[ there is a slightly hesitant pause as sasha tries to weigh up the possibilities of whether he will be murdered/robbed, and tries to settle the sudden onset of nerves with the reassurance that he is probably physically fit enough to hold his own in a fight, though his experience in this area has been minimal.
either way, the key point here is that it's too late for take backs. wondering about potential murder is too late down the line. ]
Hold on, let me — let me buzz you up. I'm on the sixth floor.
[ his fingers skitter nervously over the appropriate button, but he presses it all the same, and once he's sure that the intercom stranger is in the building, he dashes away to flick on a couple of lights. he's never been so thankful for energy saving light bulbs and the slow build of brightness. on a similar note, he is pleased that he does not own much outside of books (most of them in russian or spanish) and a smattering of clothes. at least there's not much here to steal.
he needs to stop thinking that that's what is going to happen. it's making him more anxious than he already is, and he has always been a fairly anxious person to start with. there is no clutter to straighten up; he's a frightfully tidy person.
the wait seems endless. sasha tries to consider how long a pause he will allow between the doorbell being rung and answering it, to try and give off the illusion that he has not been staring at the door for the entire time that the stranger has been making his way upstairs. he reminds himself to ask for a name; it's no good just calling him "the stranger" all the time. ]
[ jens is... without any kind of nerves, though perhaps that's simply because he's not the one inviting an unfamiliar man - an unfamiliar man that he hasn't even seen - into the security of his home. it may also have to do with the fact that, if for some reason this kind stranger decided to do something less kind, jens could take him. he's currently weaponless as he knows the people he'll be dealing with on this trip fairly well and they aren't really the kind to whip out guns at any sign of trouble, but jens is fairly good with his fists, confident enough to accept this generosity without a hitch. ]
Thanks. Thanks so much. [ jens moves to the door and waits a moment, wondering if maybe the stranger will second guess himself, but then the latch lifts and he pushes into the dry warmth of the building. heavenly. he wipes his boots on the mat at the door and rubs some of the water from his face with a sleeve, then moves to the elevator. inside, he hits the button for the sixth floor, and busies himself with looking somewhat presentable on the ride up. he pushes his hair back from his forehead and into the relative position it would usually hold when not drenched, then tries to resituate his hoodie where it clings uncomfortably. he's not overly concerned with his appearance at the moment, but looking completely rumpled does not usually do much for a first impression. and first impressions are important to him. he straightens his bag and then watches the little number five switch to a six.
the elevator dings and he exits, following the door numbers to sasha's. it's the only door with light peeking out from the bottom, and that's somehow... encouraging. he puts one hand on the doorframe and raises the other to knock, then notices the doorbell and goes for that instead. it seems the polite thing to do.
a few moments of waiting and the handle jiggles. ]
[ well, at least they have both weighed up their options if this goes south.
it's probably a good thing that, as it stands, nothing is actually destined going to go south. as far as we know.
nervous energy twists and fidgets beneath the surface of sasha's fingertips; although the time between speaking to the man on the intercom and his arriving upstairs isn't actually very long, it stretches and pulls itself taut, and sasha keeps finding more and more room for doubt and regret in his head. however, the doubt is quite all encompassing, in as much as he also doubts himself. if anything, the fact that the voice was very much not local and stumbled around spanish added credence to the fact that this was just someone lost (very lost) looking for a hostel. and this weather is the kind that's only fun when you're inside.
the doorbell goes, and sasha is lost enough to his thoughts to startle at the sound, instantly forgetting all considerations of pause. he lunges forward, pulling and twisting the locks, opening the door to reveal the man on the other side. sasha swallows down a lump in his throat. ]
Hi. [ excellent opener. his eyes widen a little as he steps back, making room for him to get inside. after a brief moment spent taking him in, sasha's brow furrows. ] Oh, wow — you're soaked... Would you, er, like a towel? Or something?
