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 Posted: Wed Jul 06, 2016 8:03 pm
”I like colors,” said Caspian simply, as though this wasn’t obvious enough by his clothes even right now. He gave a little shrug of his shoulders as he took ahold of MIchael’s hand. “I dunno, I just...always have. I like how bright some can be, and how softer others can be. I was never really into art, or being an artist - ‘less you count tagging walls, but I don’t - but I just...really liked the possibilities that colors give.”
There was a tinge of sadness to his voice, an edge that Caspian did not want to be there. He swallowed hard, past the memories that thickened in his throat, past the mocking voices of people of the past. Michael was right here in front of him - Michael, with his scoffs and his eye rolling and his laughter and his dazzling smile.
Michael, who embraced what he wore without ever having questioned it.
“I have to patch up my teammates sometimes after games,” said Caspian, worrying at his lower lip. He cleaned the back of Michael’s hand slowly, giving a silent shake of his head at the suggestion of Michael doing it himself.
There was a moment of silence and then Caspian said, in a tentative voice clearly intended to be casual,
“It...it doesn’t bother you, does it…? All the things that I wear, my hair…”
He trailed off, a little flustered, and concentrated harder on Michael’s hand.
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Posted: Wed Jul 06, 2016 8:22 pm
Michael didn’t like it.
He didn’t like that sad sound to Caspian’s voice. As if the world was weighing on his shoulders, threatening to crush him. Or maybe not the world, but the weight of his own past. Michael could understand that. He knew what it was like to be ruled by things that happened, things that define someone whether they want them to or not.
Whatever happened to him, it was still threatening to make that tiny, beautiful flame burn out completely. Michael had already decided that he wanted to protect that flame for as long as he could. That tiny glow, like starlight. Or, he supposed, moonlight would be more appropriate.
As Caspian worked on cleaning his left hand, he lifted the other and reached out to gently brush the strands of Caspian’s black hair, revealing the bright blue and purple beneath it.
“Why does it matter what I think? What anyone thinks?” he wondered as he brushed the strands back again. “Do you like your hair and the things that you wear? I’m assuming you do, otherwise why bother putting in the effort for something like this?” he asked, brushing at Caspian’s hair once more, before finally lowering his hand to his knee.
Michael drew in a deep breath, knowing that it wasn’t what Caspian asked, but he wanted him to understand that, no matter what, in the end it was whatever Caspian wanted that mattered.
“I think you could do with some newer clothes,” he admitted, reaching out to pick gently at the long sleeve of the shirt Caspian wore. “How many years have you had this? It’s all faded now… it doesn’t suit you as much as brighter colors would.”
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Posted: Wed Jul 06, 2016 8:39 pm
As the seconds ticked past, it became acutely aware to Caspian just how much he needed the answer to his question to be No, I don’t mind, or anything along those lines. He needed Michael to accept, to be okay with what he was, what he did, what he wore, not because he would have stopped doing it otherwise - but because he had spent so long with feeling as though there was something wrong with him.
Gentle fingers shifted through his hair, and Caspian lifted his head, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes, which had widened for the moment, now fell half-lidded, and Caspian automatically tilted his head towards Michael’s hand, needing the reassurance more than ever.
It came, warm and strong and flooding him with emotions. Caspian swallowed back the feelings twisting inside of him but it was difficult; a very, very powerful urge to lean forward and bury his face in Michael’s chest nearly overwhelmed him, Caspian just barely resisting.
Instead, he dropped his head, an arm laid over Michael’s knees, Caspian’s forehead against them as he gave a slow shake of his head.
“You always know exactly what to say,” he mumbled. “I just…I’m glad I met you.”
It was too hard already to imagine it any other way. Caspian turned his head again, looking up at Michael, a soft, genuine smile on his face.
“A long time,” he murmured. “Haven’t grown much since then.”
It doesn’t suit you as much as brighter colors would.
