Welcome to Gaia! ::

He must have passed the sign at least a dozen times on his walks to and from work and college. No matter the number of sweeps his eyes had made over the holiday-themed advertisement, however, Kit had ultimately failed to properly process the printed text in its entirety.

The heart-studded poster promised discounted dinners and movie tickets at a local dine-in theater for the month of February. Kit had noted that the tickets in question were only redeemable for one of several listed romantic films playing after the theater’s usual, daily matinée showings. Also registered was the fact that the deal could only be taken advantage of once per person. He’d even glimpsed the encouraged suggestion of attending in classy, formal attire for a more ‘romantic’ experience and an additional discount off the entire bill.

What had evaded Kit’s attention and comprehension, however, was the singular condition that in order to qualify for any offer mentioned on the ad, one was required share their meal and movie experience with a date. This crucial bit of understanding was illuminated by the ticket seller’s remark that Kit’s expected companion had to be present at the time of the offer’s redemption so that both their names could be marked off. The older teen was at a loss - for about a second and a half.

He pivoted with all the elegance his newly-laundered tuxedo afforded him, his movement certain and unhurried, to scan the sidewalks for a suitable passerby. The light of a sinking sun ravished strangers’ features in sharp relief. Almost immediately, a young man stood out to him with small, curved lips; a narrow, straight nose; and pale skin seeming paler against the contrast of his coal eyes and hair. However, it was not his appearance that drew Kit’s focus to him more so than his demeanor. After a few, telling seconds of observing the individual, the college student opened his mouth, his genuine smile seeping into his voice as he spoke.

“Angel-face, what are you doing way over there?” He casually shifted his weight to one leg, gaze fixed resolutely on the stranger’s so there could be no mistake as to whom he may have been addressing. “We have to get our names put in the system before they can give us the discount.” Kit lifted an arm to lightly rap his knuckles against a copy of the posted ad taped to the ticket seller’s window. “Better hurry or we’re going to miss the start of the movie.”

He couldn't force himself to take another step.

The city boomed with sights and sounds so invasive that they bustled into his mind, wrestled for his attention, and pushed all thought out of their way. The boy that was once Faustite felt the cacophony swirl into a roiling sea, the fast current delivering more neon signs and loud conversations and eye-catching dresses and passing cars and stopping taxis and flashing lights and honking horns and garish decorations and towering structures. The lot of it locked him into place -- muted and frozen, he could do nothing but look on dumbly.

Until a man with tattoos on his face called to him. Or the former captain thought he did -- a glance in either direction confirmed no one on his street but him -- and his voice caught on an answer. Tepid familiarity ensconced him, but not enough to pull a name or place of their encounter.

The discount… Coal raked over the ad. So that's your angle. Drag someone along for a discount and their pocketbook. Do I look like a target to you? Like I would foot your food bill because you waved a pretty nickname at me?

Do I look that desperate? His gaze shifted hesitantly to the salt-slicked window of a seldom-washed car, and the ghost of a boy in its reflection looked neither inviting nor utterly lonely. His gaze traced the hollow of his eyes, the way his cheekbones cut the shape of his face. The way his expression hung like the guilty dead, bloated with spoils and secrets. He looked back to the calling stranger. Am I that desperate?

Am I so lonely that I'd join a stranger for dinner? A man who knows nothing about me? Who wants to know nothing about me but what's in my bank account? Spite welled, its ire hot enough to melt the stifling hold of the city. Fingers winched together and spread open again like old mechanisms. Focus graced him enough to take measured steps, to descend from stilted rhythm into a more normal one -- a casual gait. Crosswalk lines blared at him to keep going, corralled him in toward the stranger, and he stepped up onto the curb.

Question answered, he searched the unfamiliarity in the other man's face. "Then let's go." While cold and quiet, the words sounded self-assured.

Whatever shaky steps he chose to carve as this new, nameless boy, these would be his first. Rough-hewn and shoddily measured, they were foundational.