[ for what it's worth, while he's prepared to deal with a threat, jens would much rather this little meeting not go south. there's something very fulfilling about interactions with strangers that are polite and warm and don't involve the instinct to watch your back. he's going to assume that this will be fine, simply because that's much less of a mood killer.
when the door opens, jens straightens and smiles, mouth quirking up more on one side than the other. there's a moment's pause where his host just stands there, looking at him like a thousand thoughts are filtering behind those blue eyes, but then he offers his hi and jens smiles wider. first impression: slightly skittish, but definitely kind. he might be a little too trusting seeing as jens is invited in before he can even offer a name, but he's got no complaints. ]
Hey. Thanks again. [ he lets his hand drop from the doorframe and he slips into the apartment, stopping just inside the door. he knows he's dripping, and it probably wouldn't be considered good manners to make a mess of the place mere seconds after being welcomed in. he slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down on top of his feet. when he looks up again, sasha's staring at him, brows drawn together. jens' brow, in contrast, lifts in curiosity. ]
A towel would be great. [ but before sasha can scamper off, he offers a hand. ] I'm Jens. Nice to meet you.
[ too kind is definitely the right description of sasha. it's a wonder that he's never been terribly hurt by anyone in his life — no disastrous, awful relationships leaving lasting scars, nothing that has taught him to be more careful. his parents are perhaps the only exception. he'll do just about anything for them, never questioning their motives or decisions. let them push him into all sorts, but just about dodging the corners they try to shove him into. just. it always feels like their patience is starting to wear terribly thin these days.
there is quite a clear distance that sasha keeps to between them, a distance that he has to bridge a little in order to politely accept the outstretched hand. he stares at it a moment, like it might bite him, and then takes it and makes sure his grip isn't too ... whatever the opposite of firm is. (he doesn't want to think of it as being floppy, that would be terrible.) ]
It's not a problem... you must think I'm a bit strange for, er, all of this. I mean, it's probably not the worst option for you, just — [ he stops, releases jens' hand abruptly, realising he's still holding it. ] I'm Sasha. Uh, Alexander, really, but no one calls me that. I don't know why that matters.
[ a pause. ]
Towel. Let me get a towel.
[ and he scampers away to dig around his airing cupboard for a clean, warm towel, relieved that he does indeed have one to offer. he scampers back with it, holding it out. belatedly, ]
[ jens notes the hesitance before sasha accepts the handshake, but he just keeps smiling carefully, not wanting to scare sasha off. his grip is firm enough; perhaps not as firm as jens, but it gets the job done. he's hand is warm where jens is cold and still damp. ]
No, no, I'm just grateful. Not a lotta people'd do this. [ he knows from experience. most people'd rather not be bothered, whether or not it means leaving someone to fend for themselves. jens takes his hand back, unable to not be slightly endeared by sasha's nervousness. he slips his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and fixes his eyes on sasha's face.
he's going to say more, but then the towel becomes priority, and jens is left to glance around the apartment. you can tell a lot from what a person surrounds themselves with, and while sasha's apartment is nowhere near teeming with possessions, it has things to say. the books for one thing suggest an interest in knowledge or a standard of intelligence, maybe even a penchant for solitude. maybe he's interested in the world but would rather keep to the safety of his apartment. the clothes are more typical - who doesn't have clothes hanging around in strange places? - but it might be a symptom of living alone. jens' is pretty sure there's no one else in the apartment, and so they're back to the idea of solitude. he's slowly getting better and better at this: reading everything possible in order to read people themselves. you could say it's something of a helpful hobby.
sasha returns and jens accepts the towel, dabbing at his face first. as he rubs at his hair, he says: ] Thanks, Sasha. That's a pretty name. It suits you. [ and this is maybe not ideal circumstances to be flirting in, but it's harmless, isn't it? mostly harmless? also, it's just the truth.
his hair is left standing at odd angles, but he focuses on wiping water from the back of his neck before patting it back down. he sighs happily. ] That's much better. [ he presses the towel to his sweater in a few places in the hopes of drawing out some of the moisture, then graciously hands it back. ]
[ sasha holds himself back a lot. he likes solitude as much as the next person, in measured quantities, but so much of him is a product of shyness. too shy to let people too close, to give too much of himself away (even though he would, he would give all of himself away if given half the chance). he's quick to feel, a constant bundle of thoughts and emotions that he firmly buries beneath a quiet, gentle surface.
he blushes. as it happens, he blushes almost constantly. if he isn't sunburnt, then he's blushing. there's always a reason to. his cheeks are perpetually rosy. these are the things he can give away, the surface details. that he is timid and easily flustered. harder to pick out are things like his love for holding hands, his general tactility. things he does not allow to be the forefront of his character, things that need to be dug out and discovered. not that any of these finer details matter, right now, though the cool of jens' palm is still a lingering presence against his own. he remembers touch like he remembers smells, colours, with perfect clarity. ]
You're more or less the only person who's ever said that. Most people just ask what kind of a name "Sasha" is for a man. [ he pauses, breathing in a little quickly. ] But — thank you.