You, thought Caspian, you suit me. Just like those colors.
He paused, and then said tentatively, “After I’m...finished patching you up, if you want I could...show you my room.”
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Posted: Wed Jul 06, 2016 9:40 pm
Michael watched in mild shock and concern as Caspian lowered his head down to his knees, only to shake his head, and then look up at him with a small, beautiful smile. There was still some sadness and loneliness he could see, but it wasn’t as prominent as it usually was.
It wasn’t often that he wished he knew what someone else was thinking. Usually he was content with just letting people do whatever they wanted and think whatever they wanted and not care what anyone thought about him or what he did. It was easier that way. Sure, that mindset tended to make him much too blunt about things, made it easier to push people away from him when he was saying things that were true, but mean.
But with Caspian, despite him telling Michael that he always knew exactly what to say, Michael didn’t feel that way at all. He was always worried about saying or doing something that would upset him, but he also knew it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest.
And then came the offer to show Michael his room. All Michael could do was stare for a few moments, before smiling softly. “I’d like that,” he said, and then paused, forcing the small smile into a frown, “After I get you cleaned up, too. I’ll refuse to move from this spot until you let me,” he threatened.
There was another pause, and then he moved his free hand to reach under his other where Caspian’s warm hands held his, reaching to gently take hold of Caspian’s wrist, his thumb brushing the inside in a soothing motion.
“I’m glad I met you, Cas…”
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 6:11 am
The only person that had ever been inside Caspian’s room, other than his family, was exactly no one. He was not necessarily a private person, per say; but his room was a sanctuary, a place of respite. He prided himself on having it exactly like him, a special place where he could spend time and feel safe, and even Cassie was not allowed in.
But he wanted - very badly - for Michael to see it and he did not know why the desire was so strong, but it was there, twisting in his heart, curling around it.
“Fine,” grumbled Caspian as he straightened, “I promise I’m not that bad, I - “
He lost the words he’d been intending to say. Michael’s hand was soothing on his wrist, thumb pressing to where, surely, he would be able to feel the rapid pulse that pounded there, too fast, too obvious. Caspian stared at their connected hands, his throat feeling dry.
“M - “ his voice caught. “Me too.”
Caspian had forgotten what he was doing, and his fingers, trembling slightly, shifted. They slid across Michael’s palm, a light, barely there touch, then, tentatively, slowly, as though he wasn’t quite sure he would be allowed to, slipped them between Michael’s, so that their fingers were entwined, palm against palm.
He was momentarily breathless, a flush to his cheeks. Caspian swallowed hard, then eased himself to his feet, his hand still entangled with Michael’s, tugging him up as well.
He needed to let go. He needed to pull his hand away.
“It’s just a - a small scratch,” Caspian mumbled, looking away, his chest tight. “I’m fine, really.”
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 7:00 am
While he might have been a little slow with picking up on things, he wasn’t stupid enough not to realize how much a simple touch like his hand and fingers against Caspian’s wrist seemed to affect him. It wasn’t necessarily in a bad way, but it seemed to put him off guard and numb his senses. It also concerned him, if only because he couldn’t quite understand why.
Michael could feel Caspian’s palm sliding against his, their fingers entwining together. For a moment, he let Caspian do as he wanted, and then he pressed his own hand more firmly to Caspian’s. Whatever it was that Michael couldn’t understand, what seemed to make sense was that Caspian needed this right now, and Michael wanted to give that to him.
He just had to ignore the fact that the same touch that was meant to calm Caspian was also making his own heart and head pound, a haze falling over his senses.
“Then it won’t take long,” he promised, standing up when Caspian pulled on his hand, not yet letting go.
Instead, he gently ushered Caspian to take a step backwards, to lean with his back against the sink. Michael had yet to release his hand from Caspian’s grasp, and instead took a clean cloth with his now bandaged hand, turned on the faucet to soak it, and wrung it out. He didn’t need both hands to do this small thing.