The silence that trailed after the college student’s words extended slowly, increasing the distance between him and the enigmatic stranger who, at first, had appeared so dazed to him. Though that thin veil of a trance had seemed easily rent by Kit’s voice, the other young man did not immediately reply and Kit couldn’t have blamed him. In fact, even if an adequate comprehension of the situation was acquired in time, he was of the expectation that his addressee would simply turn to depart or even just ignore him.

The flexing of dexterous fingers might even have warned of physical retaliation, but the tattooed male did not move a muscle as the individual who had captured his attention began to approach. More teeth exposed themselves as Kit’s lips stretched wider - an action triggered by his new companion’s indirect agreement to join him in his charade. A frigid confidence presented a forbidding barrier against getting carried away by their role as a couple, but Kit was not deterred. He beamed back with overflowing warmth and gratitude, charmed by the stranger’s acceptance of his impromptu offer.

Roundabout introductions were made as they each, in turn, stepped up to the ticket booth and gave their names to the vendor. Kit distinctly heard his pretend date state his name was Rowan Cameron which struck him as slightly peculiar because he thought he’d heard the name somewhere before. It wasn’t familiar enough to him to draw up any particular memories, though, and he didn’t think they had met before, so he quickly let the feeling pass.

When they were asked what movie they intended to watch, he turned the decision over to Rowan so as to avoid selecting a title the other may have disliked, especially because he himself wasn’t too picky about what they watched. Kit was about to pay upfront before the ticket seller explained that paying beforehand was only for the usual movie experience and not the dine-in version. He sheepishly acknowledged his mistake, realizing that the bill could only be calculated only after their meals were totaled.

His whisper carried to Rowan once they were both ushered inside. “Don’t worry; I’m paying, so you can order whatever.” Due to the fact that he’d been alternating between school, work, and senshi partols over the past few months, he hadn’t had much of a chance to spend on entertainment and as a result had quite a bit saved up for such an occasion.

He leaned closer to his ear to speak softer lest they be overheard, but he couldn’t do much to keep the grin out of his tone. “The discount’s nice, but I value having company more.” A brazen hand extended to slide itself against Rowan’s as they made their way down the corridor toward the designated theater showing their film.

50 First Dates. He'd seen it before in a pique, when the world was all summer storms hemmed in by glass windows and doors. When butter touched lips and fingers as he ate his way through empty calories. He remembered hearing his father's unsober sobs at a movie so bittersweet. How his mother found it tacky. So he watched it.

Now his mother was off the reel and her hated show still played. Distantly he heard the bid for a constricted throat, for a tight voice, but he felt none of it in this dream-state nonsense.

With his head tilted toward the floor, he watched the many footfalls of poorly-chosen shoes while they were led like horses to stable. Imminently-no-longer-stranger spoke while his hand brushed for contact and Rowan withdrew his hands to pockets. He knew the type. Thought he knew it. Heard about it. The Wellington girl was famed for these acts — the demure come-hither curls that she oft tossed over her shoulder, the too-thick makeup and the too-wide smile that bade all her secrets on a single hair. They said her breath smelled with all the secrets to her size. That her breasts swelled with every compliment paid. She was a lush for attention and her every fixation reared when she found another doting boy. Kit Paine was seldom different, but for the boys' type ended in sex, not money.

And Rowan walked into it. Into it and away from the too-bright too-lurid too-rushed cacophony that beat against the doors outside. Plush carpets hid their footsteps, their waiter remained quiet, and all questions settled into a dull roar at the back of his mind while were directed to their seats. Cuddle couches affixed at the ends and ran the gamut at the foremost. He looked again to his other half where silver-screen ghosts danced over deeper features.

"They make apps for that," he commented in a cool aside. Tinder Grindr. Happn. Bumble. Coffee meets Bagel. We aren't part of the Victorian anymore, where we're bid to chase dates out of their corsets.

