[ he listens, eyes fixed on magnus, attention solely on him as he speaks. for a few moments after, he's quiet, a little line between his brows as he gathers how he wants to respond. at last, though, he shifts in the chair, drawing his legs up in it so he's curled neatly in the seat. ]
It is frustrating, and it's upsetting when people try to-- to push something on you that you're not sure you want. [ he folds his arms over the tops of his knees, a fingernail picking absently at a hole in his jeans. ] I had the benefit--if you could call it that--of like.. realizing things about myself pretty early in my life, so I had time to sort through them before I-- [ a gesture, vague, to mean the whole homeless thing and then dying and now ragnarok. ] But you didn't, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's like you said, yeah? We're dead. We have my mother and the end of existence as we know it to think about. You've had crazy shit that's had to take precedence over personal stuff.
[ a pause, and he unfolds his legs again, hanging them instead over the arm of the chair. ]
If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. Otherwise, take your time. [ he hesitates, and his glance finally slides away, expression taking on a slightly complicated, flustered note. ] You're-- You know, important. To me. So if they keep giving you shit, or you want us to move or whatever, just-- You know.
[and Magnus, maybe a bit nerve-wrackingly, doesn't say anything in response for a long few minutes, grey eyes intent on the fine shapes of Alex's face, and then slowly shifting to the far less interesting unlit firepit. finally, after a silence that probably feels somewhat eternal (they'd know), Magnus shifts to mirror Alex's position, his own legs hanging over the side of the chair, across from his. he flops backwards, though, with a plastic creak of the chair under him, staring up at the darkening canopy of leaves above them]
It's something that's mine. [he says quietly; and Alex knows, the density of a statement like that, when you had nothing for so long] Not for people to gawk at or take bets on or argue about with their boyfriends. I'm an undead demigod with a talking sword, what the hel is so interesting about whether I like girls or boys or both or fucking pickled herring?
[his voice is shading into something a little easier now, a little less like granite being pushed across stone and more like the voice of a vaguely stressed, overwrought teenage boy, complaining to his friend. if he lets his eyes blur, it's almost like they're lying in his hotel room in the circular meadow, staring up at the magic sky through which his (or Alex's) tree extends]
-- It's enough that you're here. And that you get it. [a bit shyer, along with an exhale, that sounds like he's forcibly letting some of that tension in his spine go] ...You always get it.
[and one of those hanging feet kicks, easy and dumb, at Alex's foot]
If you're developing precognitive powers, you have to tell me, and not spoil any movie endings, alright.
I have to get it. [ saying it sounds bleak, but it's not inaccurate. growing up in that house with those people had been hell; he'd been forced to confront things about himself probably a lot earlier than he should have. and with his mother being who he is, well.. ] And even if I didn't, I'd-- [ a slight fidget, picking at the hole in his pants again. ] I'd try, because it's you. I'd learn.
[ and that's that. magnus and samirah and floor nineteen and hearth and blitz are the only family he's ever really had, and he chose them, and he's fought for them and died for them and he'll do it again and again, in any form he has to, to keep them.
he kicks his own foot out, booted toes glancing against the other boy's ankle. ]
I have all kinds of mysterious reality-altering magic, precognition's just one of them, I'm sure. So just keep Doctor Who in mind the next time you decide to use the word 'wiggle' around here.
[it's just not a joke he'd make with anyone else, ever. he's literally just told Alex, that his sexuality is serious to him, and not for the eyes of others, and a little raw and broken feeling from a premature death, and -- therefore something he can share with Alex, who understands every single one of those things. Alex, who will always be there for him, and who he hopes he can one day be even an quarter as strong as, who he -- feels deeply for, in some way that he hasn't defined yet, to himself]
[Magnus sits up, and the idiot beach chair suddenly flattens under him, because they're pieces of crap they found in a dumpster and washed off in the river. it's a short, 4-inch drop, and it doesn't phase Magnus, though it means he's looking mournfully up at Alex through the other's shoes, from the dirt]
You'll have to try and learn to deal with it, right?
[ alex's nose wrinkles up at the bridge like he's smelled something gross, and he sits up to unlace his boots, kicking them off into the grass at magnus's side. his socks follow, leaving bare feet with alarmingly hot-pink painted toenails. ]
I'm accepting of your choices and your kinks, Magnus--even if they're pickled-herring or wiggle-related--but bringing your wiggly conquests back to the tent is where I draw the line.
