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Log Title: Batiste's Secret

Log Setting: Here, the trio goes back to Walker's the night directly following the events that took place in the RP log 'Ravage', and Jason crashes out or broods or etc. on the couch, while Trace and Batiste talk in the kitchen, leaned up against one of the counters.

Log Cast:
Jean-Batiste
Trace

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Emotionally drained, Trace scoots closer to Batiste and gives him a tiny glance that seems to be asking for permission, but scarcely waits for an answer as he sags against his older friend, curling to press his cheek to Batiste's shoulder. "I shouldn't've asked him," he repeats softly. "I just... I thought we could fix things that way, but I didn't know he'd flip out like that... Th-the other'un who did it to me, he didn't seem t'mind like Jason. I... I guess it's different. I just didn't think."

Jean-Batiste's answer is, of course, to hold his arms out for you and wrap you up in a close, warm embrace, his cheek against the crown of your head. He sighs heavily, eyes closed, seeming to lean into you even as you lean into him. "I...I don't know. I don't know what's up, I don't understand any of it." He sighs, stripping away the twinge of bitterness that had started to creep back into his voice. "I don't know what's going on...or what happened to you, how someone could...could steal your dreams, but...we'll make it okay. Somehow. We'll do it together, and show Jason that...that the three of us are together, there's something between us, not just emptiness."

"I still can't believe he thinks that," Trace shakes his head, and it also serves as a tiny nuzzle against your shoulder. "I know jest what fills that hole. Th' three've us in th' motel room gigglin' 'n braidin'.... n' that time we painted Jason all over when 'e fell asleep... makin' that dragon 'n princess 'n them knights, an how they came alive with Jason's music, and the people crowdin' round t'see with us too wrapped up in it all t'notice... Or jest' lately, piled on Walker's waterbed so comfortable, flopped all over, sleepy from yer good food 'n all that too-rich laughter fer dessert.... S'like, I think of all that, an' our trianle feels like it's burstin', it's so full inside, y'know?"

Jean-Batiste's eyes open, and he turns his face down to nuzzle your braids, smiling a little against them. "Yeah," he murmurs, almost too softly to be heard. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There's...so much, already...and we've been together for barely any time at all..." He takes a sharp breath, as if his heart had just lurched or started racing again, overwhelmed by it all, then tries to ease the panicky-sweet feeling with a gentle laugh. "Maybe...maybe there's something we're not doing right, for Jason...and I don't know how we're supposed to tell...how we're supposed to figure it out. He doesn't share anything unless he wants to, there's just...no way to figure him out. Every time I think I know how he'll react, he does something and..." He trails off, smiling sourly, and rocks you with a light shrug.

"Yeah... yeah, I know what you mean," Trace sighs. "Like tonight, even... how he said when two've us share somethin' the other don't, how it's hard on us? When he compared it to how you and I share junk, and that's somethin' he's not a part of, well it just kinda really surprised me. I mean... I guess it makes sense, since just because he don't want to himself, it don't mean he can't feel left out by it, y'know? But th' thing is... I mean, we've known him months now... and this is the first time I figure it out. When he decides to tell me. I just... I mean, you're I couldn'ta held a jealousy in so long, not a chance. I think maybe... like how we were talkin' bout Walker? I think Jason kin' be like that too." He buries into soft, familiar flannel and hard shoulder, nuzzling and hidden now hidden entirely by braids.

Jean-Batiste licks his bottom lip and swallows, nervousness making his heart go uneasily fluttery again. "D'you think..." He hitches in a soft breath, then finishes, "...d'you think that he wants us to share with him? Maybe...maybe he wouldn't be so upset if we asked him? Even if he just said no. But..." Saying he's comfortable giving someone a ticket to junk addiction redeemable at any time...well, it'd be a terrible lie. Some things are better just kept away from. "I guess...I worry that we upset him, because it's so hard to figure anything out about him? Maybe he thinks we just don't care? I don't know...he's just so frustrating. I just can't understand him, not ever. With Walker...he might hide a lot of things, but at least...you can guess how he'll react to things, sometimes." He shifts his arms around you, rubbing at one of your wing-shaped shoulderblades, sighing warmly into your hair.