The ticket stub given placed them at the fore. With a breath, Rowan stared down the steps, and crossed the length of overblown commercials and beyond the suede clamshell seating. The couch sat open-faced and ready to seat them. "Why do you do it?" He asked as he settled. One leg crossed over the other at the knee as a gloved hand found perch on the armrest. "Call people out that way. They make coupon apps too. Collections of people like you looking for dates to the same events. Cost-cutters. Social-seekers." Black eyes followed his partner, brows in an inquisitive tilt. His fingertips drummed. Sex addicts.

“Excuse me?” The inquiry tasted more of amusement than confusion, but combined both nevertheless. He’d been intrigued by the choice of movie, as he’d previously heard of the title and never gotten around to watching it, and wondered what it said about its chooser. And when he reached out a hand, he hadn’t, in full confidence, expected it to be taken. But the comment about apps had Kit pondering more than ever what his date thought of him and why. He supposed his actions would probably have seemed pretty shady to anyone who didn’t know him; perhaps even a few who did.

“Heh…” He grinned down at the ticket stub between his thumb and forefinger as he absently skimmed the information printed on it without actually absorbing its meaning. Following behind Rowan, he descended the stairs while admiring the layout of the peculiar theater. “You think so?”

Once they had located their assigned seats, the dressed up college student dropped himself onto the cushions and placed the stub in his pant pocket before folding his hands neatly in his lap. He then turned his head wearing a pleased-as-punch smile to respond to the question he’d been posed.

“It sound like you think I make a habit of this.” His shoulders shifted in a shrug against the suede seating. Dark brown eyes darted from seat to seat before perching on the gloved hand with restless fingers. Kit’s volume lowered yet again. “In all honesty, I didn’t realize I had to bring a date until that last second at the front. But I also don’t go actively seeking out stuff like this. I just saw the ad a while ago in passing and thought it might have been fun to check out.”

The older teen sat up again to crane his neck all around, doing his best to get a look at the other occupants of the room. “I’m not too overdressed, am I? Or underdressed? Maybe I should have gotten gloves like yours.” Finally satisfied with his inspection and comparisons, he leaned as far back as he could and tried to get a decent view of the screen. “Hope our necks don’t get sore from staring up at the screen from these seats they gave us,” he chuckled lightly. “As for your question, on the rare occasion I ask people out, I like to do so in person. Especially for something as intimate as dinner and a movie.”

Kit tossed Rowan a knowing look. “Maybe I’m being presumptuous, but when I saw you standing there, you seemed like you could have done with a bit of a break. And maybe some company yourself. Not that I’m suggesting you came off as desperate or anything,” he added quickly, holding up his palms with a laugh, “But sometimes we could all use someone around even if we don’t realize it or think we need it.

“So...your turn. Why did you decide to play along with me?”

Tucked neatly into a pocket on the side of his seat's foundation and discovered by Kit's roving fingers was a laminated sheet of a menu. As he slid it out, it offered no resistance; eager to boast its variety of appetizers, main courses, side dishes, drinks, and desserts. Further inspection of the side pocket surrendered a half slip of alcoholic beverages. Yet another, festooned with hearts on both sides and stamped with a smiling cherub or two, gushed the limited time, romance-themed meals being offered along with other Valentine's Day specials available for the month.

The college student shuffled idly through the material as he contemplated a response to Rowan. "It's my first time calling out to a stranger to take advantage of some deal, yeah. Normally I'm better prepared for something like this." An arm swept down across his spotless, wrinkle-free tuxedo for emphasis. "There was just that one thing about having a date that I overlooked. But if you're referring to whether I just ask people I meet out on a whim, then no. It's not my first time."

Side-eyeing a couple a little higher up to his right, Kit observed them with all the discretion and emotion of a security camera. They spoke in low voices, both faces turned toward the screen that illuminated their star-struck eyes and it was apparent they were not enthralled in the images that passed before them, but each other.

Dark irises traveled to realign with depths even darker than his own. "If you try to meet people through apps, it tends to give the impression you're looking for a certain type of relationship," he commented, thinking some more on what Rowan had mentioned earlier. "But I'm not. Sometimes I just want to hang out with someone. Get to know them if they feel like letting me, but sometimes even just the company is enough."

