The talks are soft and careful. Even more than before. There's no other compliment and no other emotional talk. It's Thomas cracking jokes and Maven just listening or being his usual self and enduring. At least that attitude hasn't changed. Rare times there's a dry remark or a very sarcastic text that makes Thomas snort. Thomas sometimes takes a picture, of him, of things, just anything he wants to share. There's no questions about the tattoos, though he'd need to be blind no to notice. And if Thomas knows anything it's how observant this blue eyes can be. They still talk in the middle of the night. Sometimes Thomas calls. Most times he answer a phone instead.
They don't ever meet. It's probably for the best. The distance makes it easier. It keeps things the way they are. It does not hurt as much. Thomas doesn't want to relive the moment in the cinema, staring at someone so familiar and so far away, wishing regret and pain away. And the jealousy, of course. Whenever he thinks about the look in Maven's face , the way he held his head and his body , as he looked at Mare Barrow, something in him is tied into a hard knot.
He knows he has no right to be jealous. He has no claim. He has no meaning. He was the one who walked over it all.
This is the best he can hope for. He stays in safe distance. And someday maybe there can be something again.
Their relationship is not unlike the way Thomas regards the process of tattooing.
It's a wound that needs time to heal and to create something lasting and steady, something good and whole.
As long as they don't push and pull at each other as they used to. He doesn't want to think about the yelling and the hissing snaps. Fighting over something so obscure and stupid it doesn't make any sense in retrospect. Pride and fear got the better of him. They still do.
He can imagine it's not so different for Maven.
Only once does he attempt to actually talk it out.
"Y'know, the day I left," he starts. The words are hard and unfriendly in the warmth of his room." I meant what I said. I meant a few days. But every time I wanted to come back I was scared. Because I knew I wasn't good enough."
There is no answer and for a moment he thinks Maven has just ended the call.
"Can't turn back time, I guess." Thomas continues.
"That does almost sound like a decent apology." The answer finally comes and makes Thomas laugh in some sort of tickling hurt.
"I try." Thomas says. "Just wanted to get it out. You oughta know."
He gets on Maven's nerves, he's sure.
There's always something he wants to say at night to that boy.
I miss you. I love you. I'm really sorry.
He knows it would not change a thing and so he doesn't say it.
"Can we be...I dunno. Friends and shit?" he offers.
"Friends and shit?" Maven repeats. There's some mock in his voice.
I guess there is some irony in it I offer friendship now when I couldn't deal with it when he called me his best friend.
"Ah, forget it." Thomas whispers, hugging himself.
"No," the voice on the other side says and makes something in Thomas chest flutter. "I don't have many friends. I could use one. So yes. Be my friend."
"Cool."
"Just don't.. disappear again."
There is some of that hurt slipping through. Thomas swallows and grasps the phone hard. For a second he can't breath from the guilt. Then he puts on his best impression and snorts.
"Please, I am responsible now. Doing adult stuff."
And so they are friends, it seems. He doesn't know if it's the right decision but now the words are out and they can't be taken back. Such is the nature of words.
He avoids any concerts or even being close to some place Barrow or his brother could pop up. He's pretty sure he'd have a lot of explaining to do. He's not too keen for that.
He has a little emotional throwback one night, scrolling through the news and staring at Elara Merandus face. It leaves a very bad taste in his mouth. She must have been pretty satisfied when he walked out. He can even imagine that sharp smile and it makes him irrationally angry.
He carries on with his life as usual. There's little things to do, things he never had to take care of as long as he lived with his mother. Cleaning, cooking , laundry. He was a spoiled boy in that matters. Street rat days taught him the value of that, and now that no one is doing it for him no more, Thomas finds cooking isn't half bad and cleaning is alright if you need to occupy your hands.
He doesn't want to be lazy. Sure his small room looks a little chaotic. But that is artistic freedom. The rest of the tiny kingdom is in place and perfectly fine.
They share the work. Thomas isn't good with laundry. He stuffs it all in. No head for the details. It confuses him when his sister freaks out about it. He ruins one of her dresses. It used to be white. Now it's grey, ugly and sprinkled.
His sister bakes. Coming home to the smell of fresh bread or burnt sugar is making the worst day a little better. And though the weather stays sunny the days can be very dark. He's never found himself remarkably handsome, but sometimes Thomas dislikes himself so much he cannot look straight at his reflection. It's too thin, his nose is too big. The weirdest are his scarred and calloused hands. Not hands of an artist. Not at all. He forces himself to look and it works. If he's really troubled he just looks at the tattoos. They are never ugly to him.
Sometimes he's just tired. He throws himself on his mattress and stares at the ceiling, until he finally falls asleep.
The smell of the bread helps at least in part.