He did his best to be quick, but still gentle about it. His hand went to Caspian’s face, using the wetted cloth to carefully clean the cut he’d received. There was still blood that matted Caspian’s hair, but that wasn’t as important as getting the cut covered.
Michael couldn’t help but feel guilty about Caspian getting hurt. He’d tried his best to keep the youma away from him, but he also wasn’t going to try and hold him back from growing as a senshi. He was new to his powers and needed to test them out. Michael was just glad that he was there to help where he could, otherwise he was sure he would have been getting a call for help. Or he hoped he would have gotten a call for help. Depending on how stubborn Caspian was feeling, Michael might not find out about what happened until much later, if at all. He liked to think the first of the two were more accurate, of course.
Even when it came to the bandage, when Michael was done cleaning the cut as much as he could, he held the bandage up for Caspian to help him open it, so he wouldn’t have to let go. He knew he probably should, but he couldn’t. Not until Caspian was ready at least. Of course, he still wanted to get Caspian’s hand wrapped, too.
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 3:27 pm
He really really needed to pull his hand away. He needed to stop whatever…this was, whatever he was doing, before it became too late. Caspian took an automatic step backwards as Michael indicated for him to do so, hitting the sink a second later, with Michael in front of him. It effectively trapped him in place, and Caspian found that air was having a very hard time getting into his lungs so that he could breathe properly.
Every gesture was gentle. Every sweep of the cloth, every cleaned injury, every press of Michael’s fingers was steeped in gentleness and kindness and concern. His hand remained twined with Caspian’s, and with each tender attention to his face, Caspian’s expression softened, until he was looking up at Michael from beneath lowered lashes, biting his lip.
He was not aware of the look he wore. If he was, he would have been embarrassed, ashamed, even mortified. But standing here, with Michael’s hand in his and his gentle ministrations, made Caspian feel the safest and the most cared for that he had ever had in his life, his blue eyes following each and every one of Michael’s movements.
Please don’t ever leave me.
He swallowed hard, Caspian’s voice barely above a whisper.
“Thank you,” he said softly. His fingers tightened around Michael’s, and he knew his hand was injured too, but that could be looked at later.
Glancing away, his cheeks shyly red, Caspian said, “If - if you’re ready, I can show you my room now.”
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 4:30 pm
The tension in Caspian’s grasp was fading. Michael could feel the muscles in Caspian’s hand working, relaxing, the line of his shoulders softening as well, and his somewhat tense, almost panicked expression shifting into a much softer one.
Michael’s gaze shifted to Caspian’s eyes. He’d finished with the bandage on Caspian’s cheek, still not releasing his hold on his hand, but the look Caspian was giving him was enough to leave him completely breathless with how pure his emotions were.
Just like the night that they laid out under the stars on his boat, Michael couldn’t help but think how this unadulterated, radiant expression was probably the most beautiful of anything he’d ever seen. Caspian himself was a handsome young man, but this almost innocent, vulnerable side of him was nothing short of beautiful, to the point where Michael didn’t think he would feel guilty for saying Caspian himself was beautiful.
He was vaguely aware at how dry his throat and mouth was, or how tight his chest felt, or the twisting in his stomach, but soon snapped out of his stupor when Caspian tightened his fingers around his.
Before, he might have argued. Before, he might have insisted that Caspian allow him to make sure he was properly bandaged. But now? Now with that soft voice and shy glance away from him, Michael couldn’t deny him.
Obediently, Michael took a step back, giving Caspian the chance to move out from between him and the sink. “Okay,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper in response. Michael took the few steps needed to move out into the hall, his hand still clasped in Caspian’s hand as he waited for him to lead the way to his room.
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 4:42 pm
He was dimly aware that this was probably, possibly stupid.
Dimly aware that he was currently trapped between the sink and Michael’s strong, lean body, their hands tangled together, fingers woven tightly around each other’s. All the more aware of the fact that he liked being here, with Michael; that he felt safe and taken care of and protected, and that in spite of everything, Michael had never lied to him, had never pretended to be anyone other than himself.
