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Log Title: Third Wheel, part 2

Log Setting: The front porch of Walker’s house on Moss Street. It is July 26, 2001, at sunset.

Log Cast:
Jason Riley
Trace Anderson

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The door eases open gently, and Trace slips out, with the posture and fluid movements of one trying to be fairly quiet and leave without evoking notice. He holds a pencil loosely in one hand, and has his sketchbook tucked under his arm. He notices you before the door is even shut, however -- that red hair's hard not to spot -- and blinks in confusion. "Jason...?" he murmurs softly, and then finally thinks to bump the door shut the rest of the way and creep a little further out onto the porch, debating whether or not he should sit down next to you. "What're ya doing out here?"

Jason doesn't seem to hear the door or your movements, nor his name. At least at first. Finally, after long moments of complete silence and non-movement from Jason, he turns his head slightly and blinks (not quite looking at you). "What?" he asks distractedly. Then his brows furrow as he reaches up to scratch a bare shoulder. "When'd you get home?" The clothes beside him, by the way, aren't all his. You can see one of Bat's flannels and his cap sticking out of the pile.

Trace looks at his vacant friend a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other a moment, before making his decision and moving to sit on the stoop next to Jason. With a transparant flush and way too much effort put into NOT noticing the pile of clothes, he makes it pretty clear that someone's already enlightened him as to why they're bundled up at your feet right now and not being worn by Batiste and yourself. He sets the sketchbook and pencil down on his other side -- nope, doesn't look like he's going to be drawing any out here after all -- and looks at you pensively. 'I... got home awhile ago." You expect the dreamy little artist to pay attention to something so mundane as a *clock*? "You... you okay?" he murmurs in a small, concerned voice, reaching out to timidly brush at a wild lock of red hair with light fingertips.

Jason may be lost in space right now, but he does pick up from your body language the discomfort. Which means you obviously talked with Batiste. Or at least Batiste talked to you. But that was something that... happened a long time ago, it feels, even though it was only this afternoon. "I'm... okay. I think..." he murmurs... And then, as you brush his hair back, he lets out a heavy sigh and scoots closer. Hair falling down over his eyes as he rests his head on your smaller shoulder, he closes his eyes and gets his quiet comfort from just being close. He'll stay like this if you let him, too.

Trace will let him, of course. That's just something that happens around here, as frequently as we help one another up, share food, drugs, laughter... we lend shoulders. Trace needed one this morning. Batiste needed one a few hours ago. And now... Jason's turn, as Trace strokes his fingers through your wild, red mane with such care. He knows it's like pulling teeth, getting Jason to explain anything, but he offers softly, 'Kin' talk 'bout it if you want... Or just sit 'n we'll breathe in the quiet. S'okay.."

Jason breathes deeply, resting there against your shoulder. He needs this shoulder badly. Needs Batiste's too, but he's... well, now that Jason thinks about it, Bat's actually prolly ticked off at the red-head. Or something of that sort. But, after long moments of silent closeness, Jason opens his eyes a little and looks out to the street, murmuring, "Jus'... 'memberin' stuff s'all..." The way he says it is like someone whose been through fifty years might, not fifteen (or however many he's got under his belt).

"'Memberin' sucks," Trace points out with a little smile, turning to press his lips to the crown of your head and nuzzle briefly before looking back and tangling his fingers up it Jason's hair again. "We'll be okay," he decides softly. "We’ll move into our place..." A smile, as he rambles on softly, soothingly, "Jest a little place, 'till we move into the big house with the strawberries out back, 'course. But even so, it'll be so nice... Batiste found us some fuzzy blankets, smell good 'n every'thin. This one, it's so soft, an' it's *purple*.."

Jason watches the sky through the two houses across the street, deciding not to point out that you're making less sense than even /he/ usually does. But, well, while in many ways the 'memberin' isn't all bad, for his mood at this moment you're right: 'memberin' sucks. His eyes wander down to your hand as you ramble, then are followed by his own hand. He takes yours and turns it over a little, peering at your palm for a moment. Softly, he asks, "What'd Bat say?" Judging from your reaction earlier, he must have said something.

"About... about the blankets?" Trace hedges at first, but rather quickly faces up to the fact that he's no good at playing dumb and murmurs, "You mean... you mean about... this afternoon, you and him?" There's a definite flinch in his voice, and it's clearly somewhat hard for him to talk about. But it's important. "He asked me if he shoulda let you. Without it. He was afraid ya were upset 'n mad at him." He looks down at his own hand held by yours.

Oh, well... Bat went into detail, huh? If this were almost any other time, Jason would probably die of embarassment. But right now... Jason just nods a little, letting out a soft sigh. He turns your hand back and forth a couple more times, then just twines his fingers with yours, shifting his head on your bony shoulder to get more comfortable. "Don' know what the big deal is anyway," he mutters softly, almost to himself.

