noctium: ic contact

[anbu]

TEXT / AUDIO / VIDEO / ACTION
un: "uchiha, itachi" hungryeyes

Comments

[pushpin]

im not expectin it to be pleasant
thats the trade off for getting to know someone
sounds like its something unavoidable if im gonna be around you, yea ? so prove i can trust u like that

[anbu]

You know very little yet. You shouldn’t claim that you trust me.

It is not a sentiment men like me would take lightly.

[pushpin]

ominous
but ok

[anbu]

I mean it.

I'm busy tonight, but I will find you later for this.

[pushpin]

i know
i mean it but i cant explainn right now

ok
thanks

[anbu]

You can't explain? Is it more difficult over these messages?

[pushpin]

its difficult over these 8 beers
ask me my thoughts on trust
llllater

[anbu]

Oh. You're drunk.

I see.

[pushpin]

.......u mad ?

[anbu]

No.

[But it does make him reconsider some of the more serious things they've discussed, in light of that.]

Do you often message people impulsively while you drink?

[pushpin]

only the ones i think about

[anbu]

... We can discuss this more once you're clear headed. I'm withdrawing the offer of a demonstration for the time being.

[pushpin]

HEY !
i wont be drunk when we do it !

[anbu]

You need time to consider it unintoxicated without the commitment already made.

Enjoy your night, Guanshan.

[pushpin]

as if i dont do everything on instinct in the 1st place, dickhead !!
but FINE if it makes U feel better

[anbu]

[That's the problem, here — instinct instead of reason — but they've had the discussion before about Guanshan's impulsive tendencies. He's not going to let himself get reeled into something else.

There's no reply.]

3 DAYS LATER;

[pushpin]

[ a chat window that sits empty for a few days, unused but not forgotten. he promised Itachi a clear head, and for half of the week, Marilla's party scene has its claws in him; he needs time to make mistakes and then breathe in the aftermath, reset some kind of equilibrium that, however fleeting on a pendulum's swing, craves the drinks and the drugs and the whole dissociative bender. ]

[ a full day of recovery and he texts in the evening, incidentally on the cusp of the sun going down. ]

i want my demonstration

[ hi baby. ]

[anbu]

[He'd thought Guanshan might have forgotten, or at least abandoned the cause, so he is somewhat surprised to see the message flash across his screen.]

Have you thought about the fact that I could hurt you, and possibly kill you? That is what these eyes are for. Are you going to explain why you would still trust me not to?

[pushpin]

course not, i dont hafta
weve already talked about me gettin hurt n if u kill me that just means i made a miscalculation

trust is a choice
i choose to give it

[anbu]

Have you ever regretted that choice?

[pushpin]

when i gave it freely......
no

1/2

[anbu]

[He could certainly make Guanshan regret it. A part of him wants to, like teaching a child a necessary lesson — don't put your hand on a hot stovetop — but the thought is more easily corralled when he realizes it isn't personal to Guanshan himself. Rather, he's reacting to the gullible recklessness as one might want to smooth out a folded page. A need to correct, to fix. As two very different men once taught him.]

[anbu]

There's a bonfire on the east end of Filia's beach. Meet me there.

[pushpin]

omw

[ sneakers carry him across every terrain between his apartment and that beach, eating up cement and asphalt and shifty, soft sands in his wide gait. moonlight has turned the beach silver and black and pretty, the only warmth found radiating out from the fire like its own little sun, Itachi a dark heavenly body hovering in its orbit. he'd be difficult to spot in pallor, but his isolation and perfect posture announce him as an outsider on a backdrop of biodegradable alcohol containers strewn across the shore like popped confetti. funny, if Guanshan's sense of humor was anything less than mischievous bordering on sadistic. ]

[ even in the night, Guanshan's colors stay saturated — blustery sunburn darkening his freckles, red hair, a windbreaking jacket with reflective cuts, modernistic and sharp on orange, skull-motif'd. sharp-shinned beneath a familiar (clean, now) pair of loose black shorts. red cheeks make the mottled purpling under his eyes that much sharper. to little sleep, too many punches? has he rotted inside so far that his blood's gone mauve? ]

[ selfish is as selfish does, and Guanshan goes to greet him with a kiss — sharp-toothed and wet, lascivious. ]

[anbu]

[Itachi stands a black pillar cut out by restless firelight, bare-footed, long clinging fabric of pants and a loose sleeveless top—all the same monochrome color to carve out the severity of his appearance. Hair remains up in a bundle off his neck, messy with humidity, slippery strands falling around the fine bones of his face. He's waiting; not watching, a preternatural awareness capable of monitoring his surroundings without a direct eye. So the approach is anticipated, head angled in Guanshan's direction even before he has stepped into the identity of light.

The bonfire is his own doing—abandoned by partiers long moved on, cold piled ash and burnt wood leftover—and it had taken some work in the revival, his hands now black with soot and lips chalky from a burst of katon. Guanshan will taste it in the kiss, charred and inhumanly scalding, palm leaving a gray-shaded print on one shiny jacket sleeve when he reaches for a lean arm. There's no resistance, only a passive melting heat of mouths sealed together for an enduring moment. And then the sharp tug of his other hand in Guanshan's short red hair to yank his head back and meet their eyes, red on gold.]

Is this how you intend to greet me from now on?