He had not made false promises, had not given false hope, no matter what Peter had told him. Michael had been entirely true to himself from the start, pushing Caspian away deliberately because he’d thought he could do better.
And now, here he was, less than a foot away, looking down at him with the sort of gentle expression that made Caspian’s breath catch in his throat.
He swallowed hard, the room around them coming into more focus. Cheeks flushed, Caspian pushed himself away from the sink, and wavered for a moment, the movement putting him right in front of Michael once more. He looked up at him, and had to resist the very strong, startling urge to simply tilt forward and bury himself in Michael’s arms.
The intensity of that desire was almost frightening. Caspian felt his face heat, and he took a step around Michael, fingers curling with his as he stepped out of the bathroom.
Relax. Calm down. It’s Michael. It’s Michael.
Somehow that made it feel, if possible, even more breathless. Caspian reached the end of the small landing and fumbled with the door handle.
“Cassie got the master bedroom, so she has her own bathroom,” he said, without turning around. “This, um, this is my room.”
He pushed open the door and gently and carefully ushered Michael in.
The room was not enormous, but it was decently sized. The walls were painted a dark blue with white trim, but posters of various bands and movies and books covered a good portion of them. A full-sized bed stood slightly off center of the far wall, Batman sheets more pronounced than ever, and a simple glass-topped desk stood to the left of it, a laptop and several stacks of textbooks messily atop it. A door to the right of the bed indicated some sort of closet, a skateboard and electric guitar propped up in the corner near to it, and on the far left wall was a bay window with a wide, cushioned seat and a red throw blanket half sliding off of it. Above the bed, a mobile made of paper stars and glittering pieces of tin swayed gently, casting little silvery dots along the walls.
Caspian was suddenly outrageously self conscious in a way that was expressly confusing to someone who was not often self conscious.
“This...this is it,” he said, biting his lip as he slid a foot behind him to close the door with a little clic. He was holding onto Michael’s hand and now, subconsciously, his other hand made his way over, fingers curling around the same wrist, Caspian glancing nervously around at the clutter of clothes and the unmade bed. “Um. It’s - it’s a little messy…”
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 6:13 pm
It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was something very important to Caspian. The self conscious way he held himself, the shyness Michael wasn’t used to seeing, at least not until recently, the way Caspian looked up at him with those big, blue, deep eyes. Michael wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone being so open with him. Not his family, and he didn’t really have friends beyond his family.
Michael kept his hold on Caspian’s hand as they crossed the threshhold into Caspian’s room, taking in everything he could. This, Michael thought to himself, was what a room should look like. Not like a magazine cutout, or a showroom at a store. This room was filled with things that defined Caspian as a person, and it was a little difficult to process everything at once, because he was sure each, supposedly insignificant thing in there held some kind of purpose or meaning or story.
He found himself smiling softly as he looked around, shaking his head at Caspian’s comment of it being messy. “No, it’s great,” he said softly, not yet pulling his hand away, but wanting almost to explore and see all the little things hidden there. Michael took a step closer to the bed and reached up to brush his fingers against the stars and tin that hung there, sending the specks of light in different directions, flitting along the walls.
Part of him was aware that Caspian now had both hands on his, and he squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a gesture of reassurance.
“Batman, huh?” he grinned as he glanced over the sheets, although he’d never really been into superheros, so he had no room to talk. “You play the guitar? My brother plays,” he said, although he was really just making little comments here and there, not really expecting a response. He did take another step closer to look at some of the posters that were covering the walls.
Just like the rest of what he’d seen in Caspian’s house, it was warm and suited him. From the unmade bed to the star mobile to the cushioned seat in the window.