[ for a moment, he's quite lost to the thought of a handsome stranger telling him that his name is pretty, before his brain kicks back into gear. ]
Uh, my computer. Just... here. [ and he flits away to a nearby coffee table, pulling his laptop open and punching in his password with the kind of speed that suggests his life depends on it. within moments he's by the window, a safe distance, gesturing limply at the laptop. ] All yours.
[ jens, on the other hand, doesn't hold much back at all. or at least he makes it seem like he's got nothing to hold back. of course, there are things he chooses to keep to himself in order to avoid complications (like yes, he has killed people before), other things that he's obligated to keep to himself (like what he is and what he does for a slightly less than honest living), but what he has to share is shared openly and fully. it works well for him, most of the time. it means people are drawn to him, want to trust him. and, hell, he's not denying that that's a good feeling, even if it's not completely warranted. he's never actually gotten himself into a serious relationship, but he's had a good number of mutually beneficial encounters, so he can't really complain.
the blush on sasha's cheeks feels like a success, and even if he knew that blushing is just second-nature for sasha, he'd probably still be patting himself on his back. it means he's done something right, and that's all he can hope for in a situation like this. the flirtation might have been a bit of a risk, but it seems to have gone over well. he'd hate to think he was getting under sasha's skin in a bad way. he's sweet, cautious, and jens has probably caused enough difficulty for him tonight.
still, he's not in a terrible rush to leave. ]
You're welcome. [ he laughs. ] What is it with people and getting bent out of shape about names? Everyone hates how mine is spelled. J-e-n-s. [ he offers a shrug, lips puckered in exaggerated frustration.
jens watches as sasha fiddles with the laptop, obviously hurried, then decides that he shouldn't be going anywhere in these boots. he bends and unties them, toeing them off and dropping them along with his bag next to the door. then he invites himself further into the apartment in socked feet that won't leave treads on the floor. he can't help but notice the way sasha retreats, and smiles to himself as he perches on the edge of the couch in front of the laptop. ]
Thanks. [ he pulls up the browser and googles a map. his eyes lift from the screen and find sasha again after a moment or two, sorry he feels he has to isolate himself, standing awkwardly in his own apartment. ] I'm terrible at accents, but you're not from Spain, are you?
[ sasha is like a book with a lock on it. his cover says a lot, the blurb gives away half the plot but you still won't get the whole story. not until you pick the lock — or become the key. ]
I like interesting names, [ he breathes out softly, honestly and unthinkingly. ] Jens has a handsome sound to it.
[ well, it does. that nordic, european feeling of y sounds that are in fact spelt with a j. sasha is immediately glad for the low lighting of his apartment, because his blush deepens somewhat fiercely. he stands quite still, all his nervous energy locked up in his stuttering heart and his darting eyes, none of it translating to fidgets and squirms. he's the deer in headlights type; the kind that hopes his stillness will allow him to go unnoticed.
he tries not think about how his friends would kill him if they knew what he was doing right now, letting unknown people into his apartment and use his computer. he tries not to think about how his parents would kill him five times over for it, like he isn't an adult, like he isn't to be trusted with his own decisions. which, admittedly, perhaps he shouldn't be, all things considered. (his parents would kill him for a lot of things, really; like the way he can't stop looking at a stray strand of jens' hair and wishes he could reach out and tuck it away.) ]
The accent still gives it away. [ a soft, faraway laugh. his international school english always gives him away a bit, soft intonations of european mixed with american vowels. ] I've lived in Spain most of my life, but my family's Russian.
[ cautiously, but not without a ghost of a smile, ] What about you? I mean, Spanish wasn't quite your strong point over the intercom, if you don't mind my saying.