Moving in with her was the best decision he ever made. And he made a lot of bad calls in his life.
She's up and away mostly. Their schedules collide and she works all day, making most of the money and paying most of the bills. She's smart but she doesn't get the job she deserves. Because she's a woman, for starters. But also, and that's the point, even if you lea the Stilts behind and move into the better part of town. You are a filthy red and they know. They look at you and they will let you know too.
After all the talks and the hate he knows it's true. And he sees the way that people he loves bristle and snarl over it.
Cookie Cameron for instance hates silver people with all her soul and he doesn't want to know what they did to her to imprint such a loathing in her. She's after all still so young. That she doesn't flip her shit everytime he pesters her with his emotional baggage considering Maven is a miracle.
That Farley didn't shove him away too after he told her is a small wonder in itself, regarding her agenda. But then again she never really recruited him. She was just there by coincidence and they liked each other enough to care.
The women in my life, Thomas concludes very proudly. Are kickass and awesome. And I am a whining boy not half as good to deserve their attention.
But they stick with him. As long as they want to. He can see the worth in that.
Living alone has it's perks. He feels in control of the situation. He feels like he finally has a home. It's not the place per se. And it will never be a person again. It's the feeling of letting go and falling. Of landing and not fearing.
It's the feeling when there is silence but the silence welcomes one to fill it with noise.
Noise of clattering pots, of gas forming a blue flame to cook.
Noise of strange electronic music and a female voice singing so wrong along Thomas holds his belly with laughter.
He's never really had a normal life until now, always wanting something small. And so he's alright with this. For the most part.
As much as Thomas likes his current situation, the situation around him is not so great.
The city is turning hostile slowly. There are parts of town he would not walk at night because it would mean trouble. And that night in the alley would seem like a friendly cuddle in comparison.
He doesn't dare to move near the skyscrapers or up the hills. He's aware of the increased security measures. And of the way protests work. His friends and acquaintances are awfully busy and there's almost every week at least one report about some sabotage or vandalism.
As it is, he's done with mingling among them. Not just because he's a coward. But his father's words never left him alone. He had a second chance and he wasted his time. He can kind of understand street rat Thomas reasoning. He's still not on best terms with the old man and sometimes it's downright impossible to talk to him. He never approved of anything he did. But now it's nagging all the way. Thomas ruins his body (have you seen it? Not much to ruin, he thinks) with this ink. He's not going to be able to find a good job or finish school .Thomas is a dreamer because who would have ever heard of a famous red artist? At least the gay question is replaced with blissful ignorance, as if Thomas is a single cell organism. It's tiresome at worst and amusing at best.
Reading the news is always like watching a reality show. It can't be happening, right? People just pretend. What a shitshow.
It gets worse when the cops stop a protest and beat a lot of people half to death. Even more get arrested.
Even in his little bubble of safety Thomas feels there's something really bad coming slowly.
There will be blood. And it's not going to end well.
He remembers the way Tristan waved the gun around and it sits wrong on his spine.
He worries but when he catches Shade or Farley they are awfully ambiguous. It's pissing him off. Everyone is over the top friendly to him. Like he's a baby.
"Dude, you let me stick a needle into you, "Thomas protests one day, tired of the shit. " Lemme know what's going on."
"I promised not to." Shade says. " Just don't wander around town as you used to."
"Eh," he makes in disgust. " I know I call you Mom and Dad sometimes. Because it's like that, you're my weird rebel parents. And you fed me when I was starving and fresh on the streets. Still don't. Don't pull this shit."
"You got your life on track, "Shade says friendly enough but it rubs Thomas the wrong way. "Just leave it alone. You always hated what we did."
"Eh," Thomas repeats because he doesn't have a comeback for the truth. "Please don't be stupid. I need you, Dude. Gotta finish my work on your shoulders."
He calls sometimes. It rings excruciatingly long and then a mechanical voice says very friendly:
"Hello, no one is available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone."
The next day he reads about a molotov cocktail and a burning store, a graffiti or something violent.
He never leaves a message.
Work's as tedious and boring as it always was. At least the view is as grumpy as always.
Cameron gets into more fights recently. Lucky enough she wins most of them. Not that he has any doubts about that.
Still.
First he gives her shit for it. Then he worries. The next thing he knows he offers her to move in.
She doesn't budge. He knew she wouldn't.
"Must be something in the water, " he says to her. "You people are all freaking weird."
The messenger has a video option.
Thomas watches the button as if it is a monster biting his hand.
It's the third time this night his hand is resting on it, the tiniest of distance between pushing it or letting go. One twitch of his finger. One little push.
He's lonely with all his friends busy. And friends do Chat with each other, right? Especially when they don't see each other often in person.