“I moved around too much as a kid to really go all out like this. Probably why I still don’t bother. Most of my rooms weren’t even mine, since we were just staying with another family, or set up on base for just half a year or so. It was a pain to keep packing and unpacking, so I only really had the essentials,” he explained, a small smile still on his lips as he looked around, now glancing over the textbooks to see what subjects Caspian was taking.
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Posted: Thu Jul 07, 2016 6:32 pm
He followed along with Michael, still glancing at the messy aspects of the room, and the admittedly childish sheets. Caspian had an urge to cover them, but there hadn’t been time for that before he’d come in, and now they were on display for Michael to see; a big neon sign that proclaimed I still have kid sheets.
“He’s the best superhero, what can I say,” Caspian said, trying to sound casual about it. He tightened his grasp on Michael’s hand, an instinctive gesture. “I’ve played before, but it, um, I forgot how, it’s kinda been a while.”
His room was warm, but not stifling. Ironically, perhaps because Caspian was so used to being the only person in his room, it felt somehow smaller with Michael standing in the middle of it, taking up space - and air, Caspian thought, because breathing was strangely difficult for him at present. He had never felt so completely caught off guard and comfortable and anxious and excited all at once; the cascade of contradicting emotions was making him feel dizzy.
“You should add some color to your room,” Caspian suggested, and he glanced up at Michael, a little smile on his face. “Or something other than gray,” he added, and there was an affectionate, teasing note to his voice, clearly starting to relax at least a little bit.
The textbooks on the desk were relatively standard: English and Biology, along with one on Historical Figures of the 19th Century. Caspian’s MacBook had stickers of various bands on it, and a little dish beside it had a mixture of colorful bracelets and jewelry in it.
Caspian glanced around, then back up at Michael.
“Do you...like it?” he asked tentatively, then tugged on his hand, drawing him towards the bed. “Here, you should sit down, um, your back probably hurts.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2016 5:57 am
“I don’t doubt that,” Michael said with a small laugh, at Caspian’s admittance about Batman, and then nodded his head in understanding to the comment about not playing in a while. He felt warm and comfortable, but he couldn’t understand if it was the room or being there with Caspian or both.
Not really thinking about it, Michael reached out to brush his fingers against the various objects in Caspian’s room. It wasn’t to disturb them, of course, but as if trying to read braille, he wanted to try and understand a little more about the young man who lived there. Fingers ghosted over the edge of the textbooks, and then to the bracelets, and along the edge of the dish that held them.
He knew he should probably keep his hands to himself. This was Caspian’s room, and he probably didn’t want anyone messing with his things, and yet… Michael couldn’t seem to help it.
“This is great,” he said again, but this time he glanced down at Caspian with a small smile, “Yeah, I like it.” And it really was the truth, and he knew now that Caspian needed to hear those little reassurances, even if Michael didn’t think something like what he or anyone else thought should matter, as long as Caspian liked it.
“Maybe,” Michael said softly when Caspian suggested adding color to his own room, but he was sure that Caspian could tell he was only saying that to indulge him. “I’m not really good with colors. Wouldn’t know what to do,” he admitted, but followed Caspian’s advice and followed him towards the bed to sit, trying not to wince now that the wounds on his face and hand weren’t distracting him from the pain as much as before.
“Is it already bruising?” he groaned, reaching to tug up on the hem of his shirt and twisting for Caspian to see, while also trying to get a look at himself. It probably was. He could barely see the discoloration as he tried to look over his shoulder.
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Posted: Fri Jul 08, 2016 5:00 pm
Truth be told, he didn’t mind Michael touching things; it was what he would have done if the positions had been reversed, and Caspian watched silently as Michael looked around the room, taking in all the little details.
It felt like a part of him was being opened up for someone else to see; and it was a strange, anxious feeling, as though Caspian wasn’t quite sure what they would find. Relief, however, came washing over him in warm, gentle waves as Michael turned to look at him, the small smile on his face sending his heart into overdrive.
Why did Michael continually make him feel as though he was actually more than what he had ever thought he could be?
