WHO’S AFRAID?

« do not touch anything in this room, » she says, gesturing to a closed door on the complete opposite end of the apartment. « do not enter it, do not look at it. » like a pre - teen girl, plastering a NO BOY'S ALLOWED sign onto her bedroom door.

the apartment is spacious, sure, with a room set up — eh — for @dayfade ; she's made no effort to clean, dust having long - settled on much of the living room's bookcases, and dishes left out on the drying rack. various brushes and palettes still litter the bathroom sink counter, but there's a shelf free in the shower, and a shelf in both the cabinet and half of one in the medicine cabinet for him. did she remember to leave him a towel? hmmm.

he’s slept on his share of floors, too, but paris doesn’t need to know that. la doesn’t need to know that; they’ve all seen him fall from his pedestal, but he’d have them believe he’s landed on his feet and not in a bloody pile of bones (again), standing in a strangers’ home clutching what’s left of his life: a bag of clothes and pride he’s no right to hang on to. some days, more than his religion, it’s all that keeps him going. silver’s pendant lies heavy deep in his pocket; he can feel it burning a hole there.

«thank you.» when he turns to her, it’s with an uncharacteristic sincerity. cornered, the wolf bites, though never the hand that feeds him, even when sarcasm coats his tongue and the barely-upturned corners of his lips. «i promise i’m housetrained.»

london has always been his favorite city. sure, vienna's up there, prague, even with all of its soured memories. but london ... it's his home away from home, insofar as he has a home. the places, the people — this people. he's never really been that great with kids — only child, no cousins of note ... far as he's aware, luther has no kids. ( did any of his former coworkers have any kids? ) a glance at benji, sideways, eyebrows knit — DO YOU HAVE KIDS? benji mouths back a " what? " that goes unanswered as the child approaches their table. it's a subtle movement, benji clicking out of his current window, so prying eyes can't snoop. it's endearing, really, the way the child's eyes are bright, interested. ( he files away a joke about that being how benji was, too, when they'd first met. if he said that aloud, he doesn't know who'd get him first, the kid again, or his friend. ) ethan offers a toothy smile, the faintest trace of a laugh flickering 'cross his face. ' the accent give it away? ' a nod, but hand holding the rock curls in, pointing at himself, then benji — ' i am, he's not. '

this is polar opposites meeting. like magnets, nathan thinks, the way he's sheepish to wolf's ... well, wolfish grin. it's just in his nature — memories of being a child drawn to contact sports, unafraid to crash and burn off his scooter, his bike, long before he'd learned to fear injury. nathan is all soft curves and gentle pressure, scared to hurt himself — or anyone else. wolf is sharp : sharp grin, sharp angles ... nathan is all too ready to cut himself on wolf and do nothing to stop the bleed.

' i didn't mean to say — ' and he blushes anew, forcing himself to drag his gaze away from wolf's grin. the laugh is rough, but that's what makes it stick, like a microfiber blanket on scabbed skin. the laugh snags on his heart and tugs, tugs, tugs on his chest. I DIDN'T MEAN TO CALL YOU A LIAR. not when he's been called that more than his fair share of times. this is a much more harmless thing to lie about, though, nathan's emotions. ( wolf wouldn't be the first person to assume that if nathan can feel nothing ... then he wouldn't feel anything. )

wolf isn’t soft; he never learned how to be. he never had anyone to watch every bite he took or tape bubblewrap ‘round the corners of the coffee table. pain was the first language he ever learned: how to understand it, and how to speak it. (his mother would’ve had it otherwise: mama, xiao xiao, breath sour with wine — but her lessons were too little and by the time he knew the word love he already knew how to pinch other kids so they ran crying to their own mothers.) now he’s grown, he’s mastered other tongues, though none ring quite so true as the first. he’s won more than his share of fights, but this is not a fight — though wolf is sure he could win: pain or no pain, it’s hard to come back from a broken spine. he doesn’t want to shake the stuffing out of nathan, not really. (though he can’t help but think about sinking his teeth into him; he wonders if he could persuade nathan to return the favour.)

' ... ow? ' he hears benji's snickering before he can fully process what's going on. there's no real blood, thankfully, ( just a little spot, if anything ) but ethan can feel the scrape against his temple. with more force, the rock might've done some actual damage. as it were, it was more like a pebble being thrown at, and subsequently bouncing off of, a bedroom window. like the wadded up straw wrappers he shoots at benji sometimes, like a child trying to get attention.

sure enough, @dayfade is now the child in question, but he's gotten ethan's attention, not merely trying. ' excuse me? ' it's loud enough to be heard, but not too loud that he disturbs any of the other patrons outside the little cafe. " that was me, sorry. "

but the kid has such a cheeky grin on his face, that ethan can't do much besides roll his eyes, and kick his foot out under the table, making sharp contact with benji's shin. the kid looks like the cat who caught the canary, complete with a feather stuck between his teeth, as if ethan's head was his ultimate target after all. ' you better watch who you're aiming at, ' he says, reaching down to the ground beside him. plucking the rock off the ground, ethan considers tossing it back to the kid, considers a nod at benji. wouldn't that be too cruel? probably. he'll think about it.