'Drowning in the Story of You', huh? Shame that's the very story I'm curious about. Tenderness smoothed the lips of his smile as he extended the trio of menus to his companion, holding them out for him to see or take if he so wished. "Here's hoping it'll be a decent enough break, then. Anything in particular you feel like having?"

The question of two words was responded to with a brief shrug. "That's the general impression I get, anyway. Maybe others see it differently. But that's the perspective that keeps me from using apps to meet people." A familiar yearning had seized control of his hands and Kit interlocked his fidgety fingers to confine them to his lap. "I prefer the 'up close and personal' method."

What do those lingering looks mean, I wonder? Am I to pretend I don't notice? He very much doubted he was being studied with any sort of admiration for his appearance, as he was fairly confident he would have been able to recognize that brand of interest earlier on.

In fact, Kit had begun to ponder just how much he repulsed his new acquaintance after the brush of contact initiated had been answered with a retreat by the other party. There didn't seem to be any disgust or revulsion that he could detect in the younger man's expressions, however. Why, then, had he inspected him so intently? Hehehe...maybe he was checking for symptoms of a serial killer. If that was, indeed, the case, he couldn't really blame him with for being suspicious with what went on in this city.

"You want sherry?" His astonishment followed the menus into Rowan's couch sleeve. I'm betting you're underage, but you're asking a virtual stranger to buy you alcohol? How bold. Seems like I'm already getting to know the kind of person you are. "That's all?" And to think I thought you were peculiar for simply playing along as my date.

Rowan's eyeroll earned a soundless bout of laughter. "What? You mean you didn't choose this movie to watch it?" He teased, of course. Even if they'd wanted to view the film properly, no doubt the majority of their noisy, restless audience would have sufficiently spoiled their chances.

"The bottle it is, then. And I know sherry is supposed to stimulate your appetite, but seeing as you haven't mentioned any food yet, I'll order one of the meals to go with it."

The interlocked fingers detangled themselves so one could push the button that contacted a food server. It occurred to Kit that attempting to purchase Rowan's beverage of choice might have required the ID of someone over 21, but if his height wasn't enough to keep them from questioning his age, he wasn't above trying a bribe or asking an older movie-goer if they might allow him to purchase a drink through them.

Were you under the impression I could get you a drink with no trouble? Is that why you decided to play along with me? His lips curved upward, doing his best to regard Rowan without outright staring. Is this a test, perhaps? To see how far I'll go to swallow every morsel you wave at me?

"Well if you really don't mind obliging me, my darling," Kit crooned playfully, pressing just close enough for their sides to touch, "would you tell me what you will of your story? Oh, but before that..." Guilty hands ceased in their absent-minded, automatic advance and withdrew. "...please tell me if you're uncomfortable with my touching you. Or anything else about me, for that matter. I'm told I can be insensitive when it comes to personal boundaries."

I really hope you're not having that sherry on an empty stomach. You're going to make yourself sick. Not that it was his place to question the other teen or lecture. Still, concern tightened his brief smile as his head slowly dipped in acknowledgment and his limbs hoisted him up from the couch. "Very well. If that's what you want, I'll go make the necessary arrangements."

Slinking away with his head low in order to avoid blocking any potential movie-watchers' views, Kit stood off to one side to examine the theater's other occupants. Once he found one suitable to aid him in his objective, he approached him as politely as he knew how and discussed, with quiet and quick words, how he hoped to obtain a bottle of sherry for his date. The matter was soon settled and the tattooed young man returned to the cuddle couch once more.

The disapproving glance prior had earned no further comment than the request that Rowan speak up if he was uncomfortable. However, when Kit sat back down, his proximity had reverted to that of a polite stranger's; at least aside from the casual arms that draped across the back of the couch on either side of himself. While he noted that he hadn't been asked to move away, the look he'd received in addition to the previous retraction of a hand and the news about having visited a friend in the hospital had wordlessly spoken their own suggestions.

