hippie_ninja | IC INBOX

hippie_ninja

This is Jesus. Leave a message.

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From:

konstant

K hears the words, they're not frivolous in any sense, but he's much busier just now watching the silent conversation Jesus isn't having with him.

He tips his head as if it might help him hear what isn't being said, brow furrowing faintly. He almost forgets to answer.

Almost: "I hope so."

From:

hippie_ninja

He knows K is seeing and deciphering things that he'd probably be better able to hide from other people. K always seems to pick up on it, though, so he doesn't try. He likes K; there's no reason to pretend he doesn't.

"What helps you?"

From:

konstant

It's another question no one has ever bothered to ask outright - not without it being sarcastic anyway. Not actually wanting an answer.

He shakes off the studious cast to his gaze - literally shaking his head to refocus - and his brow creases more deeply, thoughtfully.

"Understanding what place I hold."

From:

hippie_ninja

That's the thing that is galling him here. The thing he is meant to be here is an experiment, the only thing he can really offer is his body--and not the way he's learned to use it to make things better.

But he doesn't want to think about that and so he has more questions for K. "What place do you think you hold with me?"

From:

konstant

It's the kind of discomfort K has seen in multiple people, that multiple people want to see in him - but he's used to being something other than an equal, something other than free. He doesn't like it, he doesn't want it, but he knows that neither of these things matter.

His answer for Jesus is immediate: "We're friends." Even if he doesn't really know exactly what that means in turn, Jesus has already said it. He has said that they're friends, and K believes him.

From:

hippie_ninja

"We are." His tone is calm but firm on that point, because he knows there's a gap in K's definition. He knows that he doesn't know how K defines it. "What is that like for you?"

For someone who has never had a friend before.

From:

konstant

"I'm still figuring that out," he admits honestly, perhaps a little hesitantly. He doesn't want it to insult Jesus somehow.

"I have... memories of having friends. At work, at home. But those aren't real. You are."

From:

hippie_ninja

"I don't like being held by definitions. What's right in one friendship maybe isn't in another." He's flexible about these things. "I just want it to be something you want to keep."

From:

konstant

"I do," he says immediately. "It is. You are."

He's not entirely sure which of these is correct in this case, but regardless, they're all true. It also pulls at something in him, half memory, half instinct, and he doesn't stop there.

"What it means is that I feel better when I see you. I feel... safer. I want to talk to you, to spend time around you."

From:

hippie_ninja

"It's different with you." In ways he honestly isn't sure he trusts, because K is so honest and his silences aren't the bitter pauses Jesus is used to from people who have every reason to be bitter. He shakes his head and clarifies, "It feels better around you, too. We should do more."

From:

konstant

"I'd like that," he can agree readily, especially since there's no case load here to make demands on his time first and foremost. He has no duties to interfere, unless it's at Marked, or Scratch.

He hesitates, though, before clearly making the decision to continue with, "I liked - it's easier. With someone else around, and I liked that night of camping."

From:

hippie_ninja

"I did, too." And he needed to hear that, but it's not something he knew to ask for. "That day was good," all of it, the bathhouse and the night in the tent. He has no regrets even if he doesn't want it to change their dynamic, either.

From:

konstant

"Yes, all of it," he adds quickly because he had definitely enjoyed the bathhouse - the pool itself, the conversation, the sex and the showers. He'd like to try again sometime.

But like Jesus, that's not what he's thinking of foremost: "If you're looking to push back against the program, it seems to me that sharing quarters might help."

From:

hippie_ninja

It's clear immediately that he likes that idea, that being alone is now a thing he's actively avoiding.

"You're working to be cited over it?"

From:

konstant

He smiles more at the eagerness than the question.

"Less that and more that I'm not willing to give up spending time with who I want to because I've been told I can't by someone who won't even say why. Whatever they feel they need to do about it is what they need to do."

From:

hippie_ninja

"You could stay here tonight," he says, because if K is on the same page he's not going to try to argue either one of them out of it.

"There's an extra bed anyway. Or," a curious glance. "You could share mine."

From:

konstant

K looks at it too, but then back to Jesus. He's more serious about asking, eyes on eyes, "Are you okay with that?"

He remembers how tense Jesus had been shoulder to shoulder with him in the tent, how attuned to every movement and sound.

From:

hippie_ninja

"We have a door here," he explains. Doors don't equal safety, not always, but it's better than a tent in the woods where everyone is making noise.

"I like having you close."

From:

konstant

K, who remembers how satisfying it can be to hear the door slide shut behind him and seal him off from the chaos and the smells of the city outside, nods his willingness to accept this at face value.

"I'm... Learning that I like it too. Being close." He smiles a small, almost shy smile except how there's no shame in it whatsoever. "I brought my toothbrush, just in case."

From:

hippie_ninja

He grins. "You knew I wanted you here," he says, deeply approving. K knows him well enough to have anticipated this. Loving that K is comfortable enough to be prepared for Jesus to invite him closer.

"What else do you know already?"

From:

konstant

A lot of things that he'll never, ever just say aloud because they're private; things Jesus can say himself if he decides he wants to, but K never will.

"I'm the most accurate lie detector you'll ever meet. For humans, anyway. You tell me."

From:

hippie_ninja

"I don't think I've ever lied to you, though," he teases. But he knows he hasn't. "How am I going to keep you interested?"

From:

konstant

"The same way you have so far," he tells him, in his typical plainly honest way.

"By talking to me, and wanting me to talk to you."

The truth isn't the only thing he knows though, isn't the only passing urge he's seen, so he dares another unspeakably bold move for him and slides his hand the few inches forward to rest his fingertips on Jesus's knee.

From:

hippie_ninja

It's the first time K has made the first move like this. There's a relief in this; proof that K hasn't just been going along with him because it's easier or useful.

His fingertips glide along K's wrist, and he thinks about how much he liked having K's hands on his waist, and he raises an eyebrow to silently ask if K can tell that, too.

From:

konstant

He can't, of course, read minds; those who fear replicants the most think they can but that doesn't make it true. He can see that Jesus likes this. He can see that the way anticipation is threading through his expression - not yet rooted into place, but familiar - means he's considering more, and likes that too.

And he can read the mischief every bit as loud as the pleasure, as the cool tones of relief. So no, he can't tell exactly what's behind the lift of the brow but he turns his hand up without lifting it, offering it, and what he says is, "It's okay."