[ he bobs a foot pushing a little against the other teen's shoulder. ]
I have to sleep there, too, and I won't if I have to wonder what kind of wiggling you've been getting up to. [ ... ew. he's grossed himself out with his overuse of 'wiggle'. ]
[it proves to be too much for Magnus as well, who turns a bright red (visible even in the dimming light). a laugh bursts out of him, likely more surprising to him than Alex, and he covers one side of his face with his hand in embarassment. snickering continuing with uneven snorts, he teeters slightly with the pressure on his shoulder, and after a moment, steadies himself by wrapping a lose hand around Alex's ankle. his touch is so light, so tenuous, and nothing like boys-will-be-boys rough housing; it's like he doesn't want to leave any heavy marks, on something he considers precious]
[ despite himself, it's a struggle for him to control his own expression as magnus bursts into laughter, but he manages it with his usual force of will. instead, then, he simply lifts his brows, cool as a cucumber. (maybe there's a twitch at the corner of his mouth. just a little one.)
he bounces his foot a little beneath the pressure of magnus's hand, then, surprising himself both with how comfortable he is with the contact and with how aware of it he is. he pays attention to magnus, of course, but this is.. different. ]
I'm just grossly affirming and supportive, please respect my life choices.
Now I have to respect your respect? Where does it end, in this liberal age...?
[Magnus manages to stop snickering, drops the hand from his (still pink) face, to brace on the ground. he's not nearly as fast at dropping the other hand, and in fact -- gives Alex's ankle a gentle squeeze. maybe it's a thank you, or a press of affection, or maybe all those times getting his hand chopped off have led to some post-mortem nerve damage. whatever the reason, there's a soft press of his lifelines against boyish anklebones, and then he drops his hand, shifting away and up to his bare feet]
We're all a bunch of hippie tree-huggers, I guess.
[ the touch lingers against his ankle even after magnus has removed his hand, leaving alex feeling inexplicably self-conscious about it. it amazes him at times that magnus can ever doubt himself, when he's so-- warm, accepting, good. (like sunshine.)
the suggestion earns a small noise, though, and alex too rolls out of his chair and to his feet, stretching, going up on his toes briefly. ]
Yeah, guess you're right. --If you'll clean up after, I'll fix any of your clothes that need a button or a hole sewn up.
My stuff's not nice like yours, it's not really worth your time.
[there's probably not a single item Magnus owns, that doesn't have at least some sort of hole or pull or rip in it; the jeans he's wearing today have his entire knees gaping out, but between his lack of fashion sense and homeostatic body temperature, ripped clothing has never been a huge concern of his. he catches himself watching Alex stretch, and looks away, actually grabbing the tools to light the fire]
It's cool you know how to do that stuff. But I don't mind, and I actually like cleaning up more than cooking. [he makes a dubious face, confessing, as he sets about lighting the fire] My diet was like... 70% pizza before you got here? 75%? I never even took Home Ec in middle school. I did the Engineering class where you just play computer games the whole time while you're supposed to be making models of bridges, or whatever that class actually was.
[the fire lights, and Magnus shifts their grill over it. he's feeling a lot better, that pressure in his chest all but gone; maybe they're good at moving on (they are moved on), but probably it's Alex, who settles him so completely. even if he doubts himself, he never doubts Alex, anymore]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It is frustrating, and it's upsetting when people try to-- to push something on you that you're not sure you want. [ he folds his arms over the tops of his knees, a fingernail picking absently at a hole in his jeans. ] I had the benefit--if you could call it that--of like.. realizing things about myself pretty early in my life, so I had time to sort through them before I-- [ a gesture, vague, to mean the whole homeless thing and then dying and now ragnarok. ] But you didn't, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's like you said, yeah? We're dead. We have my mother and the end of existence as we know it to think about. You've had crazy shit that's had to take precedence over personal stuff.
[ a pause, and he unfolds his legs again, hanging them instead over the arm of the chair. ]
If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. Otherwise, take your time. [ he hesitates, and his glance finally slides away, expression taking on a slightly complicated, flustered note. ] You're-- You know, important. To me. So if they keep giving you shit, or you want us to move or whatever, just-- You know.
no subject
It's something that's mine. [he says quietly; and Alex knows, the density of a statement like that, when you had nothing for so long] Not for people to gawk at or take bets on or argue about with their boyfriends. I'm an undead demigod with a talking sword, what the hel is so interesting about whether I like girls or boys or both or fucking pickled herring?
