chokuto

[He can count on one hand the number of people he's had personal conversations with, let alone... advice. So—]

I am. Where?

[ a map location sent to Sasuke's watch: a small restaurant inside of the early bird hall. unassuming fare made quick over a grill, but its hours are already closed for the day. ]

meet me in a couple hours

[He doesn't recognize the location, to no shock.]

That's not very specific.

Two hours.

[Whether or not his mystery stranger agrees — Sasuke arrives, two hours later on the dot, to find the unobtrusive little restaurant cold and dark past closing time. He's dressed in a plain, gray sweatshirt over dark drawstring slacks, form-fitted, left sleeve hanging loose. He has not changed much at all since the last time Guanshan saw him, not physically, though there is a softness around mismatched eyes that speaks to better nights of sleep. Yet the furrow is still there, permanently lined, and his mouth is a downward curve.]

[ two hours it is. ]

[ it means he has to hurry through the rest of his shopping and make some gut-instinct snap decisions. still, when Sasuke finds himself walking into the kitchen, he'll be assaulted by the aroma of a well-prepared dinner: rich and oily and unctuous, something that speaks of sticking to the ribs. in the normal world, it's still winter, and those are the things still in fresh stock in the markets: brothy soup with lotus root and scallions, baked white fish over lemon and greens, garlicy green beans, stirfried winter melon, an accoutrement of mixed pickles. Guanshan, still donning a well-used apron, is dishing out bowls of rice as Sasuke walks through the door, a shadow that drags the attention of amber eyes. ]

Figured you'd be the punctual type.

[ it was just a guess, but he's happy to see it proven true; the grin is tired but fleeting. he puts a bowl of rice down at each plate he's made, bar stools pulled up to a counter. there's water, and as he closes the rice cooker, a pot of tea gets put between the two. ]

I'm just gonna rinse some dishes. Start eatin', mophead.

[Uncertainty slows him on the way into the restaurant, caught on the impression that he has found the wrong location — yet the sight of a tall boy, red-haired and sharp-featured, instead nails in his earlier intuition. He had encountered so few individuals upon arrival in the resort, let alone anyone that he had given advice... except for one, a memory of palely freckled skin and bruised eyes vivid for the fact of its later absence. Sasuke had not gotten a name. His mind had gone to him more than once since, in question, in concern — but in the end he'd surrendered to the capricious nature of forces not well understood.

The food draws his eye, then the apron, then a mismatched gaze lifts to meet gold. And dip, again, in deference that is less shyness than a desperately learned defense.]

I thought you were gone.

[Sasuke's voice is quiet, serious as he approaches one of the stools, slipping onto it with a grace that betrays the strength he'd demonstrated once between them. Once the other boy's back is turned, he returns to observation — a scour of a look across the whole kitchen that settles at last on a slender spine. He doesn't eat yet, though he bends toward the bowl and plate as if in contemplation of them. The mix of scents fill his nose; his stomach clenches in unrealized hunger.]

What happened? ... Are you all right?

Edited 2024-02-24 03:17 (UTC)

[ for a long moment, the spray of the heavier dishes being rinsed is all that answers him, Guanshan still electing to choose his words carefully around someone whose strength can so eclipse him. both of their bodies know something of learned defenses on rote. ]

Don't think I had it as bad as some other people. Hospital for a while, basement for a while longer. [ there's an resignation to universal truth in his voice as he lays the pans on the rack ready to be sanitized. ] Sometimes people just get lost.

[ bony fingers pull at a knot on his midriff until the twice-looped thread falls off of his waist. he folds it a few times, leaving it somewhat crumpled behind on the pristine counters; Sasuke's untouched food catches a look of ire. the tray the food's displayed upon is given an eager few raps of knuckles. ]

Eat, [ more forcefully. thankfully, he doesn't stand to see it through, instead circling to join him. there's a jar of chili oil between them he spoons egregiously onto his fish, utensils a-clatter on glass and porcelain. it's awkward. he fills it, awkwardly: ]

What about you?

[The hospital, then the basement. Lost. For so many weeks? A concerning thought, but it isn't one that he voices, holding his tongue as the other boy finishes that task and circles around the counter, apron shed and folded.

Sasuke doesn't intend to be ungrateful, but he is slower to eat by nature — it is only after the instruction that he bends to that will and searches for utensils, taken one-handed. His bites are small and well-chosen, chewed carefully.]

... It's good. [Clearly the work of a familiar art. Yet, all of this for him? Why would he go so far?] I'm fine. [A piece of fish is neatly placed on rice and delivered to his mouth, then swallowed.] The first month was difficult, but it has been... admittedly easier, since then. I consider myself fortunate. But it doesn't make our fate here more tolerable.

[Not with so much uncertainty built into every day.]

You never told me your name.