[ a handsome sound to it. he'll take that, especially if it means that light flirting was not put to waste. jens can tell that sasha may not be feeling particularly confident about the conversation but, fortunately for sasha, the full flush of his cheeks goes mostly unnoticed. ]
Glad someone likes it. Besides me. [ he flashes a white-toothed grin, pleased. he supposes his parents must have been fond of the name when they'd given it to him, but they'd scarcely been around to even call him by it. his grandfather was always grumbling it, its shape lost in his gummy mouth, and his brother was always dragging it out, long and high-pitched when he whined about teasing or sleep-talked. still, and perhaps a little surprisingly, jens likes it.
he's gotten the map to pinpoint their location, but his gaze is drawn from the screen again when sasha laughs, eyes going soft. he almost sounds disenchanted by the realization. ] Russian. Right. [ he taps a finger against his temple. he probably should have known that. ]
Ha! You can just say it; my Spanish is shit. [ as are most of his attempts at anything other than english. ] I'm from Birmingham originally, but I've kind of been... all over.
[ all over quite literally meaning all over, but there are still lots of places he hasn't had the pleasure of touching down in yet. he's put down the occasional roots here and there, but only in the places he frequents. his apartments are even more empty than sasha's, half-filled with only essentials mostly. his personal possessions are divided between the apartments and clay's house and even the old family home, which is not always conventient, but it's how he's used to living. not only that, but it seems appropriate for the way he conducts his life, moving so quickly that sometimes it feels like he's in two places at once. ]
[ if the blush isn't noticed now, it will be noticed later; sasha is forever in a state of pinkness, varying in degrees between mildly pink and full on beetroot. his face is quick to flood with colour at the slightest shift in emotions. it suits anger, sadness, happiness, and all because somehow sasha wanders into his emotions with at least the slightest bit of embarrassment. it's just the way he is, deeply ingrained in his being.
either way, it remains, particularly in the wake of jens' smile.
sasha's name, comparatively, is childish. no one has ever called him alexander, not even his teachers. his family have always been too close to resort to anything but his sweet, soft sounding diminutive. it makes him feel like he's forever stuck as a little boy of twelve, not a man of twenty eight, and it shows, sometimes. his shyness is boyish, mercifully erring on the side of charming than frustrating, for the most part — he tries so hard not to let it hold him back. ]
I'm sure mine would be if I hadn't had to learn out of necessity. [ it's funny, because he's been told that in his spanish is where his accent becomes decidedly more russian, where is oddly transatlantic over his english. tongues are bizarre like that. all the same, his spanish is perfectly fluent, and instances of his accent being at all obvious usually only emerge when he's been drinking. ] All over sounds nice, though.
[ he means that. his voice softens again, tellingly, as he says it. sasha has been all over, but never for the sake of it. he remembers little of the many places he's been; his attention is always demanded between random work and his vast, shimmering family, their endless circles of friends. ]
[ jens' may notice the color of sasha's cheeks after he stares for a few long moments at his face, quietly puzzling out necessity. his first instinct is work because so many of people's decisions all come back to that universal obligation, but he's more inclined to think family. maybe he'd wanted to get away from the family home in russia, settle down somewhere else, alone. jens can understand that. less the settling down part, but more the spreading your wings part. his relationship with his parents isn't necessary bad, it's just... not particularly special, so the decision to get out and see the world wasn't really a decision at all. he'd started ditching birmingham for places like new york and mexico city at seventeen, and he wasn't about to revert back to dependent son when he was old enough to go and not come back. ]
I think I get it. [ which is either an invitation to explain or a reassurance that he doesn't have to say anything else; whatever sasha would prefer. the fond smile jens offers - because of the blush or because of the assumed similarities between them or both - is meant to make him feel more comfortable, but maybe the whole smiling thing only makes the tension worse. he can't really stop, though. ]
It is. [ and he means that, wholeheartedly. in fact, he momentarially forgets his soggy self and leans back into the cushions of the couch, eyes shifting from sasha and fixing on an indefinite point in the room, sifting through memories. sure, constantly moving has its inconveniences, especially when you don't bother with the kind of planning ahead that avoids situations like these, but he loves it. and he can't help but love these odd circumstances he lands himself in. they keep things interesting, keep him meeting interesting people. it's definitely not the kind of existence for everyone, but its suits him just fine.
his attention wanders back to sasha, and he nods his head slowly, appraising his own idea. ] You should try it. Maybe I could show you around London sometime. Or Moncton. Or Osaka?
