Day in and day out, Trip did as he was told. Never once did he talk back when he was given instructions to find men who owed Morphine money or goods. Never once did he scoff when he was told to deal with a scuffle within the yakuza itself. Never once did he flinch when Virus looked up into his altered eyes and gave him that disapproving look of disgust, ordering him to get out of his face. Obediently, Trip would slink away and do as he was told, taking care of his daily tasks like a compliant dog.
That was, of course, emotionally. Trip never flinched, never showed a single sign of submission to Virus when the shorter male was hissing in his face. He would turn stiffly and walk away with his hands shoved in his pockets, a stoic look to his facial features as he left Virus to his own devices. Maybe that was where he failed as a counterpart? The way his jaw set, the coldness in his eyes – it could have been the reason Virus felt the need to get in his face all the damn time. Maybe it was completely Trip's fault... but never once did he rebel against the authority Virus held over him, whether physically or emotionally. He was as devoted as a rescued stray, forever bound to Virus by an invisible string that kept him from wandering too far away.
This specific week had been particularly unbearable to Trip. Virus was, for lack of a better phrase, going on a rampage with his spouts to the younger man. At first, Trip took it in stride like he always had – there was no real reason to get huffy over something so minute. But it became apparent in his eyes that Virus was exceptionally bad as the later weekdays dragged on. He never failed to catch Trip when it seemed like the latter was doing hardly a thing, when in fact, he had just been pausing in his tasks to recalculate his methods. Each and every time, Virus lit into Trip like it was his job to scold the larger man. Like anything else, Trip batted it away with a blink of his eye at first, but soon it started to wear down on him. As the confrontations piled high, Trip's jaw grew more and more rigid and he found his hands curling into tight fists in his pockets as he took the verbal beatings Virus gave him without a single word.
With just one more hour left of his work day, Trip tried desperately to look at the bright side of things. It wasn't something that he usually did – he never had a need to do so – but today it was a necessity. Virus had taken a bite of him and tore at him emotionally countless times in the past few hours – too many to count – and he was feeling the full effects of it now. A pale hand raised to toy with his bangs, shifting the hair out of his face over and over, as if it would move back into his line of sight if he didn't do so. That had become a habit of his over the years – touching his hair for various reasons. Virus hated it – if Trip so much as walked past him with his hand near the older male's hair, Virus would flinch violently and glare at Trip's back. It became a mutual understanding between the two that Virus's hair was not to be touched. It was a hard thing to resist for Trip, who touched his own hair constantly, but he eventually came to terms with it and stopped any questionable actions that would make Virus apprehensive.
Slowly, Trip's hand fell from playing with his fringe and slid into his pocket, his stance returning to that which was typical for him. Had Virus always treated him this awfully? He couldn't quite remember... this felt like the usual, but at the same time, it felt so bizarre. Trip felt like he was losing his grip on reality and set his jaw roughly, grinding his teeth together. He could hear the awful noise in his ears and tried to calm himself, but came to the conclusion that he couldn't with just a snap of his fingers. He needed something else... Flaring his nostrils as he came to a conclusion, Trip straightened his back and staggered away from the direction of their headquarters.
Fifteen minutes later, the young yakuza was flopped in a cheap, foldable chair, located in the far corner of a sweets shop along the main street of the Old Resident District. There was plastic fork hanging from between his lips, being bent to his whims as his fingers played with it idly. A slice of white cake was laying on its side on a paper plate, half-eaten. Similarly, the stem of a single strawberry was tossed on the table, having been eaten the moment Trip set himself down in his seat. Shifting the plastic fork to the right side of his mouth, he poked his tongue out and ran it over his lips, catching a bit of icing he had smeared on himself accidentally. There was nothing better than sweets to help clear someone's mind – at least, that's how Trip thought. Plucking the fork from between his molars and twisting it lazily, the blond man peered at what was left of his cake, pondering how he should eat it. Icing first? Or should he eat the breading and save the best for last? Trip furrowed his brow – this was obviously a very important decision.
