Wake me up, lower the fever

[rivalize]

Who: Tristan Terran & Tyler Vaughan
What: Just a guy trying to get back into shape running into a manly health nut. They have this knack for unexpectedly stumbling upon each other, but hey; third time's a charm?
When: Right about now.
Where: Under the sun, will update if this change.

[Man, it hurts. Arms and legs alike, and every single muscle in his body. He'd thought them long gone, but what's left of them is cruelly reminding him that he should never have stopped exercising. His lungs are on fire and his pulse throbs in his temples and Tyler jogs like a pathetic novice, refusing to stop. There's no way in hell he'll go back home feeling so lame and it's what pushes him to keep running, no matter how weak his knees have come to feel under his weight.

The sun's crested the sky and it's hot and humid and he's kept it up for a couple hours now, long enough to take note of the clouds slowly obscuring the atmosphere. Rain—or worse—a thunderstorm in training. Tch. He doesn't need an excuse to stop, not when he's already begging for one in the far back of his mind, and he runs faster and he breathes harder and he's pretty sure his heart is on the verge of giving out. But he won't. It's been a constant battle since he's left the false security his parents provided, to prove that he's better than what they gave him credit for—not to the world, but to himself—and there's no room for disappointment.

He was never the athlete they wanted him to be and it's why he ditched everything, because it was never what he'd wanted. The competition, the training, the strict routines, all for what? Certainly not any sort of glory that belonged to him, and once away from his father, he ridded of everything reminiscent of him.

Including exercising.

It's something he regrets now, disgustingly warm in the heavy weather, but it's his choice and it makes for a small victory. So what if he winds up fainting. At least this pain is self-inflicted and it's twisted in ways he can't even begin to fathom, but it's his and it's what matters. Responsibility. Self-sufficiency. Free will. It's what he strives for, and everything counts. Even the risk of humiliating himself.

He doesn't see the crack on the bridge he's crossing, gaze up and wind in the hair as he puffs out his chest in a proud attempt to convince himself that he's fine. But he's not. He's weary and out of breath and sweaty and there's that stupid pothole in the middle of nowhere and it's like his feet have a mind of their own. Of course they'd be deliberately attracted to it. Of course he lowers his head a second's fraction too late, and up go his hands and down goes his face, tripping over it with less grace than a klutz. It's a matter of seconds but it feels like hours as he lands on all-fours, scraping his palms and cracking his back in the process, pitifully breathless near the bridge's metallic rail. And he prays that nobody's watching like the conflicted hypocrite he is, frown tight and skin flushed in frustrated embarrassment.

So maybe some other things do matter, after all.]

Comments

running is difficult it's ok ty. btw the pic is just to show it's not a fannypack ROFL ino important

[kindofearthy]

[ And why shouldn't he jog in the middle of the day? When the heat's hit its peak and the humidity is as suffocating as the sun is bright? Bah. He's never been particularly thrilled about running in any capacity or time of day; in fact, he avoids it as often as he can, because bulk and build aren't meant for streamline motion. See, he sticks to the gym most days and bypasses the elliptical machines in favor of the weight room or on occasion, the pool for some laps. But unfortunately, while it is, in fact, summertime, some students have their year leases beginning now for the college owned apartments just off campus and so, his membership there at the college funded gym? Today isn't a good day for a visit. Apparently, a good chunk of the complexes decided to create some sort of basketball tournament between the assortment of apartments and with the influx of players and bystanders to cheer and watch, Tristan just can't find it in himself to deal with students.

… He really needs to stop that.

See. There's tiers of adulthood. Eighteen, twenty-one and beyond. He isn't much older than most of the kids taking courses and yet he feels the disconnect; he's social but not quite enough so to become involved simply to become involved and so he feels... older. Much older.

Though, maybe not too old, because there's still that slapstick amusement that bubbles up inside and then clenches tight to have him cracking a grin when there's the distinct trip, fumble and crash of someone up ahead. There's a good heart lodged away in his chest though and while the pang of entertainment has him wanting to laugh, the other part of him – with all the responsibility and concern and do-goodness – has him wanting, briefly, to help. In the end, he probably wouldn't have offered, because a trip is usually nothing more than scrapes and embarrassingly flushed cheeks, and thus, not nearly anything in dire need of his assistance, but the path he's on? It leads up that way to the bridge and so, there's nothing to do other than to keep moving.

And really, he should have expected it. They often cross paths when he's having an off day.

He's hunched on the ground, face obscured and form indistinguishable in the crouch, but there's white and really, how many kids have hair that color? Oddly enough, it's the slowing down part that's always the hardest and he feels it in his knees and his chest and his back as his body gets a taste of rest. All he can suddenly think about is the water bottle at his hip as he huffs through his breath, trying to calm his lungs and the throb of his pulse; his dark grey shirt is a little darker in certain patches and there's a sheen from his neck up to his forehead, but he ignores the moisture in favor of quirking a smile while adjusting the heavy, black rims of his sunglasses. Tyler, how nice to see you. ] … Having trouble?

ROFL IT'S TTLY IMPORTANT 8| AND GEEZ TER....ISTAN. STOP LOOKING SO COOL 8|

[rivalize]

[Well, shit. He could have recognized that voice anywhere, and it's funny, really, when he's heard it all but twice. Maybe it's the circumstances in which they've met that makes it so identifiable, but it's there, carved in the back of his mind, and he's already pictured the body attached to it long before he lifts his head to see the smile plastered on his face. Tch. Is he doing this on purpose? All tall looking and broad and cool while looming over his pitifully contorted form, eclipsing everything else around? There's even the sunglass addition to complete the perfect allure he gives and Tyler grimaces in spite of himself, frowning hard to compensate for the self-conscious chill tickling his senses. Goddamn it. It's not like tripping in front of anyone's anywhere near gratifying in any way, but tripping in front of that guy?

Sure, they don't know each other all that well, but their acquaintance of sorts has started on such disparate notes that he feels the urge to measure up. There's this whole authoritative vibe about him—which surprisingly doesn't show much when he's not impassibly stuck on his office chair—and it's perplexing to deal with this side of him that's so much more agreeable when he's otherwise such a professional guy. An older guy, although how much older he still doesn't know. Is he supposed to play the student card? Call him sir and be on his way? There's no obligation here, and he feels stupid for even pondering such things when there's already so much more to worry about.

Like how he's going to save face without a trace of embarrassment, and he knows as he props himself up that it's already too late for that. His face has darkened and the scowl he sports is much too telling of his frustration, which makes him look like, well. A kid. Tch. So much for wondering where he stands.] I'm fine. [There's a hint of indignation in his tone as he brushes his palms together, chewing on his inner cheek to keep from wincing. They are scraped, not quite bleeding, but the skin is sensitive and his knees are in no better shape. It's all he can do not to groan as he gives himself a brief look-over, and he knows Tristan will notice. Judging from the comment he's already got, he's not sure he wants to wait for the next, so he crosses his arms over his chest, straightens his spine and tips his chin, left eyebrow raised.] You following me or something? [There's clear defiance in his tone, but with the vague shape of a grin touching the near-sulking twist of his lips, the absence of hostility is plain to see. There's a hint of amusement somewhere in his gaze, and underneath the restrained shame lingering, it's as much of a greeting as it's a way to deviate the attention from his clumsy mishap.]

He can't help it. He's a man :| AND SHORT.