[ honestly, sasha, take your pick. if... you'd be up for vacationing with a complete stranger, that is. ]
[ sasha's whole family always dreamed of being anywhere else but russia. ostensibly, that is why his parents moved him and his sisters to spain when he was so young. his youngest sister doesn't even have any recollections of russia; she was barely a few months old at the time. sasha and svetlana have a smattering of memories between them. most of them have something to do with snow and abominable cold, a window that creaked when assaulted by winter winds no matter how many times someone was called around to fix it. almost breaking his grandma's prized samovar in his excitement to see the flowers painted on it.
that said, they moved to a part of spain that heaved with russians already. it made very little difference, in the grand scheme of things, and even though sasha burns like paper in a fireplace when he's out in the sun, he doesn't miss the cold at all.
he loves his parents, sasha does. he loves his sisters, more so because they struggle so much to love each other. but every relationship is skewed and twisted into attempted shapes of what love should be like in families, not how it actually is. they're an imbalanced, strange bunch, with no concept amongst them of how to change or improve these things.
it doesn't matter what jens does or says now, sasha's blush is going nowhere. he would have been just as rosy faced if he wasn't bizarrely enjoying this late night, unexpected meeting, because blushing suits so many of his primary emotions. but the smile is appreciated, in the sense that it is one more handsome thing to add to the mental list that sasha doesn't even know he's keeping (yet). he laughs, softly and nervously, but his slightly suppressed smile gives away that he rather likes this suggestion. ]
Maybe you could. Do you consider yourself a good tour guide? I'm prone to something of a short attention span, you see. That's why I could probably still get lost on all my usual routes here.
[ his gaze flicks around the contours of jens' face. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-04-13 07:00 pm (UTC)either way, the key point here is that it's too late for take backs. wondering about potential murder is too late down the line. ]
Hold on, let me — let me buzz you up. I'm on the sixth floor.
[ his fingers skitter nervously over the appropriate button, but he presses it all the same, and once he's sure that the intercom stranger is in the building, he dashes away to flick on a couple of lights. he's never been so thankful for energy saving light bulbs and the slow build of brightness. on a similar note, he is pleased that he does not own much outside of books (most of them in russian or spanish) and a smattering of clothes. at least there's not much here to steal.
he needs to stop thinking that that's what is going to happen. it's making him more anxious than he already is, and he has always been a fairly anxious person to start with. there is no clutter to straighten up; he's a frightfully tidy person.
the wait seems endless. sasha tries to consider how long a pause he will allow between the doorbell being rung and answering it, to try and give off the illusion that he has not been staring at the door for the entire time that the stranger has been making his way upstairs. he reminds himself to ask for a name; it's no good just calling him "the stranger" all the time. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-04-13 10:05 pm (UTC)Thanks. Thanks so much. [ jens moves to the door and waits a moment, wondering if maybe the stranger will second guess himself, but then the latch lifts and he pushes into the dry warmth of the building. heavenly. he wipes his boots on the mat at the door and rubs some of the water from his face with a sleeve, then moves to the elevator. inside, he hits the button for the sixth floor, and busies himself with looking somewhat presentable on the ride up. he pushes his hair back from his forehead and into the relative position it would usually hold when not drenched, then tries to resituate his hoodie where it clings uncomfortably. he's not overly concerned with his appearance at the moment, but looking completely rumpled does not usually do much for a first impression. and first impressions are important to him. he straightens his bag and then watches the little number five switch to a six.
the elevator dings and he exits, following the door numbers to sasha's. it's the only door with light peeking out from the bottom, and that's somehow... encouraging. he puts one hand on the doorframe and raises the other to knock, then notices the doorbell and goes for that instead. it seems the polite thing to do.
a few moments of waiting and the handle jiggles. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-04-13 11:24 pm (UTC)it's probably a good thing that, as it stands, nothing is actually destined going to go south. as far as we know.
