So I probably consider myself a little responsible for you. That's something normal to me, here and now. [ Something he never loses as he gets older. ] You seem like a nice guy.
[ And yet, when Taylor told him? He'd found reason to believe it. He had a way of just setting you at ease, without trying. Even Sam, ever socially cautious and fearful of saying or doing something 'weird' or off-putting, felt relaxed in his presence.
As he does now, even with Taylor presenting very differently from normal. ]
Bullshit. Everyone needs a chill introvert in their social circle. [ It's a thing, right? Right. IF it isn't it damn well should be. ] Clearly you're mine.
Going from the pretty stressed out log I left myself in case this happened to me? I'm inclined to agree. [ He doesn't have the full picture- but what he does have? Seems like enough to put that much together. ] Good to know I've got a place like that with you.
[ That was where it was most often, in any case. Tucked into a corner of that cozy little Texas homestead that he sometimes retreated to as well, when he was older.
This. This was something. Friendship? Maybe. But it was something, the way they turned to lean on each other like this. He wasn't sure how to feel about it still...only that Taylor's smile tended to have his stomach in quivering knots for reasons he couldn't specify. ]
In the house? [ Gabriel (North, the notes said), implied it was a friend's and that- well that friend must be him. Okay, cool, he knows where to find it. ] I can put on a pot of coffee and we can just-
[ Vague handwaving goes here, less awkward and flippant and more simply for the sake of motion. Chilling isn't the right word, nor is relaxing. Just. Existing around one another. He doesn't remember this kid but- he feels comfortable here. It feels calm in the back of his head like it usually isn't when he's got too much time to think. ]
If you could've gone in on your own you're welcome to. Apparently I am as just as twitchy about security when I'm older as I am now- strict protocols have been programmed into the biome. You're on the 'always acceptable' list.
[ It's a short list, but he's right up there on the top. ]
[ Taylor levers himself off the railing and motions for Sam to follow; it's just a short walk, which he prefers over the whole flying business. Too weird.
Soon as they hit the cool east texan air he's a little more relaxed. This is familiar, this is safe, and he's got good company. ]
[ Sam trails, observing the lay of the land. This is where Taylor feels most at home. A replica of his own home. His own area is far less inviting, on the whole.
Why is that, he wonders? Why didn't he also think of home when offered somewhere to call his own? ]
That you're introverted but not entirely antisocial, you like music, your cat, don't much care for beer, green's a color that you prefer or gravitate too, you're warm, favor your right side for leaning into a grapple when we're sparring, prefer latin cuisine if I get up the guff to cook, actually have a dry sense of humor contrary to popular belief, and have more patience with my quirks than most.
[ A thorough rundown of what he could recall as he lets Sam inside, flicking on the lights. Warm. Cozy. The guitar's propped up next to the sofa, waiting to be played. ]
[ It's startling to hear, even if he'd asked, exactly how much detail Taylor put into remembering him. But surprising? No. He's not surprised. Not really. Taylor had said they were friends, and Sam trusted that fact wholly and utterly. ]
Now I feel a little foolish for not having left myself a list.
[ With a shy quirk of his lips, he lets himself in, instinctively moving towards a spot on the couch that feels like 'his'. ]
It also has listed that you were among the first to change so- maybe you didn't get a chance to before people got wise about this happening? IF you want you can do like me and leave your future self a letter.
[ Seriously, he needs to be more professional in his correspondence if he's gonna write it up like a damn briefing. ]
Comfy? [ He puts a pot of coffee on for himself but it'll be brewed soon enough. Locus/Sam's sofa has a green throw- something York had knit on a whim a month or so ago. All neat lines in geometric shapes in soothing shades of green and grey. Taylor shifts himself to pull up the guitar, fingers finding the frets like keys to a lock. ] Got any requests?
[ And he just shakes his head again, hand reaching up to smooth his hair back out of his face. Clipped to the shoulders, it's somehow harder to keep out of his face, constantly being swept back behind an ear. ]
You tend to play whatever comes to mind. I like being surprised.
[ In this regard, at least. His teeth needle his lower lip gently before he seems to relax into the throw. His throw. His little corner of Taylor's home, the space that he occupied in his life, regardless what stage of it he happened to be living.
He'd still made sure that Sam had a place. That warmed something in his chest significantly, made it grow a little tighter as he tipped his head, waiting for those first few notes. ]
[ Somehow that's endearing- it softens the angles of his face, brings out the wide grey of his eyes. Not that Taylor often finds such things endearing, and yet? Having a space for Locus in what is apparently his home, something he'd made to make him feel like he has a place here? Half of him wonders if they are 'just friends' or if his older self doesn't have something more intimate tucked away in secret in mind for them.
THat is, of course, giving himself too much credit.
