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Apr. 6th, 2010 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceThis is the most writing I will probably get done all day, so:
ETA: this is NOT an actual story. Because then it would have headers and stuff. But. It's pretty?
Jeremy tends to give Misha any available chairs. They all do, the disorganized affectionate pack that surround and infiltrate Jeremy's life, as if Misha's leg is falling off instead of just damaged. It's only been an hour and Misha's had to tell three people that no, he doesn't want them to fetch a folding chair from Jeff's deck, thank you, he's fine on the log like everybody else. It's a beach bonfire, for God's sake-- apparently the last one expected for the year. Misha dressed for utility, ash and sand and sticky bits of marshmallow.
He'd have been fine on the sand, too, but that was where Jeremy drew a hard line. Misha picks his battles. And it isn't as if he doesn't quietly enjoy the way Jeremy insinuated himself between Misha's bent legs, his back against the log and his shoulders against Misha's belly. It lets Misha tuck the worn flannel blanket around his own shoulders over Jeremy, who would freeze himself solid if not watched.
People keep glancing over at them, knowing. Jeremy doesn't notice, watching Zach re-tune his beloved old guitar, and Misha doesn't mind. Let them think they know more than they actually do. There are a few who get the truth of it: Jensen, for one. Zach and Wendy. Kane, maybe, who distrusts Misha as much as Misha would distrust anybody else in his own position.
And then there's Jeff, who trusts too much for an abolitionist. Misha would be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel a certain pang of symmetry, watching Jeff watch his son. But Jeff has friends and money and breeding; Misha's mother had a car and a bunch of pamphlets.
And apparently he's tensed, because Jeremy puts his head back, watching Misha upside-down. Signs: Are you okay?
If he forces a smile, Jeremy will worry more, not less. Misha just nods and shrugs a little.
Jeremy tilts his head, and that does get Misha to smile; they've reached the point where small gestures move between them like a cold. Do you want to go? Jeremy asks.
Shaking his head, Misha responds, I'm fine, I'm medicated, I'm fed and watered.
Jeremy hums, the vibration of his ribs against Misha's stomach almost shockingly intimate, and hitches a thumb at Jensen. Bored? I'm sure we can get, and their improvised personal sign for Jensen, a J swooped around the face to indicate both 'freckles' and 'pretty', to sing something if we annoy him enough.
Misha glances at Jensen, who's been dragged from one side of the beach to the other by Bodhi and who's nodding seriously now as Bodhi points out something shiny at the tideline. It's perversely funny to see Jensen torn between getting his jeans-hem wet and trailing Jeff's son like it's a sacred duty. Which, to Jensen's tweaked reasoning, it probably is.
These are not his friends; they're not his people in any way except the accidental. Misha reminds himself of that as often and as brutally as possible, because he has enough problems without putting weight on ground that won't hold him. He's with the person he likes best, and so he's content to be silent and watchful as a shadow.
I'm fine, Misha signs, and tucks the edges of the blankets around Jeremy again. I'm happy.
ETA: this is NOT an actual story. Because then it would have headers and stuff. But. It's pretty?
Jeremy tends to give Misha any available chairs. They all do, the disorganized affectionate pack that surround and infiltrate Jeremy's life, as if Misha's leg is falling off instead of just damaged. It's only been an hour and Misha's had to tell three people that no, he doesn't want them to fetch a folding chair from Jeff's deck, thank you, he's fine on the log like everybody else. It's a beach bonfire, for God's sake-- apparently the last one expected for the year. Misha dressed for utility, ash and sand and sticky bits of marshmallow.
He'd have been fine on the sand, too, but that was where Jeremy drew a hard line. Misha picks his battles. And it isn't as if he doesn't quietly enjoy the way Jeremy insinuated himself between Misha's bent legs, his back against the log and his shoulders against Misha's belly. It lets Misha tuck the worn flannel blanket around his own shoulders over Jeremy, who would freeze himself solid if not watched.
People keep glancing over at them, knowing. Jeremy doesn't notice, watching Zach re-tune his beloved old guitar, and Misha doesn't mind. Let them think they know more than they actually do. There are a few who get the truth of it: Jensen, for one. Zach and Wendy. Kane, maybe, who distrusts Misha as much as Misha would distrust anybody else in his own position.
And then there's Jeff, who trusts too much for an abolitionist. Misha would be lying to himself if he said he didn't feel a certain pang of symmetry, watching Jeff watch his son. But Jeff has friends and money and breeding; Misha's mother had a car and a bunch of pamphlets.
And apparently he's tensed, because Jeremy puts his head back, watching Misha upside-down. Signs: Are you okay?
If he forces a smile, Jeremy will worry more, not less. Misha just nods and shrugs a little.
Jeremy tilts his head, and that does get Misha to smile; they've reached the point where small gestures move between them like a cold. Do you want to go? Jeremy asks.
Shaking his head, Misha responds, I'm fine, I'm medicated, I'm fed and watered.
Jeremy hums, the vibration of his ribs against Misha's stomach almost shockingly intimate, and hitches a thumb at Jensen. Bored? I'm sure we can get, and their improvised personal sign for Jensen, a J swooped around the face to indicate both 'freckles' and 'pretty', to sing something if we annoy him enough.
Misha glances at Jensen, who's been dragged from one side of the beach to the other by Bodhi and who's nodding seriously now as Bodhi points out something shiny at the tideline. It's perversely funny to see Jensen torn between getting his jeans-hem wet and trailing Jeff's son like it's a sacred duty. Which, to Jensen's tweaked reasoning, it probably is.
These are not his friends; they're not his people in any way except the accidental. Misha reminds himself of that as often and as brutally as possible, because he has enough problems without putting weight on ground that won't hold him. He's with the person he likes best, and so he's content to be silent and watchful as a shadow.
I'm fine, Misha signs, and tucks the edges of the blankets around Jeremy again. I'm happy.
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no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 10:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 11:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-06 11:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 01:07 am (UTC)And I love your icon. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 12:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 12:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 12:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-04-07 01:59 pm (UTC)I love the intimacy and knowing-each-other that's developed between Misha and Jeremy. And I ache that Misha still feels completely outside the rest of the group. I want it to be all warm fuzzy families, because that's how I roll, apparently, even if it's not realistic given who Misha is at this point. Damn your realistic, complicated, awesome writing!
no subject
Date: 2010-04-09 07:15 am (UTC)*pets them*
I love your Misha and Jeremy and I love them together. This makes my heart smile. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-06-14 01:47 pm (UTC)LOL.
I loved this though!!!