Smile sufficiently sobered, the manner and intonations with which Rowan spoke each word was carefully noted as Kit stared sightlessly at the silver screen. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." No wonder you needed a break.

A glimpse at the edge of his peripheral vision told of the fingers attending to lips that were soon smirking. "Pardon," he apologized with a light chuckle. "Frequent reading and swimming sound like wonderful pastimes. What about drinking, though? Is that something else you do a lot of?" His own digits drummed in a soft rhythm against the couch back.

In what Kit considered a surprisingly short amount of time, the ordered meal was served and the bottle of the requested beverage was delivered. He opened the bottle and poured out the sherry first, watching the way the liquid and glass captured the ever-changing light from the flickering projection of the movie as he took in the answer supplied to his question.

You said we could share the bottle, he pondered, offering the fluted stem of the glass to his companion's gloved fingers. Does that mean it'd be rude for me not to help you finish it?

"Youth doesn't do a whole lot to keep curious adolescents from exploring adult behaviors," the college student conceded, appearing to address the movie as he spoke. Particularly an adolescent with an overbearing mother to mind. "Naturally, that results in a lot of underage drinkers. But you strike me as different."

Kit switched the focus of his sight back to Rowan. "Instead of drinking for the usual teenage reasons, like peer pressure or the sheer novelty of it, your adult behavior seems to be driven by adult causes. Burdens heavier than shoulders as narrow as yours are ready to carry just yet."

His breath mingled with the cool theater atmosphere as a soft sigh escaped him. If Rowan had moved out, then it was no wonder. He must have already been taking on the world as a self-sustaining adult - or trying to, in any case. Are you happier this way? Is it all you'd hoped for?

"If you don't mind me asking...does your moving out have anything to do with that friend of yours in the hospital?"

"You could be!" Kit laughed. "Don't mind my random conjectures. I was just having some fun trying to sound smart."

The pass for the bottle diluted the vibrancy of his smile, but he put up no resistance as Rowan claimed it. Kit followed its dip as its contents were transferred before the rest was relocated to the endtable on the other side.

He had gone from gazing at it to staring through it, eyes unfocued. Moving out due to a disagreement with his family was one Kit could definitely relate to. But it was the mention of suicide that caused his head to jerk up abruptly so as to regard Rowan's face.

Try as did to restore the same, easy grin that had so frequently and naturally been summoned all evening, it would not come. What did filter through were broken shards of an unconvincing mask. At last, he abandoned it entirely, falling back onto the couch with a shaking hand streaking fingers through his waves of hair.

"Instinct?" he repeated at length. A semblance of a smile, however pained, had finally been reconstructed by his features. "Isn't it said that the first and foremost instinct of all living things is to live?"

A quiet laugh sought to soften Kit's humiliation at the feet of the truth. Rowan had posed it in an elegantly indirect and kind fashion, but nothing changed the fact that his original meaning had completely gone over the older teen's head. To someone who considered himself fairly attentive to others, this was a significant blow to his ego, but he did his best to take it in stride. "Well, I don't wonder any longer, now that it's been so eloquently laid out for me. My apologies."

The obvious adjustment of his companion's position and attention almost made Kit uneasy. What had changed to rouse Rowan's interest? Kit's fumbling of an awkward subject? Or were these the first symptoms of the sherry's toxins at work? The latter notion only served to elevate his apprehension, but he cradled the dark gaze with his own, the sheen of concern gleaming more lustrously than the luminous scenes reflected from the silver screen.

Just this once. Without a word, he leaned in closer to Rowan to reach for the bottle resting beyond. Just a little. It's a special occasion. "Do I?" he teased, playfully mimicking the questioning manner presented to him just prior. "Could it be because you're not touching the food I picked? Or maybe that you're hogging the sherry all to yourself? I wonder."

A second glass was rapidly poured out before the bottle was set down on his own endtable. One sip was enough to wet his lips well enough to speak again. But Kit was no longer smiling and, by his blank stare, seemed to be addressing the meal he was carving up with care.