“I’ll help you find better colors,” said Caspian lightly, as Michael sat down. Caspian eased down beside him and finally let go of his hand, if only so he could lean around and see his back. He shifted one knee up and edged around, a hand resting on the hem of Michael’s shirt to hold it up a little.
It did not help whatsoever that he caught a glimpse of lean, muscular body before he hastily redirected his gaze to the bruising that was starting to spread across a good portion of Michael’s back. Caspian hovered a hand over it without touching, wincing a little himself.
“Well...it’s not great, but it’s not the worst,” he said, pulling back, resting his hands in his lap. “I mean, at least you didn’t get stabbed or anything. It’ll probably hurt like a b***h for a while, and it looks kind of nasty altogether, but...it’s not too bad.”
Caspian hesitated a moment, then tilted sideways, resting his head against Michael’s shoulder. He had a distinct feeling they’d long passed the line of what Michael was comfortable with, contact-wise, but he couldn’t stop himself, not just yet.
“I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” he said softly.
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Posted: Sun Jul 10, 2016 10:43 am
“What if grey is my favorite color?” he wondered lightly when Caspian told him he’d help with other colors. It wasn’t, but he wasn’t so blind that he didn’t realize the color dominated most of his life. “There just… hasn’t been much of a reason to look for better colors,” he admitted softly as Caspian looked at his back and then rested his head against his shoulder.
“Grey is easy,” he continued, although he was mostly talking to himself at this point. “For a long time, it was difficult for me to even recognize colors. Everything was just… black and white and grey.” There had not been a reason to focus on colors, so he didn’t bother.
“It’s fine, Cas,” Michael tried to reassure him, obvious that Caspian was worried about him getting injured. “It’ll heal soon enough, much faster than it would for a normal person,” he said with a small shrug, not to dismiss his worry, but wanting him to realize that something worse hadn’t happened.
“I’m glad you didn’t get hurt any worse than you did, although that was my fault you got hurt in the first place,” he frowned, leaning his head down a little to get a glimpse of where the bandage on Caspian’s face was. He lifted his hand to it, smoothing the edges of the bandage, and making sure he didn’t mess anything up since he’d only used one hand to apply it.
He also took a couple moments to brush his fingers at the strands of Caspian’s hair, the ends that had fallen against his cheek now hard with dried blood, feeling guilty and not really thinking about anything other than the fact that he was glad they got out of the fight with no other injuries.
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Posted: Sun Jul 10, 2016 11:57 am
Caspian gave a soft snort.
“It’s not your favorite color,” he said, sounding a mixture of amused and certain at this. “It can’t be. Someone like you...I’d guess maybe red, or possibly green, maybe even blue. But not gray.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “You have too much in you for it to be gray.”
Michael’s voice was quiet, and once again, there was an indication of something deeper, something that he had not yet told Caspian about. The urge to ask him, to try and get the truth out was at the tip of Caspian’s tongue, but he couldn’t do it, not now, not yet. Little glimpses into a history he knew practically nothing about, that was all that he had at the time being.
“It...doesn’t have to be black and white anymore, if you don’t want it to be,” said Caspian, relieved in spite of himself that Michael had not pulled away from him just yet. A small laugh escaped, an attempt at masking the heat that had risen in his cheeks as Michael’s fingers smoothed gently over his face.
“It’s not your fault, I was being reckless,” he said, and his eyes fluttered a little, the feel of Michael’s fingers sifting through his hair. It was a very warm, very pleasant sensation. “We made it through, though, didn’t we? We had a few hiccups, but we kicked some a** by the end.”
Caspian found he’d closed his eyes. He opened them again, feeling soft and fuzzy and pleased.
“You should lay down,” he said, sitting up a little and feeling guiltier than ever for relying too much on Michael. “On your side or on your stomach, so you don’t agitate your bruises. My bed’s big enough for you that your feet shouldn’t slide off the edge.”
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