nervous energy twists and fidgets beneath the surface of sasha's fingertips; although the time between speaking to the man on the intercom and his arriving upstairs isn't actually very long, it stretches and pulls itself taut, and sasha keeps finding more and more room for doubt and regret in his head. however, the doubt is quite all encompassing, in as much as he also doubts himself. if anything, the fact that the voice was very much not local and stumbled around spanish added credence to the fact that this was just someone lost (very lost) looking for a hostel. and this weather is the kind that's only fun when you're inside.
the doorbell goes, and sasha is lost enough to his thoughts to startle at the sound, instantly forgetting all considerations of pause. he lunges forward, pulling and twisting the locks, opening the door to reveal the man on the other side. sasha swallows down a lump in his throat. ]
Hi. [ excellent opener. his eyes widen a little as he steps back, making room for him to get inside. after a brief moment spent taking him in, sasha's brow furrows. ] Oh, wow — you're soaked... Would you, er, like a towel? Or something?
no subject
Date: 2016-04-13 11:51 pm (UTC)when the door opens, jens straightens and smiles, mouth quirking up more on one side than the other. there's a moment's pause where his host just stands there, looking at him like a thousand thoughts are filtering behind those blue eyes, but then he offers his hi and jens smiles wider. first impression: slightly skittish, but definitely kind. he might be a little too trusting seeing as jens is invited in before he can even offer a name, but he's got no complaints. ]
Hey. Thanks again. [ he lets his hand drop from the doorframe and he slips into the apartment, stopping just inside the door. he knows he's dripping, and it probably wouldn't be considered good manners to make a mess of the place mere seconds after being welcomed in. he slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down on top of his feet. when he looks up again, sasha's staring at him, brows drawn together. jens' brow, in contrast, lifts in curiosity. ]
A towel would be great. [ but before sasha can scamper off, he offers a hand. ] I'm Jens. Nice to meet you.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-14 03:09 pm (UTC)there is quite a clear distance that sasha keeps to between them, a distance that he has to bridge a little in order to politely accept the outstretched hand. he stares at it a moment, like it might bite him, and then takes it and makes sure his grip isn't too ... whatever the opposite of firm is. (he doesn't want to think of it as being floppy, that would be terrible.) ]
It's not a problem... you must think I'm a bit strange for, er, all of this. I mean, it's probably not the worst option for you, just — [ he stops, releases jens' hand abruptly, realising he's still holding it. ] I'm Sasha. Uh, Alexander, really, but no one calls me that. I don't know why that matters.
[ a pause. ]
Towel. Let me get a towel.
[ and he scampers away to dig around his airing cupboard for a clean, warm towel, relieved that he does indeed have one to offer. he scampers back with it, holding it out. belatedly, ]
Oh! It's nice to meet you too.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-14 04:16 pm (UTC)No, no, I'm just grateful. Not a lotta people'd do this. [ he knows from experience. most people'd rather not be bothered, whether or not it means leaving someone to fend for themselves. jens takes his hand back, unable to not be slightly endeared by sasha's nervousness. he slips his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and fixes his eyes on sasha's face.
he's going to say more, but then the towel becomes priority, and jens is left to glance around the apartment. you can tell a lot from what a person surrounds themselves with, and while sasha's apartment is nowhere near teeming with possessions, it has things to say. the books for one thing suggest an interest in knowledge or a standard of intelligence, maybe even a penchant for solitude. maybe he's interested in the world but would rather keep to the safety of his apartment. the clothes are more typical - who doesn't have clothes hanging around in strange places? - but it might be a symptom of living alone. jens' is pretty sure there's no one else in the apartment, and so they're back to the idea of solitude. he's slowly getting better and better at this: reading everything possible in order to read people themselves. you could say it's something of a helpful hobby.
sasha returns and jens accepts the towel, dabbing at his face first. as he rubs at his hair, he says: ] Thanks, Sasha. That's a pretty name. It suits you. [ and this is maybe not ideal circumstances to be flirting in, but it's harmless, isn't it? mostly harmless? also, it's just the truth.