"I'm sorry about your friend. I'm glad he survived. It's shocking to think what one can lose in an instant." Somber fork tines neatly impaled a piece of fragrant flounder drenched in a thick sauce. The fish was raised to hover just before Rowan's nose and lips. "My sister tried to die, too. I got these tattoos afterward."

A shade of his default grin returned. "To remind myself every time I looked in the mirror that it's important to enjoy life. Because you never know what could be stolen from you without warning."

The non-committal hum of acknowledgement drew Kit’s attention to Rowan’s vagrant line of sight. Contemplation-tipped ivory briefly alighted atop the glass’s edge and mesmerizing, mismatched lips pressed against both. The older teen’s eyes lidded slightly, as if lulled into a dream. “As you wish, princess.”

A ruckus of laughter wrenched him from his partial reverie, though it was mocking, restrained, and short-lived. He twisted to follow the reason for renewed silence, identifying the responsible parties before shifting closer to his pretend date. To his surprise, he found Rowan watching his face. Or specifically, as he discovered with the command for an explanation, the tattoos beneath each of his eyes.

The order was not met with immediate compliance. Kit was too occupied with the scene he was being fed, gaze locked, his mind buzzing, though not from the sherry he’d hardly had a swallow of. Implicative ivory again glinted at him, teasing him, and he almost feared disappearing with the flounder into enigmatic depths of darkness. A compelling urge to blink broke the spell at last and he swallowed to wet his dry throat.

“Pardon, I think you’re going to have to come closer.” The newly-cleaned fork set down upon the plate of still-steaming food with a faint, metallic clink. “Someone needs a hug.” A swift, uncompromising, but tender grip seized Rowan on either side of his waist and hoisted him up in a single movement onto Kit’s lap.

That objective achieved, the accountable arms then enfolded the narrow-bodied boy in their tight embrace, clasping him with his back against the other young man’s chest. Softer words spilled the reduced distance from Kit’s lips to be caught in the inner curve of Rowan’s ear. “And I wouldn’t want us to inconvenience others by being too loud.”

One hand broke free to reach around Rowan for the second glass of sherry. The arm attached to it encircled him to bring the lip of the stemmed glass to the waiting mouth hovering just beyond his shoulder. Not a drop remained when it was set down again.

“You know, it’s amazing,” he whispered, his voice just audible enough to discern the smile he spoke through. “I thought once I got these tattoos, I’d be pelted with questions about why it looks like I let some three-year-old take a fluorescent blue paint pen to my face. Especially when it’s likely to keep me from landing a decent job. In the two years since I got them, though, you’re the only one who’s expressed any sort of desire to know.”

An appreciative kiss nestled itself amidst the raven locks at the back of Rowan’s head. “The wavy line just beneath each eye flowing into the spiral represents fluidity and flexibility.” The explanation was dispensed with the emotion of a documentary narrator. “The spiral itself represents change - physical, emotional, and a change of perception. There are two to keep them symmetrical to represent balance. And they’re bright blue because…”

His description of the meanings was punctuated with a breath of a sigh. “In this culture, blue is a color associated with sadness and tragedy. But my sister always insisted that a blue this bright and saturated couldn’t be thought of as ‘sad’.” Kit’s shoulders rose and fell. “I liked how that color seemed to represent the defiance of misery to her. And of cultural norms.

“That’s what those squiggles under my eyes mean. Why I got them is a different story.” He attempted to hold Rowan closer, soundlessly imprinting his feel and scent into his memories. The wiry frame of his figure, his weight, the texture of his skin and hair and clothing - everything, as though he were mentally sketching and sculpting a perfect replica in his head. “It has to do with the stupid, childish reason she tried to die. And in a way, she did die. But I’ll spare you the details of her idiocy.”

The cartilage of his nose brushed against the supple shell of Rowan’s ear. “Your laughter from before got me wondering, though...what have you lost?” Maybe not a friend to suicide...but loss is obviously no stranger to you if that comment earned your derision.