[kindofearthy]

[ He does notice, yeah. Tristan isn't about to hoist the kid up and move him to the medical wing on the edge of campus though. The scrapes are minor and the skin red, but hardly raw; they're nothing to be concerned over, really, and Tristan writes them off as quickly as someone who's bruised and busted his own body countless times before should. Instead, he focuses on that stubbornly, upturned face and obediently keeps his gaze up, away from Tyler's knees, even though his sunglasses are still very much dark and concealing. But it's fun, for some reason he can't entirely explain, to wait and play and see what this kid will end up doing if given the chance, because see, normally, aquantances have that awkward phase to weather, where small, forgettable talk is forced out between the occasional stretch of silence. With Tyler though? Jumping right into calling him a stalker is, apparently, the way to go.

So here. A puff of breath caught somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, and a twist of his lips around a— ] Yeah. Because I make a habit of following baristas who can't get my order right. [ And pushy students who harass him to change their class schedule. Not to mention, he came from the opposite direction, but... – he knows what Tyler is doing though, and he merely mimics, crossing his own arms across his chest with his fingers lightly tapping against his opposite arm. ]

Can he teach Ty how to be a man 8(

[rivalize]

[And the jerk actually goes there. It's not enough that Tyler's already lost the last shreds of his composure, now he's got to watch his pride shatter as a frown forms and a pout twitches and he glares in all his indignant shock, tipping his chin higher. He hadn't expected him to play along and he's a little caught off-guard, but he doesn't want to back down. There's this thing between them, not quite a competition but a game of sorts, and while he isn't out to bite his head off, he can't let him get away with that blow.

It's not anger that fuels him—it's something between annoyance and mischief, because he is miffed, but as awkward as he can be, he can recognize a joke when he hears one. Even if it's all at his own expense. Whatever. He wriggles his nose and he squares his shoulders and he narrows his eyes, snorting as if unchallenged, but the truth is, deep down? He feels pretty awkward. It's in the way he stands, hugging himself a little tighter in mild, subconscious protection, and even his haughty stare isn't as satisfied as it should be.

He retaliates nonetheless.] Yeah well. [He takes notes of how much taller he still is—no shit, as if he could have shrunk within days—and the way his shirt clings to his skin and he wonders in a brief, absentminded thought, whether he can claim to look as aloof and perfectly comfortable with the same sweaty moisture enveloping his flesh. Probably not. Tch. He barely keeps from cringing but he grits his teeth momentarily, daring the other with a defiant stare he hopes will hold.] That never kept you from coming back, y'know. [And here it comes, the slow, twitchy lopsided grin gracing his lips, a mischievous taunt in his eyes.] So I'm pretty sure my point still stands.

Tristan can't make miracles happen. :| AND THE PIC ISN'T EXACT but they're so over a lake thing. :|

[kindofearthy]

[ Ah. No. That Starbucks is on the way to the office. He gets a slight, very slight discount at that one in particular. There's more reasons to keep to his routine than there are reasons to find a new coffee place; a barista in training isn't enough to scare him off and the equal parts of humor and amusement there are in butchered orders from a kid that he's been seeing too much of lately play no role in his eagerness to return. Nope. Even though it is... interesting to order one thing and find himself with something else entirely. The novelty will likely wear off soon though, he thinks, and maybe he will eventually try another place – or even make his coffee at home – if Tyler doesn't improve sometime soon, but until then, for now, he'll shake his head in slow, teasing exasperation and drop his arms to his sides. ]

Remind me again why I helped you out? [ And no, not because it's his job; last he checked, bending the rules isn't in his list of duties. He shifts his feet and presses a palm to the railing, gaze briefly following his hand to peer over the edge to the water below. ] Because so far, the only things I've gotten out of it are shi—… [ He catches himself before the end and side-longs a glance to the other boy. Tristan's seen the basics of Tyler's transcript and info in the school system, although he doesn't recall most of it. He knows he's in-between his freshman and sophomore years though, so he's got to be around nineteen? Which means, he's more than likely exposed to less than sophisticated language on a daily basis, but while Tristan has a fondness for his own dirty phrases here and there, he has that odd sense of responsibility or maybe authority to act older. So don't worry Tyler, he won't taint those young ears of yours. ] … Questionable coffee and a babysitting job. [ And he grins tight an' crooked, finally pulling his water bottle free to tip it back and take a swig. ]

THIS PIC SHOULD BE EXACT. AND oh, I guess Tristan isn't a real man then >:

[rivalize]

[Hey, no. There was a free apple fritter involved, don't even try. People, these days. Tch. Can't lend a hand without expecting the moon in return. Tyler knows he's teasing—or taunting, more like—but it stings right where it's supposed to and goddamn it Tristan. He tries. For once he's given a chance to do his own thing and granted, it's far from perfect, but the efforts are where they should be, even though it's not enough. Have a little faith, yeah? Or don't, and call him a baby.

It's what distracts him from the bottle—he's so damn thirsty—and while he noted the slip—a curse?—his focus is lost the second his virility shut up feels jeopardized.] A bab— What? [His lips part and close and part again, but whatever he's thinking to say dies in the back of his throat. Babysitting? Really? Well-played, Mister Counselor, but it's nothing that sits well with him. To claim that he's piqued would be an understatement, and he scoffs and he shakes his head and he growls, the sound slightly hushed by the rolling of thunder in the distance.] As if. [He should have known that this stalking thing would be turned against him. Tch. He would look fierce if the curve to his lips wasn't so akin to a frustrated pout, and it's almost cute—comical if anything—but he tries so hard to defend himself the flames in his eyes are still strong. The thing is, he doesn't really know how to defend himself. He's too used to take it without a word and if there's fury boiling inside him, he's never learnt to let it out. So he gestures towards Tristan, head shaking in unison, as if somehow his hands can convey all the insults he can't think to say.] You're barely even older than I am! [There. That's something, isn't it? For a start, anyway. He groans, palms on hips, and quietly sobers up with a:] Nobody's forcing you to come back, y'know. [Except losing a customer really wouldn't be ideal, and he holds his gaze as stubbornly as he can manage, miffed and cross and a trifle bashful.]

every time i see that icon now.... :|

[kindofearthy]

[ … Should they be out here with thunder rumbling in the not to distant distance? The storm brewing is still far enough away, if the cluster of clouds is any indication, but if a wind picks up and promptly pushes it this way... – ha, that'll be one, big incentive to run. Either way, he's already decided that he'll turn back in the next, short minutes, but in the meantime, Tyler is fumbling over words and frowning through indignation, the accumulation of utter frustration drawing a short snort of amusement from the brunette. He's really easy to set off, isn't he? Not that Tristan enjoys being a thorn in anyone's side, however, he's never quite interacted with someone so perpetually wound tight like Tyler is, so it's... new and oddly enlightening, enough so to keep his usually short spanned attention. He doesn't really understand why they're arguing about coffee or see the point in Tyler's need to keep bringing up Tristan being the one who comes back, that he doesn't have to come back at all; maybe if he thought about it more and really looked at the kid, he'd understand that his nitpicking teases are grating on fragile confidences, but instead, he focuses on something else entirely.

Barely older?

In all truth, Tyler is right. The age gap isn't excessive and in a decade or so, it won't count as one at all, but now, with one of them being out of the teens and one still being on the edge of it, any difference in age is exponentially driven. One year seems like two, two equals five, and anything above three is close to a generation apart. So really... ] How old do you think I am? [ A trivial question that won't earn him anything in the end other than, maybe, a laugh, but he can't deny that he is curious in a way, and so he presses his sunglasses up into his hairline to get a better look at the other and smiles around the next swig from his water bottle. ]

YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT ENOUGH, IS THAT IT?

