Re: Billy K/Jamie M: the Mayers apartment
History in the ~community was shared. It wasn't like, food or music, classic dishes written on cards to roll out at Christmas or made like, with a bunch of people between them or an anthem or whatever. Unless Madonna counted and it didn't, as far as Jamie was concerned. If there was like, a vote, Kylie or Madonna would probably be way up there but that was the point, the bond was built in fat lips and shattered bones. In violence on like, the threshold until confidence was more than like, a sexiness of knowing how hot you were but a fuck you to the people who'd try to beat you back inside. So yeah, the pink hair was cute as fuck but the confidence was like, symbolic. The meat of Billy's lip caught on white teeth, ribboned pink and wet.
"Don't like, do yourself down. I'm pretty sure you could make the flannel work," Jamie said with the kind of thoughtfulness that was all fake as he felt the weight of the guy's gaze card over like, the width of his sternum, the span of his rib-cage and Jamie breathed out as the bag of his lungs expanded on faint anticipation. "Crime against humanity is way steep. Save that for like, the fruit of the loom underpants." Billy's back was warm expanse against his palm and like, he almost was sad about losing the contact points, the nudge of the guy's toes against his instep, but the living room was so not the place to like, wind into the guy.
"You probably are. Like, you said you were a shrink's son, right? DNA, probably but I have to like, work at my listening skills. Manhattan though, there's stuff all together in the same place. The ballet, the art, the stores, the bars," Jamie snickered faintly as he towed the guy out of the like, Mars-path of probability. "Costa Rica probably doesn't have the New York City Ballet, but upside, definitely no snow. Although I'm way a creature-comforts kind of guy." He paused, in the midst of like, turning the knob to his own door to smile proximate into the guy's face. Billy's own smile was sharp, sweetly sly. Jamie made like, a gesture of 'okay, in' on his room.
"Why New Zealand?" He padded over his own rug, and hit the spacebar of his laptop, music jumping back in to fill in the like, gaps in the room. "If you hate the way the apartment looks, you can blame my sister." Jamie's smile creased into his cheek. "And if you hate my room, I guess that's all me. It's definitely not your place, though."