[his voice is shading into something a little easier now, a little less like granite being pushed across stone and more like the voice of a vaguely stressed, overwrought teenage boy, complaining to his friend. if he lets his eyes blur, it's almost like they're lying in his hotel room in the circular meadow, staring up at the magic sky through which his (or Alex's) tree extends]
-- It's enough that you're here. And that you get it. [a bit shyer, along with an exhale, that sounds like he's forcibly letting some of that tension in his spine go] ...You always get it.
[and one of those hanging feet kicks, easy and dumb, at Alex's foot]
If you're developing precognitive powers, you have to tell me, and not spoil any movie endings, alright.
no subject
[ and that's that. magnus and samirah and floor nineteen and hearth and blitz are the only family he's ever really had, and he chose them, and he's fought for them and died for them and he'll do it again and again, in any form he has to, to keep them.
he kicks his own foot out, booted toes glancing against the other boy's ankle. ]
I have all kinds of mysterious reality-altering magic, precognition's just one of them, I'm sure. So just keep Doctor Who in mind the next time you decide to use the word 'wiggle' around here.
no subject
[it's just not a joke he'd make with anyone else, ever. he's literally just told Alex, that his sexuality is serious to him, and not for the eyes of others, and a little raw and broken feeling from a premature death, and -- therefore something he can share with Alex, who understands every single one of those things. Alex, who will always be there for him, and who he hopes he can one day be even an quarter as strong as, who he -- feels deeply for, in some way that he hasn't defined yet, to himself]
[Magnus sits up, and the idiot beach chair suddenly flattens under him, because they're pieces of crap they found in a dumpster and washed off in the river. it's a short, 4-inch drop, and it doesn't phase Magnus, though it means he's looking mournfully up at Alex through the other's shoes, from the dirt]
You'll have to try and learn to deal with it, right?
no subject
I'm accepting of your choices and your kinks, Magnus--even if they're pickled-herring or wiggle-related--but bringing your wiggly conquests back to the tent is where I draw the line.
[ he bobs a foot pushing a little against the other teen's shoulder. ]
I have to sleep there, too, and I won't if I have to wonder what kind of wiggling you've been getting up to. [ ... ew. he's grossed himself out with his overuse of 'wiggle'. ]
no subject
Shut up, that's too supportive...?
no subject
he bounces his foot a little beneath the pressure of magnus's hand, then, surprising himself both with how comfortable he is with the contact and with how aware of it he is. he pays attention to magnus, of course, but this is.. different. ]
I'm just grossly affirming and supportive, please respect my life choices.
no subject
[Magnus manages to stop snickering, drops the hand from his (still pink) face, to brace on the ground. he's not nearly as fast at dropping the other hand, and in fact -- gives Alex's ankle a gentle squeeze. maybe it's a thank you, or a press of affection, or maybe all those times getting his hand chopped off have led to some post-mortem nerve damage. whatever the reason, there's a soft press of his lifelines against boyish anklebones, and then he drops his hand, shifting away and up to his bare feet]
Um, we should get started on dinner...
no subject
[ the touch lingers against his ankle even after magnus has removed his hand, leaving alex feeling inexplicably self-conscious about it. it amazes him at times that magnus can ever doubt himself, when he's so-- warm, accepting, good. (like sunshine.)
the suggestion earns a small noise, though, and alex too rolls out of his chair and to his feet, stretching, going up on his toes briefly. ]
Yeah, guess you're right. --If you'll clean up after, I'll fix any of your clothes that need a button or a hole sewn up.
no subject
[there's probably not a single item Magnus owns, that doesn't have at least some sort of hole or pull or rip in it; the jeans he's wearing today have his entire knees gaping out, but between his lack of fashion sense and homeostatic body temperature, ripped clothing has never been a huge concern of his. he catches himself watching Alex stretch, and looks away, actually grabbing the tools to light the fire]
It's cool you know how to do that stuff. But I don't mind, and I actually like cleaning up more than cooking. [he makes a dubious face, confessing, as he sets about lighting the fire] My diet was like... 70% pizza before you got here? 75%? I never even took Home Ec in middle school. I did the Engineering class where you just play computer games the whole time while you're supposed to be making models of bridges, or whatever that class actually was.
[the fire lights, and Magnus shifts their grill over it. he's feeling a lot better, that pressure in his chest all but gone; maybe they're good at moving on (they are moved on), but probably it's Alex, who settles him so completely. even if he doubts himself, he never doubts Alex, anymore]