[rivalize]

[He's not easy to set off, okay. Except he totally is, but the fact that Tristan seems to know exactly where to strike shouldn't be left out of the equation. It's not the distant thunder that bothers him—though admittedly, his chances to be able to run adequately are relatively null—it's the growling pressure in his chest, that adamant urge to strike back. Where's this come from? He doesn't have anything to prove, although in this particular case, with Tristan having helped him and with his odd position of power that doesn't translate well under the open sky, there's a lot of room for confusion. He can't say he knows why or what they're even arguing about anymore, either, but then there's a question and a smile and that glimpse of blue eyes slams his breath right back in. He's never seen eyes quite that intense—or it's what he tells himself, anyway, because it makes him fidget as he frowns to compensate, more defiant than ever.]

You sure as hell ain't old enough to call me a kid. [Indirectly, anyway. And suddenly he isn't too sure just how old he actually is. This sounds like a trick question and it probably is one, and he's almost certain he's going to fail. Tch. There's a frustrated sigh touching his lips and he wriggles his nose on a pensive thought, rolling his shoulders with a dismissive air about him.] I dunno. [But he wants to know—or he wants to guess right, anyway. So he squints, leaning in and craning his neck to get a better look, glaring right into his eyes the second he finishes drinking that water he wants so much. He's so damn tall. It could be enough to deter him but he doesn't let it impress him—not too much—frowning harder as he retracts and gives an altogether tentative answer.] Twenty...two?

WHEN I TINK OF TYLER, THAT'S ALL I SEE. and stop flooding my inbox gawd

[kindofearthy]

[ Indirectly. And in his head. Eyes narrow and brows knit at the accusation, but the befuddlement is more amused than put off, and he makes a mental note to amend his thoughts to fit the kid's... —oh wait, he already messed up. There's a bubbled laugh into the next tip of his water bottle and with the gulp, he shoves the bottle back into its holster as he shakes his head. ] You think I'm only three years older than you? [ A pause and with brows still slammed together, he settles for incredulous, even as his lips spread with mischief. ] Really? [ Granted, he sees himself the same and can't nitpick the differences by simply looking into a mirror. However, if he drags up an old picture from four years ago and compares it to now, he'd notice how angled cheekbones replaced the full, rounded youthfulness of his face and how there's two, slight receding indents in his hairline now. Subtle aging aside though, there's the fact that he's a counselor and a fresh-faced graduate doesn't exactly land that job and immediately know the ins and outs of cheating the system.

So wrong, Tyler. Not even close.

He flicks his sunglasses back down and adjusts the placement over to brim of his nose, and well, as nice as he can be most times, there's that competitive teasing streak that has him— ] You're off by some years, kid.

.....STOP THAT. THINK OF THAT MANIP INSTEAD. and no i like spamming you the edit button loves me

[rivalize]

[...Yeah. Really. So? Tyler can already tell it's not rolling in his favor, and if that muffled laugh wasn't enough, now there's a devious smile to match and he knows he guessed wrong. So what. Older? Yeah well, he should take it as a goddamn compliment, if anything. And leave it at that. But he doesn't. No, he's got to push and goad and there goes that bottle of water, eyes shielded from the veiled sunshine as he drops his bomb and causes Tyler to jerk away with a quiet snarl.

Kid. The rain starts falling as the sky shyly opens up, heralded by a deep rumble of thunder that's much closer than he'd have anticipated. It matches the fury coiling in the pit of his stomach, and he wants to ask just how old he is then, but he doesn't.] Whatever. [It's killing him not to know but he's too proud to pry when he's already humiliated himself twice in the span of ten minutes. So he huffs and he scoffs and he glowers, icy rivulets of water running down his nose. He brushes them off with the back of his hand—the rain is light and scattered, but the clouds are moving fast—and he tips his chin again, a trifle challenging.] What kind of shitty babysitter are you anyway? [There's a click of his tongue and he gives the bottle a brief glance, resolutely defiant in all his coy awkwardness. He's so determined not to show his discomfiture.] You could've given me some o' that, y'know.

ROFL NO I CAN'T. THE IMAGE, IT'S STUCK IN MY HEAD FOREVER.

[kindofearthy]

[ Sunshine and rain; there's something very wrong about that combination. Sure, it's light, the rainfall that is; it's a long ways off from a downpour, although on second thought, with the way the wind is picking up, it might not be that far off actually. Summer storms are notoriously tricky and this one is brewing, and while the sprinkle is refreshing on his sweat slick, overheated skin, Tristan has little desire for getting caught in the midst of rain, wind and lightning, so… — time to go? Most definitely. At least he thinks so; Tyler on the other hand… ?

And to think he'd felt bad about almost saying shit.

Dragging the sunglasses forward and off, he folds the sides and shoves them into the netted pocket of his water pack, choosing to squint against the sun and rain instead of weather water, streaked frames. Hopefully it does get cloudier soon, heh. Either way, he deals with the discomfort awhile longer, just enough to grab the bottle and— ] Oh right. Sorry. That was rude of me, huh? [ He really doesn't like being told what to do. Or to have his actions undercut, as though he's done something wrong when he's quite certain he hasn't. He even has half a mind to tell the kid to knock his head back, open his mouth and gulp down the rainfall if he's that thirsty, but while Tyler has pricked at his ever dwindling patience a few times in their very short history, Tristan doesn't feel any real need to argue. At least not yet. Maybe it's out of sheer exasperated amusement that quells and centers and keeps him in a relatively good mood. Or maybe it's because despite Tyler's attitude and constant attempts to be a pain, Tristan never feels as though he's lost control; even now, giving the boy what he wants with an outstretched hand and a twist of his wrist that has the bottle shaking ever so slightly, he hasn't lost anything. Tyler doesn't take anything away from him. He's, at most, well… entertainment. Like an annoying, little brother, maybe. Not that Tristan cares about him anywhere near that of a bro relative, but that's the type. The shit-stirring, mouthy type.

And it's more fun to playfully quibble with Tyler, than it is to get mad at any of his ridiculous, childish antics. So there. The water bottle. A scoff. And an offer— ] Anyway… you okay to run? [ Because he, they need to go before the storm gets here and while Tristan doesn't know where the other boy lives, he'd assume, it's probably back the same way as his own home. College apartments and all that.

… So if he wants company… Tristan is leaving in, oh, the next minute, if he thinks he can keep up? ]

YOU NEED A NEW HEAD. ALSO GODMODDING.

[rivalize]

[Gee, Mister Counselor. Tyler isn't judging you. Not really. Grasping at straws is what he's doing, and it's not something he excels at. It's hard to watch his own aplomb shatter as if it was made of glass. Fragile glass. Whatever he says, the focus is still much too sharp on him—Tristan's proved to be quite the challenge—and it's one more failure in his eyes, one more failure in front of the same audience. He's not really trying to tell him what to do. He shows his claws because he feels threatens, and honestly? He's kind of sick of messing up when the guy's around. What kind of impression is he going to make, when he's tried so hard to depict himself as a hard worker? As a self-reliant student who strived to be responsible? He can't even make proper coffee, for hell's sake. He does owe him, and it'd be more than welcome if he could just, for once, get the upper hand. Show him that he's not a complete loser. but it is not this day

Instead he capitulates. Tristan puts up with him even though he's aware that he's a handful, and then there's the water offered and he almost feels bad for taking it. But he's asked—or he's jeered, anyway—and he can't back away now. It's not as refreshing as it should be, and he can't bring himself to steal more than half a mouthful—not only because they're running out of time, but there's guilt creeping up his spine and his mood darkens and he doesn't know how to deal with an older guy who is and isn't more adult than he is. Tch. The rain gives him an excuse to move, at least, and it's his answer, a nod and a slow jog, and he's about to mutter a low thanks and wave goodbye as he realizes that Tristan's seemingly moving in the same direction. Well then.