Trace nods thoughtfully, slipping an arm around your chest and squeezing gently. "I... I guess askin' him is the only thing I kin' think t'do, but he'll say no of course." A sad chuckle as he reminds you, "Jason would never... waste his time dreamin' of needles, 'member? I guess he's got lots more t'dream 'bout. But I really don't know what t'do about it otherwise. If ya noticed, I ain't ever fixed in front of him... not once. So there's nothin' t'change there.." He sighs distantly and gives the tiniest shrug, his arm still draped across in a loose hug. "Then again, s'hard t'change lotsa stuff. Don't know how we'll deal. Not much to do bout' the junk.... An' I got no idea how long it'll take fer Jason's magic t'fade outta me, tomorrow 'r weeks, who knows... And, well," he adds quietly, "Whatever it was Jason was talkin' 'bout that you say I can't know 'bout. I guess everythin's kinda tangled."

Jean-Batiste draws in a long, raggedy breath, lets it out slowly. "Jason's magic," he murmurs. "Jason's magic...it's your magic, too. It has to be, because it works better for you than me, right?" He doesn't sound at all certain - all these details he knows are there, somewhere, but just slightly out of reach. He swallows, nuzzles your braids, and continues to speak. "Like you said, whatever...whatever it is that's special about you, it's not like Jason, but it's more than me." He shrugs lightly, mouth quirked up at one corner, then sighs again at your last few words, going very quiet and very still for a minute or more. After another shuddery breath, he murmurs, "I don't want to hurt you. And I...I don't want to lose you. And...I'm just scared, Trace. I'm scared there are things about me that..." Faltering, he shakes his head a couple of times. "I've lost friends before, saying the wrong thing, opening up too much...I'm too scared to risk it with you. If I drove you away..." His eyes close in defeat, just thinking of it.

Trace lifts his head from where he'd been nestled to peek up at you, confusion and a rare show of pride playing across his features. His arms squeeze your chest again gently, and he's quiet a moment, considering his words very carefully, before he simply, softly points out, "Them friends of yers, if you opened yer heart up an' they couldn't deal with all ya showed 'em, then they didn't love ya like I do."

Jean-Batiste looks...sad, torn, and very, very scared. He wants to believe you, wants it with all of his heart. But...what if he's right again? What would he do? But how long can he keep it a secret, when it's not a perfect secret anymore? He looks down at you when you speak, expression softening as the words make something inside him twinge and want to reach for you despite the risk of pain. "Trace..." he murmurs, staring at you like he could fall into your eyes. "That's...too good of you to say..." He cracks a smile for a moment, laughs, and glances away. A heavy sigh soon follows, and he murmurs, "I wish Jason would have just said it. I just...the words, they're right here, you know?" He rubs his throat, just below his Adam's apple. "They stay there, and just won't come out for anything."

Trace reaches up very slowly, touching is own fingertips very gently to that spot on your throat where the mystery is supposedly bottled up. "But I didn't understand what Jason was sayin. Somethin' about this mornin'? But that don't make sense since Jason hinted he had a secret with you way before that, and specially with what you just said. Like you suddenly made and lost a buncha friends since this morning." He sighs softly and draws his hand away, settling them on your shoulders gently as he looks at you. "I can't imagine anythin' at all that y'could say t'change how I feel, Bat. Coulda' murdered someone an' I'd find a way t'understand."

Jean-Batiste's features suddenly contort with frustration. He reaches for your hand and squeezes it desperately, staring down at you. "But...Trace..." For a moment he looks like he's going to cry. "I've had people tell me that before, that I could never say anything that'd make them change how they felt...and it hasn't been true. I just..." He swallows hard, bowing his head, cheek against your knuckles, and stays there several minutes, barely moving at all. Finally, when he looks up at you again, he just...looks at you, and smiles this sad, heartbreaking smile, as if he could memorize you and everything about you in a few seconds. He takes a deep breath and sets your hand down, uncurling his fingers from yours and returning them to a loose embrace around you. He holds you so tentatively, now, so uncertainly, only peeking up to your eyes every few seconds. "Jason was talking about this morning...about...it was part of the secret, I guess. I really did go upstairs and talk to Ben a while, but then Jason showed up and Ben left and..." He looks at you a moment, swallowing, reminding himself to breathe. "Well, Jason and I...we, you know. We...we fooled around a little." He blinks once, breathes, and eases the final two words out. "I'm gay." He looks at you then, with a morbid, masochistic curiousity for your reaction.