While poising his fork to cut the frosting away from the rest of the cake, the door opened with a sort of flourish that Trip hadn't heard the entire time he was relaxing in the parlor. His mind immediately flashed to the short conversation – one-sided, but it was still a conversation – he had with the man behind the counter. The balding man had noted how Trip wasn't a regular – all of his regulars had already come in for the day and gotten their usual sweets. Anyone who came in after a certain time in the day, he knew without question, was someone who didn't normally come into his shop. The memory of that chat sunk into his bones and caused Trip to stiffen, but he refused to turn and look in the direction of the door as the tiny bell overhanging it tinkled quietly.
There was an awkward silence that overcame the small shop – usually there was the quiet whirring of machinery in the back, way beyond the counter, but for some reason, Trip could no longer hear it. There was the quiet tapping of shoes on the ceramic tiles and the young yakuza could swear that he knew that stride from any other in the world. It was a slow, casual stride – one that gave off an air of control and demanded attention. Shit...Trip swallowed the saliva that had begun to accumulate in the back of throat from the taste of the cake he had eaten a few minutes ago and somehow knew that he was screwed. No... he was fucked.
Trip wasn't afraid – goodness, no. Fear was for weak individuals that had nothing left to believe in, whether it be their God, their own abilities, or some other obscure being. Trip was more than capable and could hold his own in any situation – or so he liked to believe. Never once had he been confronted with a conflict that he couldn't solve one way or another. Thus, he rarely experienced the emotion others called "fear". It just wasn't very native to him – it sure as hell wasn't revelant right now.
It would have been completely pointless to turn around. The slow, calculating stride that he could hear even without straining his ears was headed straight for him; the store wasn't very large and whoever was approaching him would be there momentarily. Why waste his energy? Closing his blue eyes slowly so that his light eyelashes brushed against the tops of his cheeks, Trip let a very faint smirk play on his thin lips. No, he wasn't afraid. He could easily guess what this was about – it was the same thing that he had been enduring all day. The entire week, even. So once more wasn't anything to be surprised about, especially when he had to work with the man day in and day out. A leisurely inhale through his nostrils gathered a whiff of an exotic type of mint that Trip had never smelled on anyone before – except, of course, Virus.
The familiar shadow fell over him quite suddenly, darkening the shade of his cake and making Trip scowl in displeasure. Leave it to Virus to ruin his good time.
"What?" Trip said in a nonchalant tone without bothering to look over his shoulder. He could imagine Virus's expression perfectly. He might as well be psychic or something – he knew Virus had that disgusted look on his face, like Trip was nothing but a failure. His entire life was a waste of space and he could never do anything right, let alone do anything according to Virus's standards. It had always been like that, hadn't it?... Trip began to roughly set his jaw, the plastic fork still in his hand as his fingers clenching ever so slightly.
"We need to talk," Virus offered in a calm tone, although Trip could see through it like a window. Virus wasn't happy... but then again, when was he happy with anything Trip did? There was a drawn out silence that the younger of the two refused to break for some time. Eventually, his eyes slowly opened and looked at the fork in his hand, refusing to look up.
"Like hell we do," He retorted, his temper boiling just below the surface of his skin. He very rarely got angry – at least, at Virus – but he was so tired, so damn tired of all of this cat and mouse play. If anything, he should be the cat, not Virus...! Suddenly, Trip stopped his train of thought and frowned. Did that mean he thought less of Virus than he had before? When had everything started to fall down? Was it something he could have prevented...?
"I'm serious, Trip. I'd like to speak with you... in private, please." That sickeningly polite tone with a seriously sharp edge beneath the surface interrupted Trip's inner monologue and he internally flinched. What could be so important as to prompt Virus to hunt Trip down all the way to the center of the Old Resident District? With nothing coming to mind, Trip felt his jaw shift ever so slightly, his teeth grinding together with what felt like enough force to break his incisors.
"I haven't finished my cake yet," Trip said stiffly, his tone giving no obvious indication that he would move until he did finish his food. He spoke neither loudly or quietly – his voice was well-controlled like nothing was wrong. After his words sunk in, though, he could feel Virus's stare at the nape of his neck and he was vaguely glad that he hadn't turned to face the older yakuza. He didn't want to have to redirect that glare elsewhere while juggling half-assed thoughts in his head. Anyone who knew Trip was aware of his lacking ability when it came to conversations – trying to do that and figure out just what the hell he was thinking about would surely end badly. He frowned at the cake before him, still feeling the searing heat of Virus's gaze. He wanted him to go away, to leave him alone with his cake, but that was too much to ask for apparently.