He doesn't let him get ahead of him. It hurts but he doesn't want to trail behind, so he sticks to his side, noting how effortless it seems to be for him. It would be for him too if he hadn't stopped training, but he did, and now on top of being sore, his knees ache. He's already taken a fall in front of him, he's certainly not going to slow down after engaging in a nonexistent race. So he runs next to him, glancing over from time to time, and he thinks that if he should say anything, he should say it now. Before he's out of breath. So he talks.] I've gotten better, y'know. [It's not as loud as he'd wanted it to sound and he clears his throat on a self-conscious frown, shooting him a sidelong glance.] At making coffee, I mean. And stuff. [Really.]

PART TWO || TRISTAN'S APARTMENT ||

[rivalize]

[Well. If he's ever had any doubts, now he knows that luck isn't on his side. How much worse can a day possibly get after a public fall on all fours, and a sudden thunderstorm leaving him drenched like a rat? As easily as this; the last straw appears in the form of a locked door against which he's already bruised his left shoulder—as if throwing himself against the wooden surface would somehow bend it to his will—and he's left fuming in the empty hall, cursing the guy who should be on the other side and evidently isn't.

Tch.

The hand raking his hair back and fisting wet bangs is nearly shaking in annoyance. How hard would it have been to notify him? His roommate is gone—despite claiming he had too much homework to leave—and Tyler remembers asking him twice whether he should bother bringing the keys. He should have, clearly, but he hasn't, and now he's stuck here because of yet another self-absorbed prick who can't be trusted. He'll never learn. There's a gruff sigh huffing free as he ponders his options, and sure, he could wait here, but just how long is it going to take? And where has he gone, anyway?

He doesn't even think to stop by the landlord's office; he knows it's closed, and that makes only one other place left to go. Or two, maybe, but even the passing thought of that second one doesn't linger in his mind—he's careful to brush it off. Quickly. The coffee shop is nearby and he braves the rain one more time, running amidst lightning strikes and grey clouds hovering above his head. The weather matches his mood, and he's dripping when he barges in, attracting unwanted attention to himself. It's his glare he offers to the customers gathered in—whatever, it's not his shift—and he bypasses all good manners for a beeline towards the kitchen. Coffee. He doesn't like it much, but he's a little cold and his clothes feel uncomfortable clinging to his skin. So he grabs the first pouch he sees and works his way to the available coffee maker, deciding on a... Well. There's a significant pause there as he stares, dainty fingers curled around a cup.

And he thinks of Tristan.

It's what he would order. A Caffé Americano, and maybe it's because they've literally just talked about this but the previous thought he's had doesn't merely come in passing this time. He doesn't brush it off. He did tell him he's gotten better, after all—so why not show him? It's impulsive and it's strange and maybe he'll find himself knocking at another closed door, but the second cup-to-go's already made before he's even given himself enough time to change his mind.

They've stopped by his apartment before he ran to his own, and it's under the downpour that he feels the first pangs of doubt. The wind is cool and the rumble heavy above him, and it's dark and it's wet and he wonders just how creepy he's about to be. Sure, it's a nice gesture; but have they even reached that level? Does he even want to be friends with the guy? The banter is refreshing and the conversation easy enough, but they hold different positions and Tyler isn't sure whether it's a smart move. If he walked around in a suit 24/7, he might think differently, but in his everyday life, he seems like such a... Well. Normal guy. One around his age—tch—and it makes it too easy to forget what he is. Does it really matter? He's overthinking this and he knows it, but he's so helpless when it comes to people that he has next to zero idea how to even befriend someone. Or if he even should.

He's sure as hell not going to buy anyone with coffee and it's not what he's seeking, either. He wants shelter, maybe, and in spite of himself he's curious about him. Maybe because it seems so hard to pinpoint who he is between professional and casual. Something's caught his attention, that's for sure, and here he finds himself in front of his apartment, hands full with nothing left to knock with.

Well then.]

Uh... [He thinks of calling his name, but there are neighbors and he already feels uneasy enough as is. Damn it. There's his foot, of course, and he's so stupidly nervous he doesn't realize he could simply place the cups on the floor. So he kicks instead—gently—and there's a bark and he frowns, wondering if he's at the right place. A dog? He doesn't have time to crane his neck—the curtains are closed, anyway—and the door opens and it suddenly sinks in that he's got nothing smart to say. Nothing to explain his impromptu visit, anyway.

So he parts his lips on the first thing that comes to mind.] D'you have... uh, towels? [And he lifts the cups to make them more obvious, as if holding some kind of peace offering.]

There's a bum trying to move on into Tristan's apartment, help

[kindofearthy]

[ He wants to ignore it. The knock. Or the muffled something dull and blunt against the door, because he's comfortable and he's lazy and he's already filled his quota of social friendliness today. See, the change in the weather makes it seem later than it actually is, but even though it's not far off from mid-afternoon, he's already been drenched once from the rain and once more from a shower. And now, with him dressed down into loose, baggy pants and a plain tee, he's just about checked out for the day. Being stretched out on the couch, arm lazily strewn over the side to fumble through an over-sized bowl of freshly popped corn while he flips through channels doesn't entirely help his motivation to get up either. Though, the puppy that started curled up on his belly and has now steadily inched his way higher to his chest in hopes of discreetly sneaking a lick at his buttered, salted fingertips is enough of a distraction to have kept him from dozing. He isn't full-on relaxed yet, so there's that, he supposes.

Oh and the bark. Or yip.

Bandit doesn't feel like ignoring it and with little paws scrambling over him, Tristan shifts his gaze and watches in mild amusement as the pup peers over the side, gauging the drop. Too high, huh? The little guy doesn't trust the jump it would take and that's what forces Tristan to move, because he can only take Bandit stepping on him and whining for help for so long. Muting the television, he sits up and scoops the puppy up to hook him on his forearm, and there, he's on his feet. Tristan doesn't get a lot of visitors though. Unanticipated ones anyway. He doesn't have the type of friends who drop in without shooting a text over first, so with the list of possible visitors dwindling down to mail delivery, or solicitation, he takes a moment to peer through the peephole and...

Why?

He'd been worried, no, concerned in some small way once they'd split ways and he'd been safely tucked back in his apartment, because running through puddles and enduring stormy weather could cause problems. Tyler's always struck him as the type of kid to take care of himself – or cause a shit storm of his own until someone fixes the problem for him – so he hadn't actually thought the younger boy would have trouble getting home. But apparently, Tyler'd taken a wrong turn somewhere, or maybe a few, because upon opening the door, yeah, those take out cups are too familiar and well, that's his doormat he's standing on. Tristan quirks an eyebrow, still processing what he's seeing and why he's seeing it, but then Bandit squirms in his grip and the little yip breaks the brief stretch of silence.

Tristan glances to the side as he takes a step back, puffs out an breath and smiles faintly through the confusion. ] A few. [ He widens the doorway with another step back and once Tyler is inside, he clicks the door shut; Bandit takes that moment to squirm again and not wanting to fight against a finicky pup, Tristan bends down to set him on the ground. Straightening up, he heads further into the apartment without further ado, offhandedly supplying a— ] Tyler, Bandit. Bandit, Tyler. [ And there, Tyler, enjoy a pipsqueak fur-ball staring up at you while Tristan rummages through the bathroom. It doesn't take more than a few moments and then Tristan is back with two towels and a— ] … So I feel obligated to ask why you're here. [ And he holds the towels out even though the kid's hands are still quite full. Nonetheless, now that the initial surprise is ebbing off, he manages a friendlier smile, small as it is. ] I didn't accidentally order coffee from a delivery service I didn't even realize you guys offered, did I? [ A beat and a mildly hopeful— ] Speaking of which; one of those mine?

