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 Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 9:03 pm
whisper
Once upon a time, he had found something other than the stars to enjoy.
It was kind of a secret, mostly because he'd never been as passionate about it as he was the heavens above, but it was something that he had found enjoyable, from time to time. It shouldn't have been been something that he'd even have been able to learn in the first place, except that lessons were given in his elementary school, and then the one year of middle school he'd attended before leaving.
So really, it wasn't a lie when he said he wasn't musical. He was not, in any way, shape, or form, a musician, and he didn't pretend to be, didn't try and claim the title of someone that was much more experienced and much more in love with playing than he was. Chance was eager to learn for the curiosity, not the actual music part.
(He'd stolen the instrument from the elementary school one day, slipped in and out of the classroom and using the skills his mother had inadvertently taught him in bringing all of the Candidates home. Chance knew how to keep himself unseen.)
He was not a good dancer. He was not a good singer. He knew this, and yet he still liked playing, even if it was rough and sounded vaguely like the dusty old yowl of a cat. There was something very satisfying about tucking the violin beneath his chin as a child, the instrument too big for his hands, his fingers too small and thin to properly hold a full-sized one instead of the smaller ones catering specifically to teaching on. The bow felt smooth and cool against his skin as he'd dragged it over the strings.
Chance only practiced when no one else was around, which was more often than not, because his mother said she couldn't stand the sound.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 9:15 pm
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 9:28 pm
sleep
He is the first to wake up the morning after their movie night, and he just lies there, curled on his side in the enveloping warmth of Otto's bed, unwilling to break the comfortable silence that stretches throughout the room. Everything is so still and soft that it seems a shame to ruin it with movement or voice. Chance just runs his thumb over the rings on his fingers in idle, subconscious gestures, listens to the slow, deep even breathing of his friend, just a short distance away.
Otto looks peaceful when he sleeps, even if he isn't. His sandy blonde hair spills across his forehead, his lashes against his freckled cheeks, and Chance wants to reach over and brush a few stray locks casually from his eyes so that it isn't obscuring his vision (even though he's asleep). He doesn't, though, because while it would be a normal thing for him to do with anyone else, he draws a bubble around them, a line specific to the pair of them. Chance draws similar lines with other people, but each one is catered to the person themselves, and in this case, it's physical contact, because even if Chance is catlike in his desire to be close to people, Otto most definitely is not comfortable with it.
And Chance respects this, because he always respects boundaries, comfort levels, things that prevent unhappiness and drama. It's how he stays away from making messes, after all.
There's something relaxing about this, but he can't get complacent, he can't allow himself to get to used to this, Chance knows it. There is a wall that is carefully constructed; and even with Chance's basic desire for human contact and warmth from people, he knows he can't ask that of Otto, knows that it has to be Otto that asks it of him. The likelihood of that happening is close to zero, what with Otto's fragile emotions hanging by a thread, and Chance doesn't want to make them snap. He's always been more conscious of people's well-beings than given credit for; it's part of why he doesn't actively go after things, or people. Chance goes with the flow, lets people set their own comfort level with him before he himself gets comfortable.
It surprises him, a little, that he doesn't want to rock the boat; that he wants to keep things the way they are between himself and Otto, because he genuinely likes Otto, finds him more comfortable to be around than almost anyone else. Chance has spent most of his life not forming lasting relationships purposefully, but here on Deus, it's much harder. Everyone is around him all the time, there is no avoiding people, not really.
Going through things on his own, carefully separated and protected, is becoming harder and harder.
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Posted: Thu Apr 09, 2015 5:17 pm
touch
He stays in his room, mulling over things, wondering whether they will change or whether they will stay the same. Being withdrawn isn't entirely in his nature, but slipping away from situations that he deems unpleasant has been a habit of his from the start. It's always that way; he knows no other way of handling things, because he was never taught how to properly deal with anything. Everything Chance does is because of himself, his own ideas, his own concepts of solutions to problems that he's developed from years of watching people as closely as possible.
Except watching people isn't the same as experiencing things, and it's not the same as being taught, learning as he grows older. His lack of parental guidance plays a large part of his ignorance when it comes to maturely handling things, his childish reactions to unpleasantness a facet of an unorthodox childhood.
Sometimes Chance wonders if he might be different if he knew who his father was; but this thought is quickly discarded, because he's never cared before, and he isn't about to start now.
On his bed, in his room alone, Chance misses the warmth of another human being, misses the contact of other people. He's probably making things worse; he seems to be losing friendships more rapidly than he makes them, and this is why he doesn't like having friends, why he's never had them before.
Because inevitably, things go wrong, and he's left in the dark, and maybe that's why he needs to move on now.
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