[ the compliment doesn't sit so well on him, dismissed with a grunt as it is, Guanshan still unable to bring himself to address what went unspoken: I looked for you. he watches the precise nature of this task as he forks too many green beans in his mouth, strands poking out of lips before gnashing teeth, residue of garlic butter staining one cheek. ]

[ smart he may not be, but he is a good listener, hears the things between those statements: I did some things I had to do and got over it. his chopsticks jab at the meat between fine, sharp fish bones as he ignores the reflex that attempts to beguile him with an image of it. ]

Mo Guanshan, [ he relents like a tooth pulled. when there's nothing agitating that unpredictable fire in him, Guanshan is quiet and reticent, a boy of few words unable to fit the volume of his deep emotions. after some moments of utensil-scraping plate, he inches himself carefully towards a limelight: ]

Don't think too much about it. The chef said I could use it here'n there, so I would'a cooked anyway. [ gratitude would sit on him as well as compliments do; better to diffuse it early. another beat where he's obviously weighing his words carefully passes, and then: ] You helped me. I just don't have that many skills.

[ maybe now each of them will have a clear conscience. ]

[Discomfort doesn't exist in the silences for Sasuke, who eats quietly, companionably, brought naturally to the same type of reticence in most moments. Without the distractions of black eyes and bruises, this is — a mellowed interaction, an exchange in equal message meant to connect them as much as sluice off the expectation of a debt.

Not that Sasuke's considered it as such, but he understands that need as if it belongs to him.

Mo Guanshan. He rolls it in his mind, committed to memory.]

Cooking is a considerable one. You'll save resources and be better able to control what is in your food if you aren't purchasing it from the establishments here. [A brutal truth.] What are your other skills?

[An innocent question as he sets down his utensil and leans on the elbow of his right arm, looking over at the other boy. Curiosity touches the soft features of a face where dark hair doesn't hang to conceal it.]

Right. Yeah.

[ conclusions he had reached just as well, capable of giving himself a pragmatic look to find value here and there — through the lens of the brutal society in which he was raised. the application carries, some: he can better preserve his own choices, and others', but it doesn't assist in any of the goals that matter. ]

[ Sasuke's question is difficult to not pick apart with the self-devouring need to understand its motivation, meeting mismatched eyes for a brief moment before they dance and flicker away like a flame's tail. ]

I can... clean... 'n do laundry. [ a beat. he knows there's no impressing anyone with this basic list of survival skills, least of all the guy who had the decency and strength to pick his wounded body up from the floor and carry him... somewhere safe. his hands have stopped moving and he stares at them, the bluish veins wiring around busted-up knuckles. ] ...I'm a hard worker.

[It wasn't asked with any ulterior motive, and he only nods to hear Guanshan's list without judgment.]

Being a hard worker is a good trait to have in a place like this. Survival isn't always about strength. [He doesn't know if Guanshan's thoughts took him in that direction, but — he understands the vulnerability of powerlessness.] And your other skills aren't useless. They'll keep you self-sufficient.

[Another silence eats up the space between them as he returns to the meal, bowing himself to it, inhaling the scent of food and warm steam that bathes his face. He cannot recall the last time he enjoyed a homecooked meal, let alone made all for him. It is softening, a thawing of sentiment.]

If you ever need help... you can contact me.

[ is it? he thinks to argue. these particular challenges aren't ones he thinks can simply be overcome — how does one learn how to tilt back and expose the jugular? there are some things that go against instinct and it feels unbreakable. ]

[ he says none of it; by and large, because he doesn't know him well enough. he isn't so unused to his entire world being so transactional, nor of others being so open and obvious about it, but there's a particularly meandering way he thinks Sasuke is going about this. there's a lot of things it could be: manners, manipulation, genuine awkwardness or inexperience. ]

[ Guanshan swallows a gulp full of tea, too warm all the way down, and hedges his bets: ]

What, like you wanna fuck?

[Sasuke — chokes. Mid-chew, a hard swallow gets the food down his throat.]

No.

[His face is a flush of red, reserve and reticence cracked down the middle, for once betraying his age in a conspicuous way.]

I don't... do that. [With effort, he places down his utensil down and stares at the counter for a moment, gathering composure in order to explain the meaning of his words. Communication. It is not so easy, in practice, especially with someone new.] Not that I don't, you know. [Fuck.] In this place it's not a choice. But I wouldn't offer something like that so lightly. We aren't familiar with each other in that way, so it would be an uncomfortable proposition.

[At least, for him.]

You should find someone who you trust. And are... attracted to. [???] I meant that if you needed help in some other way while you become accustomed to this dimension.

[ this display, and all Guanshan does is shuffle around his sticky rice tepidly. it's a sweet proposition; he will not take him up on it. at least, not without some kind of desperate facilitation. his stomach is telling him not to trust him, but that thing's never been reliable either. still, Sasuke didn't take advantage of him, regardless of ample opportunities and that counts for plenty. ]

[ he hums with chopsticks in his mouth, a mix of contemplative and affirming... ]

So you do fuck, just not me? [ a lean forward, forcing them to make eye contact — and Guanshan pursues like a belly exposed. ] What, am I ugly?

[The eye contact is brief, furtive, stealing away as soon as contact is established — face tinted by another telling flush of color.]

That's not what I said.

[Yet it seems the longer this moment endures, the worse he tangles up the meaning of words. Communication remains a novelty unwrapped, his own directness serving to thwart intention due to the great depth of his inexperience; he doesn't want to trip over every step he treads, but it feels inevitable.]

I don't do it casually with just anyone. I'd rather we know each other first, before that. But — you aren't unattractive. [This is the best he can do.] I wouldn't be against it. In the future.

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