....but you already have all the help you need, Tristan B)

[rivalize]

[There's too much happening all at once. The small bundle of barking fur in strong, muscled arms, a questioning look he barely even manages to hold, and an impossibly tall figure welcoming him with such an air of aloofness Tyler feels ten times smaller than he actually is. Tch. Of course it's weird. Tristan doesn't need to say the word for it to be implied, and damn if he doesn't feel creepy. He's pretty sure his skin's turning a brand new shade of red and he's already pondered leaving—no farewell, just a turn on his heels and goodbye—but out of the two? The option of staying, as much as he feels like he's going to ridicule himself, is most likely much less freaky than running away like a coward and without a word.

So he stays, taking note of the light, hopeful vibe in Tristan's voice and that's his cue to respond in kind. He can't trust his composure to help him, unfortunately, but there's something else at his disposal—namely an over-excited ball of energy at his feet.] Pretty perceptive, huh. [Are you always this clever, or are you just making an exception for him? The jab is light and barely even there, and he doesn't wait for him to take his cup. He places them both on the small table next to him, grabbing the towels with a thankful nod as he hurries to crouch and scratch the dog behind the ears.

Finally safe.] There's nobody home. [It's easier to give an explanation now that he doesn't have to look into his bright blue, judging eyes, and the small yipping creature makes for a good distraction.] Roommate's gone, even though he said he wouldn't leave. [There's a scoff, quickly followed by a snort, and Tyler chuckles softly as Tristan's companion barks at the droplets of water dripping from his hair, all the while trying to eat them. Yeah, maybe he should actually make use of those towels, and so he does, momentarily retracting his touch to rub his head.] He's never given much of a crap. [About him anyway, but he's careful to keep that part to himself—he's no whiner. The same can't be said of his new furry friend, however, and there's the ghost of a howl stuck behind tiny fangs as Tyler finds the shadow of a smirk, looking up.] Bet you already figured out that the keys were inside. [Because he's oh! so sharp-witted. It mirrors the jab he's offered minutes ago, and already he feels more at ease—thanks to the little pup pawing at him now for more attention.] D'you mind? [That he's here. And it's a curious thing how one's own confidence can be so easily taken for granted. It takes all but one second for his cheeks to flush again and he rubs his head a little harder, feeling the dog's paws on his bruised knee.] I uh... just didn't have anywhere else to... go. I stopped by the coffee shop and... uh... [...thought of him? How the hell is he even supposed to explain that one without making it sound so wrong, as if coffee is now intrinsically linked to him. And it is, but it's nothing he can express properly, not without coming off as even creepier than he already has. So he fumbles, inwardly, for an explanation or just anything that could complete the rest of his sentence and silence the expectation in Tristan's gaze, but he finds nothing, growing anxious by the second and fisting his hair through the towel and—Bandit. Here he comes, barking loud and heavy and hurting his knee at last, and Tyler hisses, dropping his head to look at him and finding his answer in the process. He hasn't acknowledged it yet, but the name is peculiar and he uses the welcome interruption to his advantage. He clears his throat, breathing through his nose—both amused and falsely aloof—and he looks up again, brows shot high, a tad incredulous.] ...Bandit? [As if he's somehow just realized that such a cute, adorable puppy actually bore such an ominous name.]

from bandit? yeah, he's a good guard dog. get that bum's knee 8|

[kindofearthy]

[ And that's why Tristan got away from having a roommate as quickly as he'd been able to. Freshman year, no, there isn't much choice when it comes to the dorms and sophomore year isn't much better with campus housing, but everything after that, yeah, it's much easier to snatch up the single rooms provided through the college. Between the tone and the words, Tristan would guess Tyler's roommate is a randomized pick from the college, rather than a prerequested arrangement by the boy himself; that's always a toss-up, whether or not the personalities will mesh, and for a moment, Tristan feels bad for the kid, because there's little worse than enduring an awkward match-up in close living-quarters. But Tyler doesn't complain and Tristan doesn't ask; sure, he's a counselor, but not that kind of counselor, and so he waits and listens and waits some more for Tyler to fumble through an explanation. The seconds tick by though and he's just short of taking pity on the other and saying yes, he can stay, but Bandit butts in and...

Tristan flattens his lips into a frown, only to loosen the firm line when a gaze blinks up at him; instead, he sighs and shakes his head, finding a small, exasperated smile. ] It's not like I named him Dog. [ A pause, a soft puff of amusement and there, he drops down into his own crouch opposite the other. ] Bandit is a good name. [ And speaking of which... – he pinches the short, bushy tail and tugs gently to have that fur-ball swinging a glance to him instead. Bandit twists around and Tristan flutters his fingers, one side of his mouth pulling hard in a grin as teeth nip at one, gnawing on the tip with surprisingly gentle attention. ] But sure. You can... hang out for awhile. [ He glances to Tyler then and shrugs a shoulder. ] I wasn't doing much of anything. [ Meaning it's no biggie... except they still don't know each other all that well, so this should be awkward, huh? ]

OH. YEAH. THE DOG. LET'S GO WITH THAT.

[rivalize]

[And it's when Tristan casually offers him to stay that he sighs a sigh he didn't know he was holding. Yes! Nevermind the flush still coloring his cheeks; seeing as he can count his friends on a couple fingers, this banal invitation is so much more than it seems. He doesn't do well with people. He's too brash—an impulsive, spit-fire bomb—and as much as he favors kindness above everything else, he doesn't know how to be friendly. Not without coming off as a special snowflake anyway, and more often than not, a complete twerp. Still, this is good, and he's about to join Bandit in a whirlpool of ridiculous enthusiasm when he realizes that, well. One, he's not a dog, and two, this probably isn't a big enough deal to offer anything more than a polite smile. Which he does, and promptly remembers that he has no idea how to friend.

He can hold conversations. It's not unusual for him to talk someone's ears off and be told to shut up. It's when he's expected to say something that he falters, and he's faltering now, because this has also thrown their balance off. It's new, and he feels nervous and awkward and still relatively creepy and he really needs to calm the hell down. So he breathes, avoiding Tristan's gaze altogether as his focus sharpens on Bandit and doing his best to sound like a normal human being.] Looks like you weren't feeding him, either. [Because he looks hungry, if the gnawing is any indication. The lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his lips takes the sting out of the accusation, but it quickly turns into a small frown, his gaze contemplative.] He's still pretty young, huh. How old? 'Cause I'd guess, but I think we've already established that it was no strong suit of mine. [And the best part? He's too busy pondering it to even realize that he's actually poking fun at himself, comically serious in all his pensiveness.]

.... ARE YOU BEING A PERVERT AGAIN?