Trace doesn't say anything for a moment, his expression shifting slowly, hazel eyes widening with wonder. The tiniest quirk of a smile, his eyes warm, relieved to finally know -- and have the secret turn out to be something so benign, nowhere *near* the horribly possibilities his creative mind had been trying to fathom. His smile just spreads, and he suddenly wraps you up in a gangly, fierce, typical Trace hug. "Oh God, Batiste, that's all? I.. I can't believe ya didn't think ya could tell me. I swear it doesn't matter... And I'm not gonna, like, go all weird on ya and stopp huggin' ya 'n shit. Coz yer just... really good at huggin, better'n anyone." He nuzzles your neck and giggles a little. "I just gotta wonder though.... first Daniel, then you. Why do I keep endin' up with gay boys fer best friends?" His grin lingers a moment, where it's hidden against your flannel collar, and he after a few quiet, thoughtful moments he speaks with more chagrin now than amusement. "So hey, I guess that makes Jason kinda gay too, huh."

Jean-Batiste could be a statue, he sits so still after telling you, hanging onto your expression, your words, like a life preserver...or a hangman's noose. He doesn't want to move away, and doesn't dare to move forward, and so he's frozen. But then you start to smile, and your eyes warm - and then you're hugging him. He sways, as if he'd been hit by twice or three times your weight, and doesn't react for ten or fifteen seconds...but then he's hugging you back just as fiercely, hands shaking. Actually, all of him is shaking. Blind relief. He still seems afraid to move, but now it's because he's afraid it's a dream. Your comment about Daniel startles a soft giggle out of him. "It's because we won't steal your girlfriends away..." he replies, risking a tighter hug. A soft chuckle, regarding Jason. "I think Jason likes girls, too. I bet he does. Just...he's a fireheart, right? Wild and free in everything." He tentatively rubs your back, staying quiet for a long time, then belatedly notes, "I'm just...good at huggng because...because there's nothing like a hug. Nothing makes you feel as good as a hug can..." He trails off, shivering, and whispers, "I...I'm so glad...that you're still here...I was so scared, Trace..." He sniffles once, and wipes his cheek against your shoulder before rearranging his arms around you.

Trace sighs softly, swaying gently with you, his arms loosely holding back. "Didn't have'ta be. I meant what I said, them other friends didn't love ya like I do. Assholes... M'pissed at 'em, coz they hurt you like that, enough to even make you think I'd be dumb as them." He shakes his head, but after a moment gives a soft chuckle. "Actually, it's funny... earlier, when we were newer at bein' friends I used'ta be worried that you'd get weirded out or start thinkin' I was a freak or something coz I liked you holdin' me so much n' stuff... Like I thoug ht maybe *you'd* take it the wrong way and leave *me*."

Jean-Batiste has to laugh softly at that, the irony of it all, sounding a little giddy. He's stopped trembling - or at least, it's stopped everywhere but in his hands. His heart still races madly, trying to keep up with the realization that you're still here and haven't run away. After a few deep breaths, he leans back enough that he can see your face, and smile shyly at you. His eyes are too bright, and he suddenly reaches up to wipe one eye before it spills any incriminating tears, but it's a brilliant smile nonetheless. "Funny, isn't it? Just...all of it. What both of us were thinking, and came up wrong... God, Trace..." He laughs softly, and brushes a few braids away from your face. There's still a touch of tentativeness to it, but it's fading fast. "I've never been so glad to be wrong."

"I'm glad too," Trace grins, and his cheeks are flushed a little. He murmurs, "And I like... wanna apologize for, uh... well, there was that one time when it was like we were at Jordan's picking out those clothes and I called him something? I mean, I didn't mean nothin' by it... It's like Jordan's way different from you, and how you act, but even still... I shoulda found some other way ta tease him, y'know? M'sorry." He suddenly giggles brightly. "And I'm really sorry also for that one dare I gave you, callin' that one girl. Now I see it's like that dare musta been more embarrassin' fer you than I thought!" His eyes dance amusedly.

Jean-Batiste shakes his head gently at you, tickling you with the blue tuft of one of your own braids. "Don't need to apologize. My dad called me a Satan-worshipping faggot when they tossed me out...I'm pretty sure I'll never hear anything worse." He grins crooked for a moment, tickling your cheek with the braid again, then pets it back in amongst its companions. "And don't apologize about Jordan, either." He pauses there, and gives you a slyly innocent look. "You can apologize about the dare, though." He goes a little pink, just thinking about it. "You're so lucky I was so high that night...I could've never done it sober." He pets your hair again, smile settling to a quiet, fond expression - he lets out a soft sigh, shedding the last traces of a viciously tenacious tension-knot, and simply hugs you again, staying warm and comfortable like that for a long, long while.

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