Nothing weird about it.
Yeah , lie to yourself, Thomas, you know what you do.
It's just through the screen. It can't hurt him, can it?
It's silly. They talk all the time. They text and sent pictures. There's absolutely no reason he should be freaked out by it. But he is. Because hearing a voice is one thing but talking face to face another. What if he's a jerk again? He's not going to fix it this time. With nothing.
He braces himself with a long breath and finally pushes the damn button that looks like a camera.
Maybe no one will answer. He should just hang up. It's too late anyway. He hasn't answered one text today so he's either sleeping or busy. That was a stupid idea.
As the reasons flurry through the room like a flock of birds send flying the screen turns black for a second and then there's a face in the dim light.
Maven wears a suit. Thomas supposes one could think he looks good, all groomed and dressed up. Not entirely wrong. For Thomas he always looked good, the suit is outlandish but it's fancy and his eyes are bright blue on the screen. But Thomas knows the truth without even trying. Behind that Maven looks like a demon ate him and spit him out of the abyss, too pale, too big dark rings under his eyes.
If someone ought to recognize it it's Thomas.
He's talked through endless nights on the phone, hearing him breathe and whisper until the fatigue finally claimed him.
"You busy?"
"I just came home." The background moves and the image shakes slightly.
Thomas sees himself in the screen. The raggedy shirt, the too long hair, arm half resting behind his head, it's the exact opposite.
He smiles slightly.
Some things don't change.
"I can try again later." Thomas offers.
" Just a moment." With a rustling sound the phone gets placed on some table or drawer. Thomas gets a short look at the same room he remembers. There's the blasted bed he spend the night in before he left.
It's like a bus rolls over him. The bus is on a guilt trip to the destination hopeless.
Oh boy was he wrong when he thought it can't do any harm.
He blinks and uses the break to catch himself before there's anything on his face that could betray it.
The next moment there's a white sleeve and when the camera shakes again he sees Maven's face again. He's put his headphones on and has gotten himself rid of the tie and the jacket.
Thomas avoids his eyes to wander any further than the collar. He's definitely not peeking at the small open gap and a collar bone, remembering leaning against that body and letting his arms snake around it.
"Long night?" he asks instead.
A small indifferent hum. "You could say that."
Thomas smiles again. "Sure looks like it. At least good food?"
There's the slightest shadow of a smile. "Seafood."
"Ewww." Is the most disturbed sound Thomas can muster.
For the slightest of moments the world has backpedalled a few months and they are sharing some genuine amusement. It's gone again as fast.
"You ok?" it's the least he can offer.
Maven shifts on his seat and leans back, eyes evading the screen.
"Why would I not be?"
"Just checking." Thomas lies as smooth as he can. " Didn't answer my texts."
"Simply no time." Maven lies back. He does it way better than Thomas ever could. Only the tired lines on his face betray him.
"Shit happens." And it's just continuing to happen. Thomas looks away.
For a while the flickering dim lights and the static noise is the only thing between them.
"I meant to ask something."
"Hm?" Thomas makes and leans back, sprawled along his pillow.
The eyes stare intently at something on Thomas side of the screen ."That thing on your arm is real, isn't it?"
Thomas lifts his arm, dark patterns sprawled on his tanned skin and rolls his eyes. "Nah, I draw it on my arm every time I decide to show my face to you."
"You used to do weirder things when you were bored." He didn't meant to say it and they both don't want to go there. Even through a screen the tension runs through their bodies. There's resistance and it's hard as stone.
Thomas decides to take a turn in the topic.
"Yeah but I am not doing this now because I'm bored. I love this stuff. It's kinda like people have a piece of me, and they wear it proud, like there's nothing better.' He sighs. " It feels cool and makes people happy. I am getting GOOD at something, Mave. I am never good at stuff."
There's something very bitter twitching on the thin line of Maven's mouth.
They both know what he's thinking.
Yeah, you always told me I had potential.
He tries to get the conversation on shallow water again.
It works, for a while.
They are both tired, but no one wants to be the one to cut it.
"Try catch some sleep, yeah?" Thomas asks when he can barely stay awake and his battery is suffering the fate of dying.
There's the longest of pauses, a pale face in the cone of a small light, tousled hair and a frown.
"Good night, Thomas."
"Night."
When it's over Thomas rubs his face and wonders why it doesn't work. Why it's not enough. Why he can't just stop his head and be friends.
Hey, it's okay if you're not okay right now
You have plenty of time to figure it out
There'll be skies as blue as your eyes and grass as soft as your nose
And I'll tell you all of the things I love about you
I'll tell you about all the times that I've smiled because of you
And you'll realize
It's okay if you're not okay right now
[Cavetown- It's okay]