[kindofearthy]

[ He notices that – the knock at the kid's off guessing for someone else's age earlier today – and he's, well, maybe a bit surprised. There's only so much a person can gather about someone else in the span of a few meetings, so there's no telling how accurate his conceived notions are about Tyler, but building off of how defensive the kid usually is, Tristan hasn't pegged him as the type to draw attention to any misgivings. It makes him like him, maybe, a tiny bit more – purely because how fun can it actually be to deal with someone always willing to put up a fight? - and for that, he loops a hand under Bandit's belly, bringing the pup with him as he stands up. All right, since Tyler is being a good sport, Tristan will be one too, so— ] Seven, eight weeks? I have his birthday written down somewhere, but it's something like that. [ He shrugs his shoulder and he's walking, having reached the kitchen cabinet before finishing any of that. Opens, grabs, closes and there, he lets Bandit snatch a doggie treat from his fingers as he turns back to Tyler, lightly scratching at the pup's ears as little paws and tail squirm and wag in tandem. ] Give him a few more months and he'll be too big for me to lug around like this.

....WHAT DO YOU MEAN *AGAIN*. AS IF IT'S A HABIT OF MINE.

[rivalize]

[Two months, then. Damn. Sure, the pup is still pretty small, but given the overall shape of his body and how robust his legs are, it's clear he's going to grow into a relatively big dog. Maybe even a massively big dog. The thought mirrors Tristan's allegation and Tyler watches from afar, eyes narrowed and breath more steady as his eyes swivel from the grateful fur-ball to the muscled arms holding him.] I dunno. You're pretty fit for a counselor, you could prob... uh... [...yeah? No. He blocks that thought out faster than he can swallow, coughing around a gurgling sound stuck at the back of his throat. Really? The statement in itself isn't so bad—it's where he wanted to go with it that feels wrong, on top of the fact that he seems unable to stop noticing the strength of that guy. Jealous? Maybe—he's too lanky, even for an ex-swimmer—and he's quick to re-focus on Bandit, towel around the neck and hand rubbing the side of his head.] Well. I dunno if... I mean. What kind of dog is he anyway? He kinda looks like... a husky.

.................................... /EYES.

[kindofearthy]

[ … Fit? For a counselor? What is that even supposed to mean? That by having a desk job, he's supposed to have let himself go? The recovery isn't as smooth as the younger boy probably likes, but other than fighting off a perplexed knit of his brows and a barely there, almost smug smile, Tristan doesn't make mention of it. At least not yet. Instead, he sets the always squirming Bandit back on the ground, watching him trot on over, no, by Tyler and then head on over to the table to sniff at the legs, before supplying a— ] He's a tamaskan. [ Pause and there, he's wandering on back to the still crouching kid. ] Meaning he'll probably be mistaken as a wolf when he's a bit bigger. [ And there's a grin there, tugging, curling; so maybe he's looking forward to ruffling the feathers of a few of his neighbors in the future. Watching the initial surprise might be amusing. Probably. Still, that's a ways off and for now, he deviates his attention from the pup and quirks a brow instead as he plucks up one of the coffee cups. ] You can... make yourself at home, by the way. [ And he hides a partly amused, somewhat awkward smile as he tips his chin away, finding the lid on the cup remarkably interesting while offering an off-hand— ] You don't have to wait by the door. [ Like that especially.]

...................................HI >.>

[rivalize]

[Counselors aren't supposed to look so young, for one. They're supposed to be small and bald and smelly and not so tall and strong and manly. In his head, anyway, but it's nothing he can count on as of late because just what was he thinking? He's still crouching near the door, for hell's sake, and it sinks in the moment Tristan points it out. Right. So he gets up, not without clearing his throat and grabbing aforementioned vicious beast-in-training.] Yeah, uh... Thanks. [For being so welcoming despite the unexpected visit, and he thinks that he may not have been so kind had a stranger knocked at his door, drenched and unannounced. It's a good sign—there's clear acceptance there, however recent their acquaintance—but it still seems odd and Tyler feels the need to apologize. He doesn't want him to think it's the sort of things he does on a daily basis or that he's that much of a loser—friendless and socially inept—and while it's not so far from the truth, he still has enough presence of mind to be aware of how unusual and uncomfortable this might be. So he shrugs, and with Bandit sneaking up to hide his face in his neck, it makes it a little easier to look Tristan in the eye.] It's kinda weird, I guess. But just so y'know, I wouldn't have come if I hadn't met you there on the bridge. [He hasn't been stalking, obsessing or even remotely thinking about him before then, in case it might have looked that way.]

YO PERVERT

[kindofearthy]

[ Bandit. Now don't go on getting attached to someone else. Puppies are, he thinks, more partial to fussing over the new and unexplored, so maybe it's nothing out of the ordinary; Tristan doesn't have a long list of friends barging into his apartment though, and he hasn't had Bandit nearly long enough to test it anyway, which is what has him eyeing the two of them a little more closely. Maybe it's because the kid smells of rainwater and earth and outside? Either way, he notices Bandit isn't squirming nearly as much as he does any time Tristan scoops him up and for that, he makes a mental note to bribe the pup with an extra treat later on tonight. In the meantime, however, he rolls a shoulder and glances away, trying not to dwell on the oddity Tyler is too intent on bringing up. See, Tristan isn't one for charity. He likes looking after others, helping when he can and being of use, but there's a difference between offering on his own freewill and having it sprung on him. He supposes this lands in that second category and maybe he should be annoyed that there's a second presence butting in on his unwind time, but there's a coffee in his hand and tempering his judgment of this entire situation is easily done with a peace offering. After all, bribes work on all types, not just small, traitorous puppies. ]

Good thing you did then. [ Because whether he knows the other well or not – which he most definitely doesn't – he wouldn't want someone stuck out on a porch or stairwell or wherever in the midst of a storm. He doesn't clarify though and he leaves it at that as he wanders back over to the couch, thinking maybe... – well, it's not like he wants to add to the weirdness, but... sinking into the cushion of his nice, dry couch, he begins to reconsider his comment of making one's self at home. He has a deposit on this place and thrashed cushions smelling of mildew... ] … If you need to— [ A slight waver of hesitance and his gaze flicks to the doorway of his bedroom. ] —freshen up, the bathroom's in there. [ The apartment is small. Enough so that he has a pretty good idea of possible movement in his bedroom, not that he thinks Tyler would steal anything, but that's what makes it easier for him to give the other the go ahead. Though, that's not all, is it? He huffs a sigh through his nose and taps his middle to pinky fingers against the cup, wondering if he even should, but... ] I have clothes. If you want. [ Since drenched, work-out things can only be so comfortable. And practical. ]

LET ME FLAIL IN PEACE GEEZ

[rivalize]

[Oh, whoa. Oh, whoa. And it's all he can do not to drop Bandit on the floor. He doesn't realize that he's gaping but he is, lips parted and shut and parted again as his brain tries to process what's happening. There's an offer there and it's laced with kindness, and maybe it's because it's unexpected but it's shock that races through his chest as he stares and wonders how he's gone from granting him an exception in his office to offering him clothes in his house. He's started it. His being here has triggered something and Tristan never does disappoint, showing a sense of generosity Tyler's rarely seen. The only thing is, he can't tell whether he's just saying. For all he knows, he could be wishing he'd just leave already, and now that Tyler's given an opportunity—albeit a very peculiar one—to try this whole friendship thing, he doesn't know what to do with it. He doesn't know if he wants to stay, period, because the mix of uncertainty and excitement crashing into him is kind of a conflicting pain to handle. Tch. He doesn't want to be wary, but he is, and he masks his bashful hesitation with a light, playful frown. It's a dark, touched kind of expression that reaches his eyes, a prudent tease.] And how many free coffees am I gonna have to give you for that? [He tilts his head, a brief tip of his chin as he eyes the cup Tristan's holding, Bandit looking up and somehow following his gaze.] You might wanna taste it first.