his hair is left standing at odd angles, but he focuses on wiping water from the back of his neck before patting it back down. he sighs happily. ] That's much better. [ he presses the towel to his sweater in a few places in the hopes of drawing out some of the moisture, then graciously hands it back. ]
no subject
Date: 2016-04-14 09:33 pm (UTC)he blushes. as it happens, he blushes almost constantly. if he isn't sunburnt, then he's blushing. there's always a reason to. his cheeks are perpetually rosy. these are the things he can give away, the surface details. that he is timid and easily flustered. harder to pick out are things like his love for holding hands, his general tactility. things he does not allow to be the forefront of his character, things that need to be dug out and discovered. not that any of these finer details matter, right now, though the cool of jens' palm is still a lingering presence against his own. he remembers touch like he remembers smells, colours, with perfect clarity. ]
You're more or less the only person who's ever said that. Most people just ask what kind of a name "Sasha" is for a man. [ he pauses, breathing in a little quickly. ] But — thank you.
[ for a moment, he's quite lost to the thought of a handsome stranger telling him that his name is pretty, before his brain kicks back into gear. ]
Uh, my computer. Just... here. [ and he flits away to a nearby coffee table, pulling his laptop open and punching in his password with the kind of speed that suggests his life depends on it. within moments he's by the window, a safe distance, gesturing limply at the laptop. ] All yours.
no subject
Date: 2016-04-15 12:07 am (UTC)the blush on sasha's cheeks feels like a success, and even if he knew that blushing is just second-nature for sasha, he'd probably still be patting himself on his back. it means he's done something right, and that's all he can hope for in a situation like this. the flirtation might have been a bit of a risk, but it seems to have gone over well. he'd hate to think he was getting under sasha's skin in a bad way. he's sweet, cautious, and jens has probably caused enough difficulty for him tonight.
still, he's not in a terrible rush to leave. ]
You're welcome. [ he laughs. ] What is it with people and getting bent out of shape about names? Everyone hates how mine is spelled. J-e-n-s. [ he offers a shrug, lips puckered in exaggerated frustration.
jens watches as sasha fiddles with the laptop, obviously hurried, then decides that he shouldn't be going anywhere in these boots. he bends and unties them, toeing them off and dropping them along with his bag next to the door. then he invites himself further into the apartment in socked feet that won't leave treads on the floor. he can't help but notice the way sasha retreats, and smiles to himself as he perches on the edge of the couch in front of the laptop. ]
Thanks. [ he pulls up the browser and googles a map. his eyes lift from the screen and find sasha again after a moment or two, sorry he feels he has to isolate himself, standing awkwardly in his own apartment. ] I'm terrible at accents, but you're not from Spain, are you?
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Date: 2016-04-15 01:19 pm (UTC)I like interesting names, [ he breathes out softly, honestly and unthinkingly. ] Jens has a handsome sound to it.
[ well, it does. that nordic, european feeling of y sounds that are in fact spelt with a j. sasha is immediately glad for the low lighting of his apartment, because his blush deepens somewhat fiercely. he stands quite still, all his nervous energy locked up in his stuttering heart and his darting eyes, none of it translating to fidgets and squirms. he's the deer in headlights type; the kind that hopes his stillness will allow him to go unnoticed.
he tries not think about how his friends would kill him if they knew what he was doing right now, letting unknown people into his apartment and use his computer. he tries not to think about how his parents would kill him five times over for it, like he isn't an adult, like he isn't to be trusted with his own decisions. which, admittedly, perhaps he shouldn't be, all things considered. (his parents would kill him for a lot of things, really; like the way he can't stop looking at a stray strand of jens' hair and wishes he could reach out and tuck it away.) ]
The accent still gives it away. [ a soft, faraway laugh. his international school english always gives him away a bit, soft intonations of european mixed with american vowels. ] I've lived in Spain most of my life, but my family's Russian.
[ cautiously, but not without a ghost of a smile, ] What about you? I mean, Spanish wasn't quite your strong point over the intercom, if you don't mind my saying.
[ that and the name; jens. yens, with a j. ]
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Date: 2016-04-16 09:59 pm (UTC)Glad someone likes it. Besides me. [ he flashes a white-toothed grin, pleased. he supposes his parents must have been fond of the name when they'd given it to him, but they'd scarcely been around to even call him by it. his grandfather was always grumbling it, its shape lost in his gummy mouth, and his brother was always dragging it out, long and high-pitched when he whined about teasing or sleep-talked. still, and perhaps a little surprisingly, jens likes it.
he's gotten the map to pinpoint their location, but his gaze is drawn from the screen again when sasha laughs, eyes going soft. he almost sounds disenchanted by the realization. ] Russian. Right. [ he taps a finger against his temple. he probably should have known that. ]
Ha! You can just say it; my Spanish is shit. [ as are most of his attempts at anything other than english. ] I'm from Birmingham originally, but I've kind of been... all over.