"Neither did I," Trace whispers, squeezing your hand once gently. "Neither did I. An' I put 'im through the same thing," he confesses. "Not..." A blush. "Not 'zactly, but... Blood brothers. It's a.. a junk term, it means someone you trust 'nuff t'share needles with. And I wanted so *bad* to trust him, because there was... somethin' intimate in it. There really is. It's hard to 'splain. But he wanted it too, so he let me, but it was always... me first, then him. Every time. He got upset if I tried to work it otherwise. And he tole' me each time that he didn't trust 'imself. He'd never been tested like me, and he hadn't always been safe..." He shakes his head gently and nuzzles at your hair before continuing. "I didn't wanna hear it. I wanted to think he was safe and we could share anything, but in the end, I didn't know, and he's our... protector, y'know? He couldn't take the risk. It's... a lot the same, don't you see?"

Jason's eyes close again as you speak and nuzzle him. He's never really had a kind of close talk with you, just you and him, but... well, it isn't so bad. At least for now. He lets the silence at the end hang a bit, then makes a petulant little sound in his throat, scuffing a bare foot against the step. "Why's he trust us but he won' let us trust him then? 'Mean... I dunno, I done more stupid stuff 'n him 'n I never been tested 'n he'd still let /me/, but..." His brows furrow in consternation as he stares at the ground between your feet, his thumb brushing over your fingers as he thinks (kinda like a safety blanket, you are). "We share our blood with him, why don' he share his with us? 'Mean... S'like he /tries/ ta be on the outside... ta protect us 'r sumthin', sure, but means he..." He shakes his head, frowning slightly.

Trace lifts his brows a little, turning this over. "You aren't sure 'bout yerself?" He bites his lip a moment and then admits, "Well... ya prolly' shouldn'ta let 'im... do whatever, then. It's jest, I mean..." He shrugs, just one side, so as not to disrupt his function as Jason's Comfy Shoulder and quietly insists, "Thing is, I *know* I'm safe. Blood brothers is somethin' special. I only have with Batiste, 'cept for a few times real early on when I was a dumbfuck who didn' know better. But since those days I been tested, an..." He smiles with *much* chagrin. "Well... no secrets, right? But no laughing neither. I ain't... never been with nobody. So... yeah. Anyway." He reaches up a hand to rub his pink cheeks shyly. "So I wasn't ever no threat to Batiste. But..." His eyes lose a bit of their embarrassment as they grow more thoughtful, chewing on your words. "But I do see what ya mean. But I think it's jest' his nature, he protects what he loves, y'know? Doesn't mean t'put himself on the outside, but sometimes its where he thinks he gotta stand t'do it right an' be sure we're well..."

Jason actually giggles softly as you admit your, erm... inexperience. It's not like this isn't something he didn't figure out a long time ago (which is what makes it so amusing). But he doesn't make any comments or anything of that sort. Just nods slightly against your shoulder. "What if he's okay, though? Y'think he'd loosen up 'little if he knew he was okay?" A quiet question, but it's kinda apparent that Jason is kind of in a hurry to get this phase over with. It's been frustrating him to no end in certain sitations. "'Mean... ain' like he's /done/ nuthin' lately, so..." Another sigh. "He's gonna be older 'n he needs ta be.."

"Well... well, that's what I'm hoping," Trace nods, again thoughtful. "We need t'go find 'out bout those dumb tests already so he can relax." He tightens his hand where it clasps yours, again just briefly. "It'll be a good thing t'get off our chests." It occurs to him that you never finished your sentance, and he prompts, "Needs t'be what?"

Jason murmurs to clarify, "Older /than/ he needs ta be..." His eyes wander out to the street again, his hand squeezing yours back. "Ya think..." he starts to ask, but then shakes his head, beating back the question. It's not something he wants to think about right now. Especially not with everything that's happened today. It's too much.

Trace has no clue what you were going to ask, of course, but you can bet that if he did, he wouldn't want to consider that possibility either. Leaving the one hand clasped in yours, he brings his other round to gently run along your joints and knuckles, twining pinkie fingers, tapping at your nails. Basically fidgeting with your hand as he thinks about something else entirely. Finally, with his eyes still trained on your hand, he murmurs softly, "So... are you an' Bat like boyfriends now or somethin'...?" Trying for casual, but transparant as ever, his fear shows all over the place. His pinched lips, averted eyes, poorly-veiled tone...

Jason blinks out of whatever thoughts he was thinking on his own at the sound of that question, his head lifting off your shoulder so he can look at you. Brows furrow with both confusion and concern... and then he lowers his eyes with a soft exhale. Well, they /did/ manage to keep things discreet for awhile now so that you wouldn't feel left-out or hurt, but... a crisis like this was bound to happen. And of course, when crisis happen, everyone's needed for support. So now... Jason turns his hand over in yours, then brings his other hand over to take your free one. Stalling as he searches for the right answer. Or at least an answer that will probably sting the least. But, finally, he just nods, wordless for long moments. And then he asks softly, "Yer thinkin' /yer/ gonna be left out now, aren' you?" A sad tone, because he saw this coming sometime or another. Now for damage control.