THERE'S A SENTENCE IN HERE I'M SURE YOU'RE GONNA BE A PERV ABOUT

[kindofearthy]

[ … With an audience? He wonders if he should rethink this indulgence. It might not be cold, but by now, it's got to be cool, and from the run, there's no telling how much rainwater has sloshed around and delueded the taste. But two pairs of eyes are staring his way and well, he's never been one to turn down coffee, especially free coffee. So he takes the little bit of challenge and presses his grin to the lip, tilting the cup up for a generous gulp. It's warm, but not warm enough. Bitter, sweet, and a touch watery, the initial burst of flavor on his tongue isn't right, but the shift follows and it isn't so bad when he swallows; it's quite good actually and so, least to say, it's better, he'll give Tyler that. However, it's still not what he's known a caffè americano to be for, oh, the last two years? Yeah. There's still room for improvement but this isn't bad and he can drink it, and so, he makes a show of drawing out a pause and then taking another sip before offering a simple— ] Better. [ That's as far as his praise goes though and he settles back into the cushion, plucking up the remote only to tap it against his knee as he takes another drink. ] And it's five. Two for a shirt and three for a pair of sweats.

..............YOU'RE NOT PLAYING FAIR 8|

[rivalize]

[And the verdict is far more satisfying than every silly thought he's entertained. Better, he says, and Tyler is nearly beaming. His smile shines with pride and he's breathing at last, showing teeth in a grin that makes him look both boyish and mischievous. Being good at what he does obviously matters to him, and weeks down the line, his efforts are finally sprouting results—enough to request five more. It doesn't matter that he's merely playing along; he's drinking it anyway, and that is all he cares about. So he grabs his own cup, careful to steady Bandit against his chest, and he walks up to his host to offer it to him.] Here's a second one. [Cold by the time he'll get to it, no doubt, but hey; the rules didn't specify anything temperature wise. So he's got himself a shirt, at least, but since he's going to stay for a while, maybe there's something else he could offer. Something worth a pair of sweats.] D'you like pizza? [He hasn't really thought this one out—merely blurted it out because impulse is his second name—and his smile falters and Bandit starts squirming in his arm, as if sensing his sudden malaise.] 'Cause I could... order one. For dinner. [And he's tempted to add that he wouldn't have to stay, but instead he stares right into his eyes, braving the pathetic vibes he can feel clinging to him and trying not to look like an idiot.]

IT WAS PURELY ACCIDENTAL! BUT I KNOW YOU!

[kindofearthy]

[ Cheater. What is he supposed to do with two cups of semi-warm, somewhat passable coffee? Hmph. Note to self, from now on, be extremely clear about the terms and conditions. Ah well, he'd had no real inkling to make good on the deal anyway; he plays along when necessary, because he doesn't want to make the barely balanced situation worse and have Tyler feeling, well, weird for saying a silly something. So when the kid offers, Tristan picks up where he leaves off and takes the cue, because agreeing that Tyler owes him some free cups is better than saying he doesn't. So he takes the second and after a pause, huffs something short and final before bringing that said cup up for a sip. And for that brief moment, everything seems to be settled; he'll get the shirt and take a rain check for the sweats, but Tyler goes and mucks the whole thing up by inviting himself over for dinner and for that, Tristan swivels a glance back to him, lips still pressed to the drink.

Pizza?

Tipping for another sip and then drawing away, he holds both cups to either thigh, brows raised high as he watches the other watch him. True, there isn't a time limit on Tyler's stay, not exactly anyway – although, he'd assumed it'd only be a few hours, if that – but adding dinner to it, well... it seems more... permanent? Is that the word for it? It locks in a certain timeframe and he has to pause and think and wonder if he's okay with – as he'd put it earlier – playing babysitter for that long. The floor is slick from saturated tennis shoes though and the clothes hanging heavy and awkward on the other are as comical as they are concerning, so really, what choice is there, really? ] … The sweats still cost three coffees. [ His lips quirk, slow and boyish, and there, he leans to set the coffees down on the low-set table before pushing himself to his feet. ] But pizza will get you a grace period to pay up and a seat there on the couch. [ He widens the sly playing grin and then heads toward his room, more or less inviting Tyler to follow as he continues along— ] And if you order pepperoni, you get a pair of socks bonus.

NO YOU LIE!!!!

[rivalize]

[So the guy's actually a good sport, huh. Tyler can't help but snort, visibly calmer now that Tristan's good mood encourages him to stop freaking out. He can't decide what makes him want to befriend the guy—maybe it's a mix of their random meetings and the surprising ease with which their interactions always seem to settle—but he thinks that it's got to start somewhere and as strange as this is, it's going rather well. Minus the constant, nervous buzz lingering in the back of his head, that is. Breathe, Tyler. And he does, the curve to his lips mirroring the older boy's.] You would've made a pretty good haggler, y'know. [And who is he to even argue? It's his house he's staying at, and his clothes he's about to wear, and there's no flush covering his skin this time, only impish contentment in his eyes.] You've got yourself a deal, Terran... But I've got no phone, so you're gonna have to call. [And he slips into the bathroom, clothes in arms and mouth curled into a satisfied grin.

It's small and clean and white, but it matches the rest of his house, cozy and simple. There's a nice fragrance floating in the air still, and the curtain's still wet; Tristan's been showering here not too long ago. He'd probably kill for one, but that would definitely push it. So he takes his clothes off, drying himself up with the towel he hasn't touched yet. He doesn't smell as good as the fresh clothes do—it's reminiscent of the scent coming from the shower, and he absentmindedly wonders if it's what Tristan actually smells like right now—but it'll have to do. The shirt is too big—it's loose around his torso, whereas he's pretty sure it would have clung to Tristan's skin—and the sweats are just equally ample, but they're comfortable. He doesn't dare glance towards the mirror—if he doesn't know how ridiculous he looks, he won't have to worry about it—and with the constant scratching sound coming from the other side of the door, he figures he's stayed in there long enough. Bandit welcomes him with a happy bark and follows him back to the living room, jumping around as if Tyler's holding a pile of treats.] They're just wet clothes, man. And you're probably wet, too. [Meaning he'll probably need another towel. Tristan's there in the kitchen, and he walks up to him, arms full.] D'you have a bag? I'll bring them home and wash' em. [His clothes, of course, but the towels as well, because it's really the least he can do. Bandit barks again, as if feeling left out behind him, and Tyler snorts softly, stepping aside so that Tristan can have a look at him.] You might wanna dry him up, too.

..................................... c:

[kindofearthy]

[ Terran. He might still be entertaining an amused twitch and twist of his features as he hangs up the phone, because really, what? It doesn't bother him in the least – if there'd been a mister tied to the beginning though, it would have been different – and if that's going to be Tyler's thing, then fine; it had merely surprised him and it's right about now, that he wonders if the kid has ever actually used his name before. Ah well, it doesn't matter. If he could remember Tyler's last name, he'd probably fire it back at him just to play along, but having only seen it that once in his office, it's a wonder he'd even remembered Tyler's first. He doesn't make a habit of memorizing ever college student's name that comes wandering in for counseling after all. The only reason Tyler's stuck out is because he'd been, for lack of better words, a little shit. Speaking of which—

On cue, Tyler comes wandering back over and after giving Bandit's slightly mussed fur a glance over, Tristan scoffs as he shifts, crouches and digs through a bottom drawer to pull out a plastic, grocery bag. Standing up, he hands it over to Tyler and then scoops the pup up, not in the least bit surprised when he immediately begins to squirm about. ] Pizza's on the way. Should be about twenty-five minutes. [ Bandit isn't wet, but his fur has a slight dampness to it from being a traitor and enjoying Tyler's company so much. Tyler's currently stuffing some towels into the bag, so he could grab one, or he could very well rummage through his bathroom again, but neither thought lodges into his mind and instead, he goes for practicality. Or well, easy. He grabs the bottom of his shirt, hikes it up some and rubs the fabric against the pup, soaking up what little water there is. And so excuse him as he devotes the majority of his attention to keeping Bandit still, offering a mostly distracted— ] What do you want to do until then? [ Television? A game? Sit around and talk about coffee or his schedule or fans? ]

YOUR SMILE IS A LIE!!!!