"We need to talk." Virus repeated, his tone firmer this time. Unfortunately, though, it had no effect on Trip and he didn't so much as flinch when he heard the hardening of Virus's dialogue. As if to make a show of things, Trip shrugged lazily. Leaning forward, he cut and scooped a piece of his cake up with one fluid motion and brought it to his lips. Just as he was about to eat it, though, something gripped his shoulder, surprising him. With a bit of luck, Trip was able to catch the small piece of cake on his tongue as it tumbled from his fork. His jaw closed with a snap, audible in the silent parlor. Abruptly turning to glare at Virus, who had Trip's shoulder under his hand, the bottle-blond growled around his cake.
"I said, I'm not done eating. Leave me alone, Virus." There had been hardly any venom in his tone until now. With his jaw strained and the skin taunt over his cheeks, Trip made his displeasure in Virus's sudden appearance, as well as his intentions, painfully obvious. The sweetness of the cake in his mouth seemed to drain away and was replaced with a bitterness that made Trip want to vomit. Virus had successfully drained away all the good of his visit to the cake shop – he would have to applaud that older yakuza for that. The longer he sat here with Virus hovering over him, the more he wanted to punch him.
"I don't care. I said we need to talk," Trip wanted to snarl in response to Virus's bland tone. He felt the strong, childish urge to take his cake and throw it at Virus – anything to get the asshole out of his sight. All he had wanted was a relaxing break from work – it wasn't even that long and Virus had taken his own fair share of breaks in the past. So why was he heckling Trip so badly right now? The tiny hairs on the nape of his neck prickled and Trip felt his skin breaking out in a slight sweat, further suggesting the adrenaline he was feeling from this confrontation, although it was anything but physical at this point. No need for fight or flight... yet.
"I heard you the first seven times." The piece of cake was being broken down a bit with the enzymes in his saliva, but that was the extent of it. Trip moved it from side to side with his tongue like it was scalding hot, toying with it. The fact of the matter was his distaste for Virus right now – he wouldn't be able to enjoy his sweets until his partner left the shop, and thus it'd be a complete waste for him to try and indulge right now. As the icing of the cake melted in his mouth and smeared over his tongue and the inside of his cheeks, Trip continued to offer Virus a venomous glare that wasn't close to faltering. He wasn't so easily discouraged – Virus of all people should know that the best.
There was a short, displeased sigh – surprise, Virus wasn't happy in the least – but Trip didn't bat an eyelash. If he could irritate the other within an inch of his wits, then Trip would finally be happy, but until then... The hand that had been wrapped, now loosely, around the younger male's shoulder quickly slid down the length of Trip's arm and wrapped around his wrist in an unexpectedly strong grip. It was unforeseen, and while Trip was trying to decipher Virus's actions and the meaning behind them, he was roughly jerked from his chair. His blue eyes widened and he stumbled out of the chair – f-fuck. He knew that Virus had some strength, but when had the asshole been able to push him around? Trip just barely caught his footing before he fell flat on his face, his boots scuffling against the ceramic tiles and a low hiss of surprise escaping from the pit of his throat.
"We're going. Come now, Trip." There was no emotion in those words, and that might have been what pissed Trip off the most. Or maybe it was the way Virus said his name... like Trip was so much less than himself. A child at best – and an insect at worst. If there was one thing Trip hated, it was belittling through tones of voice. He had always took the pet peeve in stride – assuming that his distaste for it came from the fact that he couldn't very well read between the lines of people's words and therefore, was vulnerable when it came to disguised verbal attacks. Maybe there was something deeper, and maybe there wasn't. All Trip knew was that he hated it with every fiber of his being, causing a spark to flicker behind his eyes as he slowly straightened up from his stumbled position.
Suddenly, Trip became aware of the fact that they were still in the tiny cake shop, and his blue eyelids fluttered while he glanced back at the counter. The man that had served him wasn't there – he must have slipped in the back when he saw that things were getting heated between him and Virus. Well... Trip snorted internally and jerked his arm out of Virus's grasp, turning to pick up his plate and push the last of the cake into his mouth as he brushed past Virus with a stiff stride.
"Let's go."