Trace just ducks his head and murmurs, "Already am. Have been. Not with everythin', course. Yer both still the... the best friends I ever could have, but it's jest very hard to... to want that too. I mean... in a way you don't, but in another very important, very real way you do, you want it so bad..." He shakes his head. "S'not fair, either. Coz... coz I'm gonna give up junk, n' all fer *you*, because it hurt ya, an' in the end hurt all've us. And then I hurt Batiste when.... I mean, you an' me..." His brow furrows slightly, even though he doesn't look up, staring hard down at his lap. He *had* a point there. He's sure he did, but right now... Oh, it's just his mind is swimming, he figures. Too much emotion. "I-I dunno," he finishes lamely. "I dunno. I dunno. I can't think right now.." He draws away the unclasped hand to rub at the bridge of his nose a moment. "I never wanted t'be the third wheel t'two lovers. I never thought that's how we'd be. But I guess... what it all boils down to is I have no right to want... anything. To be a part've it. To have there be nothin' t'be a part've at all. It's jest... very selfish of me, and I have no right. And it makes you both.. happy, so.." His voice is very small here, timid and humble. "So I gotta deal. I jest, I get jealous, and I get scared, and I know it's wrong of me so I'm sorry fer it. It's jest...." he hunches his shoulders and says softly, "It's jest I'm so scared to be loved less."

Jason just sits and watches you as you sort of stumble through your thoughts, biting his lip. But as you finish, he leans forward and slides his arms around you, drawing you close to him, pressing his cheek against your blue braids. "Ya..." he starts, then falters. He takes a deep breath and tries again, on another thought, one that he's at least a little sure of. "I kinda wished that..." Okay, so that one's not easy too, but he'll stick with it. One hand slides up to slide through your braids and he continues quietly, "Dunno 'bout Bat, but.. I know that... I wanted alla us ta be..." He shrugs slightly. "Y'know." And then he laughs softly. "Thought Bat would be the straight one, actually..." Back to quiet voice, "As it is, though... I dunno if I could love either've ya more, y'know? 'Mean... S'just... Y'know? Ain' nuthin' 'more 'tween me 'n Bat than 'tween me 'n you in my mind... My... heart." He's starting to falter again. Talking this much, this /seriously/ isn't easy for him, it's getting muddled in his head. "Don' think ya don' got no right 'bout nuthin', kay?" he tries. New tack. Nope, nowhere to go there either. Finally he just lets out a deep sigh and mumbles the admission, "Always been jealous've you'n Bat too..."

"Needn't be," Trace murmurs, braving your gaze. And then he smiles... it's this sweet, aching smile that tears up his eyes into hazel pools held captive by red-blonde lashes. "D'ya really think ya kin' keep it that way, what you said, about the both've us in yer heart..?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but surges forward in a fierce hug, murmuring, "Sex is supposed to bring people closer, but I mean who says that, magazines? I'll believe you. I'll believe you, okay..?" His slender arms squeeze tight around you.

Your smile triggers a twin on Jason's lips (though a crooked twin), eyes bright as he looks into your eyes (eyes... they always seem to snag him at the wrong moments). But then you've thrust yourself into his arms and he laughs softly, holding you close and nuzzling into your braids. "Well, we /could/ have sex, y'know," he says in that playful tone that says 'okay, crisis over, seriousness can be abandoned again.' But then he giggles and squeezes you back, eyes closed, face burrowed into your hair. After a moment, he asks, very softly, just to make sure, "Promise ya believe me?"

Trace nods into your chest, but it's not enough, and he pulls back to peek up through braids, nods again, and says, "Yes, yes!" He sits up just a little more and looks at you with big, still-tearbright, but now also decidedly impish eyes, and he just looks a moment, like, 'I'm gonna surprise you, ha!' And he leans forward like he's going to kiss you, but plants it *right* on the tip of your nose, smooch! Then two more for each cheek, smack, smack! Then he giggles and draws back, beaming, a puppy expression, look, look, see how I love ya? See?

Jason wrinkles his nose at you playfully as you bestow kisses upon him, then suddenly darts forward and kisses /you/, real quick and playful-like. Teach /you/ to be impish around the impish /mastah/. He grins mischeviously and pulls back, propping himself up with one arm while reaching out to ruffle your braids with his other hand. But... still, a little part of him stays distant. That little part that hasn't stopped thinking about today, probably. His smile grows fond and he just looks into your eyes for some silent moments... And then he asks quietly, "So... s'it safe ta go inside? 'R is Bat still in a mood?"

"Oh, sure," Trace nods easily, leaning into his braid-ruffles and enjoying them mightily. "Batiste ain't in no mood. I mean, he *was*, that same 'ole *thinkin* mood he gets in with his cloudy eyes 'n all, when somethin's botherin' im. But I talked to'im. He was never mad at you. And now 'e's fine. Les' go!" He leaps up and reaches out for your hands to help tug you up.

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