[rivalize]

[And to think that mere weeks ago, Tyler sat in his office, adamant on finding a way to get out of his summer class and fighting Tristan's authority, barely soothed by the pitiful fan weeping on the wall. Now? He's walking around in his clothes, petting his dog and just about to share a meal with him. Funny how that works, but he's not complaining. Too bad Tristan's already taking care of Bandit, though—and kind of ruining his shirt—because Tyler has to run back to the bathroom to retrieve the wallet he left on the counter.] I dunno. [It gives him time to ponder the question and—man, he does look pretty lame, catching his reflection in the mirror and cringing at his small figure. He was a goddamn swimmer for years, for hell's sake—how isn't he able to fill these clothes? He's nowhere near Tristan's height—and he's even farther from his shape, if the glimpse he caught of his abs is any indication—and there's a click of his tongue as he walks out, wallet in hand and pants overlapping his bare feet. Tristan's still holding Bandit and he still has no idea what to do. How does he occupy himself in his free time? Gym, obviously, but other than that...] D'you have games? [He looks around and, uh, all things considered? It's probably not his thing, because... well. There's that conversation from the bridge that comes to mind, and he slowly turns his head towards Tristan again—instead of uncertainty, it's mischief that touches his lips.] Or are you too old for that?

I'LL TAKE IT EASY ON YOU FROM NOW ON, FINE

[kindofearthy]

[ And there. Dry. Shirt pulled down and pup set back on the ground, Tristan tightens the line of his lips and huffs something caught between amused and playful. Old? Him? ... Probably. Mid-twenties is usually the cut-off for jerking around with game consoles and video games and the like, but there's still a playstation tucked away below his television and an array of games in the cabinet. With him getting up in years, he's probably supposed to begin collecting board games and card games and things a little less button smashing friendly; though, instead of video and board, there's always the college games, except— ] Actually, I think you're too young. [ And there's the quirk, the one that has his smile widening for the tease. ] Can't break out the good games, the good drinks when you're... nineteen, was it? [ A pause. ] Bummer. [ Obnoxious drinking games, beer pong, yeah, all those ridiculous games the undergraduates obsess themselves with... – hell, maybe he is getting old. He hasn't played any of those in the longest time, not that he'd ever been particularly enthused to play them before, but he only makes mention, because, well, Tyler started it, and he had to finish it. And there, he wanders over to snatch one of his coffees and then... ah, is he really going to have to untangle all the cords and figure out which discs are in which cases? Wouldn't watching television be easier, kid? ]

THAT'S FUNNY I'VE HEARD YOU SAY THAT A MILLION TIMES ALREADY 8|

[rivalize]

[Hey, hey, hey. Hey. Pulling the kid card again, are you? Drinking games aren't Tyler's cup of tea—maybe if he had more friends, things would be different, but he's never seen the appeal of getting wasted to the point of being unable to walk—and he knows it's beside the point, because Tristan's clearly throwing the jab right back at him. So he grins, and if he's mildly offended, it doesn't go beyond the roll of a shoulder and a twitchy curl to his lips.] Well played, smart ass, but y'know it's not what I meant. [Smart ass. He's too busy marvelling at Tristan's quick comeback to even realize what he's just called him, but then he does, and his mouth abruptly shuts. He's... probably not supposed to call him that, is he? He freezes, momentarily thrown off. Really? That sure as hell isn't going to win him any counselor point, but then again, it's not what Tristan is here, even though he isn't completely sure what he's supposed to be. So he shakes his head, as if to snap himself out of the rush of uncertainty that's just taken over him, and he stares at him, defiantly, slightly shaky in his determination not to take it back.] Guess you're gonna have to show me what you old geezers do in your free time, then. I'm not really into soap operas, just so y'know.

SHUSH NOW. and this convo just went ridiculous.

[kindofearthy]

[ … Ah? Smart ass? Brows arch high, eyes round wide and even through the surprise, his lips part and curl, pulling up tight at the edges, because come on, that's funny. Now, he's not condoning language – he's still on the mind-frame that he needs to watch himself around the youth – but Tristan is, in a word, competitive. He likes challenges. He likes being put to the test and ultimately conquering it. Usually, said challenge doesn't come in the form of a short, stubborn-faced teen, but... Tyler's maybe, a tiny bit fun in his unexpectedness and brashness and all that big talk, and for that, Tristan doesn't take offense to a would-be insult. Instead, he tilts his chin up some, cocky and amused, and all too ready to supply a short— ] And I don't like the Ninja Turtles, sorry. [ The exaggeration tied to their ages is, in all honesty, ridiculous, but as usual, Tyler drags Tristan into participating in a back an' forth that's probably as comical as it is embarrassing. Are they really throwing soap operas and mutant turtles at each other? Apparently so, and while Tristan almost wants to shake his head or maybe bury his face in his palm, he merely raises his coffee as though to take a sip before promptly stopping to grin through a mocking— ] Or wait. Excuse me. My Little Ponies. I forgot; your gen went a little more... colorful.

ROFL THEY'RE SUCH KIDS OMG. THAT'S BONDING RIGHT THAR.

[rivalize]

[And it's when Tyler realizes that a book should never be judged by its cover. There's very little left of the man he first saw at school, walking tall and stern and imposing in the halls, and while there's no questioning the guy's backbone, it's his boyish side that shines through now, casual and humane, just another normal man among many others. Except he's not just one among many others. There's a reason Tyler's here, enjoying this exchange that surprisingly grows easier by the second, and if he can't quite pinpoint what it is, he can readily admit that he's particularly interesting. A tad challenging, maybe, and though it's proven to be aggravating in the past—and future, certainly, if there's one to be had—it's nothing he can't handle.

He doesn't back down now, however piqued—slightly—and this is so ridiculous he could laugh. The laid-back, playful ambience's making him feel more comfortable and the spark in his gaze comes easily, good-humored.] Oh, c'mon now. As if I'm actually that young. [A frown creases his face, but there's a grin to take out the rough edges of his expression. He hasn't actually watched the shows—he hasn't had the luxury to watch much of anything in his childhood, period—but he knows about them, probably more than he should. So he joins him, plopping down on the couch with a light, flippant air about him, a cheeky smile to match.] Just so y'know, I'm pretty sure that your gen's started the whole trend with the original show. [Which, as far as he knows, has aired in the 80's. This would make him... way older than he looks, and if he can't be that old, the insinuation is there nonetheless. It's clear they aren't going to watch either, however, and his smile softens, never losing its sassy curve. That's a nice TV he's got there.] But I wouldn't mind a decent movie, if you've any. [There's a brief pause, followed by a light shrug and a bold glint in his eyes. He turns his head towards him, a tease on his lips.] In color. [If you've heard of them, that is.]

CLOSING WITH THIS

[rivalize]

I THOUGHT THIS WAS RELEVANT 8D

No doubt Ty's fav my little pony was that big, brown, idiotic one

[kindofearthy]