Taylor focuses on the warmth of the wood in his hands, muscle memory taking over as he starts strumming out a vague melody. All low and lazy and twangy, no particular rhyme or reason or meter to it. Just. Noodling around and letting his mind unwind. ]
[ He always seems to unwind in the same way. Mouth first, a little slack to his lips as he considers the notes, then shoulders, then finally the creases around his eyes. However many there happen to be, in a given moment.
Sam stares a little too long, perhaps, but he wants to take in the details. To know him as well as Taylor seems to know him. What would he write to himself to describe Taylor?
Kind? Yes. Honest, if only because he's terrible at lying. Needs something to do with his hands or his mind, something to occupy his busy mind. Doesn't laugh often, but smirks, makes light even when that humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. Friend, he's a friend, and he...
He likes him. Feels this strange tug in his chest around him that he isn't quite sure what to do with, other than quietly press back down again, in favor of this comfortable silence between them. ]
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Yes. We are friends.
[ And isn't that something remarkable all on its own? ]
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[ And yet, when Taylor told him? He'd found reason to believe it. He had a way of just setting you at ease, without trying. Even Sam, ever socially cautious and fearful of saying or doing something 'weird' or off-putting, felt relaxed in his presence.
As he does now, even with Taylor presenting very differently from normal. ]
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If you say so.
[ Right. He's just going to...avoid saying anything stupid. Yes? Yes. ]
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[ Which isn't something he's all that bothered by. His people are his people and he keeps an eye on them. Keeping an eye on Sam? Not a burden. ]
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[ He shrugs again, eyes straying to the sea of stars. ]
We're just...around each other sometimes. Not always for anything in particular, if that makes sense.
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[ Lest he think all of this is just a series of him doing Sam favors. ]
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[ He's quick to point that fact out, as his gaze shifts sideways and he looks mildly...embarrassed isn't quite the word, but it's close. ]
But, yes. Whenever you want it.
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[ It'd be nice, that quiet place. Calm companionship. ]
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[ That was where it was most often, in any case. Tucked into a corner of that cozy little Texas homestead that he sometimes retreated to as well, when he was older.
This. This was something. Friendship? Maybe. But it was something, the way they turned to lean on each other like this. He wasn't sure how to feel about it still...only that Taylor's smile tended to have his stomach in quivering knots for reasons he couldn't specify. ]
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[ Vague handwaving goes here, less awkward and flippant and more simply for the sake of motion. Chilling isn't the right word, nor is relaxing. Just. Existing around one another. He doesn't remember this kid but- he feels comfortable here. It feels calm in the back of his head like it usually isn't when he's got too much time to think. ]
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[ But being there with him? Yeah. He can definitely think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. ]
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[ It's a short list, but he's right up there on the top. ]
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[ But the revelation clearly pleases him, as he straightens slightly.
But he still hesitates, still subtly waiting​ to follow York's lead. ]
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Soon as they hit the cool east texan air he's a little more relaxed. This is familiar, this is safe, and he's got good company. ]
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Why is that, he wonders? Why didn't he also think of home when offered somewhere to call his own? ]
Did your notes...say anything else about me?
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[ A thorough rundown of what he could recall as he lets Sam inside, flicking on the lights. Warm. Cozy. The guitar's propped up next to the sofa, waiting to be played. ]
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Now I feel a little foolish for not having left myself a list.
[ With a shy quirk of his lips, he lets himself in, instinctively moving towards a spot on the couch that feels like 'his'. ]
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[ Seriously, he needs to be more professional in his correspondence if he's gonna write it up like a damn briefing. ]
Comfy? [ He puts a pot of coffee on for himself but it'll be brewed soon enough. Locus/Sam's sofa has a green throw- something York had knit on a whim a month or so ago. All neat lines in geometric shapes in soothing shades of green and grey. Taylor shifts himself to pull up the guitar, fingers finding the frets like keys to a lock. ] Got any requests?
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You tend to play whatever comes to mind. I like being surprised.
[ In this regard, at least. His teeth needle his lower lip gently before he seems to relax into the throw. His throw. His little corner of Taylor's home, the space that he occupied in his life, regardless what stage of it he happened to be living.
He'd still made sure that Sam had a place. That warmed something in his chest significantly, made it grow a little tighter as he tipped his head, waiting for those first few notes. ]
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THat is, of course, giving himself too much credit.
Taylor focuses on the warmth of the wood in his hands, muscle memory taking over as he starts strumming out a vague melody. All low and lazy and twangy, no particular rhyme or reason or meter to it. Just. Noodling around and letting his mind unwind. ]
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Sam stares a little too long, perhaps, but he wants to take in the details. To know him as well as Taylor seems to know him. What would he write to himself to describe Taylor?
Kind? Yes. Honest, if only because he's terrible at lying. Needs something to do with his hands or his mind, something to occupy his busy mind. Doesn't laugh often, but smirks, makes light even when that humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. Friend, he's a friend, and he...
He likes him. Feels this strange tug in his chest around him that he isn't quite sure what to do with, other than quietly press back down again, in favor of this comfortable silence between them. ]
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