Reply
"Most people are, you know... more afraid when they first turn up," I say conversationally, even though I kind of doubt he'll understand. I was... I don't know what the hell I was, but I'd just been beaten and fucked within an inch of my life and dumped on the goddamn street, so I kind of had other shit on my mind. After four years, that first day on the beach is pretty much a blur.
Reply
He would sympathize, if either of them ever developed enough of each other's language to have a conversation about it. As it is now, it takes him a few seconds to puzzle out the sentence.
"Ah, afraid? No. Why?"
Or at least most of the sentence. As if it has heard him, he stepped on a stick and swore, hopping and clutching his foot for a few steps. It had drawn blood, but just superficially.
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"Because you're not at home, anymore. You can't go home."
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"I am okay now."
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