[ all over quite literally meaning all over, but there are still lots of places he hasn't had the pleasure of touching down in yet. he's put down the occasional roots here and there, but only in the places he frequents. his apartments are even more empty than sasha's, half-filled with only essentials mostly. his personal possessions are divided between the apartments and clay's house and even the old family home, which is not always conventient, but it's how he's used to living. not only that, but it seems appropriate for the way he conducts his life, moving so quickly that sometimes it feels like he's in two places at once. ]
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Date: 2016-04-23 07:34 pm (UTC)either way, it remains, particularly in the wake of jens' smile.
sasha's name, comparatively, is childish. no one has ever called him alexander, not even his teachers. his family have always been too close to resort to anything but his sweet, soft sounding diminutive. it makes him feel like he's forever stuck as a little boy of twelve, not a man of twenty eight, and it shows, sometimes. his shyness is boyish, mercifully erring on the side of charming than frustrating, for the most part — he tries so hard not to let it hold him back. ]
I'm sure mine would be if I hadn't had to learn out of necessity. [ it's funny, because he's been told that in his spanish is where his accent becomes decidedly more russian, where is oddly transatlantic over his english. tongues are bizarre like that. all the same, his spanish is perfectly fluent, and instances of his accent being at all obvious usually only emerge when he's been drinking. ] All over sounds nice, though.
[ he means that. his voice softens again, tellingly, as he says it. sasha has been all over, but never for the sake of it. he remembers little of the many places he's been; his attention is always demanded between random work and his vast, shimmering family, their endless circles of friends. ]
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Date: 2016-04-26 02:54 pm (UTC)I think I get it. [ which is either an invitation to explain or a reassurance that he doesn't have to say anything else; whatever sasha would prefer. the fond smile jens offers - because of the blush or because of the assumed similarities between them or both - is meant to make him feel more comfortable, but maybe the whole smiling thing only makes the tension worse. he can't really stop, though. ]
It is. [ and he means that, wholeheartedly. in fact, he momentarially forgets his soggy self and leans back into the cushions of the couch, eyes shifting from sasha and fixing on an indefinite point in the room, sifting through memories. sure, constantly moving has its inconveniences, especially when you don't bother with the kind of planning ahead that avoids situations like these, but he loves it. and he can't help but love these odd circumstances he lands himself in. they keep things interesting, keep him meeting interesting people. it's definitely not the kind of existence for everyone, but its suits him just fine.
his attention wanders back to sasha, and he nods his head slowly, appraising his own idea. ] You should try it. Maybe I could show you around London sometime. Or Moncton. Or Osaka?
[ honestly, sasha, take your pick. if... you'd be up for vacationing with a complete stranger, that is. ]
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Date: 2016-05-04 08:06 pm (UTC)that said, they moved to a part of spain that heaved with russians already. it made very little difference, in the grand scheme of things, and even though sasha burns like paper in a fireplace when he's out in the sun, he doesn't miss the cold at all.
he loves his parents, sasha does. he loves his sisters, more so because they struggle so much to love each other. but every relationship is skewed and twisted into attempted shapes of what love should be like in families, not how it actually is. they're an imbalanced, strange bunch, with no concept amongst them of how to change or improve these things.
it doesn't matter what jens does or says now, sasha's blush is going nowhere. he would have been just as rosy faced if he wasn't bizarrely enjoying this late night, unexpected meeting, because blushing suits so many of his primary emotions. but the smile is appreciated, in the sense that it is one more handsome thing to add to the mental list that sasha doesn't even know he's keeping (yet). he laughs, softly and nervously, but his slightly suppressed smile gives away that he rather likes this suggestion. ]
Maybe you could. Do you consider yourself a good tour guide? I'm prone to something of a short attention span, you see. That's why I could probably still get lost on all my usual routes here.
[ his gaze flicks around the contours of jens' face. ]
Easily distracted.