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Post by nashville 'nash' aspen greer on Feb 17, 2012 17:35:50 GMT -5
Nash drummed his fingers on his knees. He looked down, afraid to say anything. He tended to avoid people, didn't want to deal with being tortured. He didn't like people who felt bad for him, either. He wrung his hands together, looking over at his drum set. The thing was collecting dust; he hadn't bothered playing it in forever.
"-want.. to le-leave, you c-can.." He said quietly, looking over at him for a second. The room was so quiet, he could actually hear people if they talked loud enough.
'My mom obviously thinks that I'm gay but I actually don't like anyone so you don't have to feel uncomfortable.' He signed, chewing on his lip again.
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Post by dylan flambyte parker on Feb 17, 2012 17:39:38 GMT -5
'You're not the only one,' He signed back. He had never liked anybody. Ever. Glancing towards the drums, he stretched some. 'You any good?'
He nodded towards them, running his hands down his jeans so they straightened out a bit and weren't so uncomfortable.
His phone was vibrating again and he sighed in agitation, turning it on silent and shoving it back into his pocket.
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Post by nashville 'nash' aspen greer on Feb 17, 2012 17:50:32 GMT -5
Nash shrugged. He took his phone out of his pocket, setting it on the couch. The last text from his mother could be seen on the screen. 'If you've got that boy in there, Nashville, you're going to be grounded. Your dad won't be seeing you this weekend.' He pulled off his shoes, never been able to play with shoes on. He grabbed a shop rag, dusting it off before thumbing through them before grabbing a pair. He kicked his stool over, then sat down. He grabbed his iPod from the stand beside the drums, putting his headphones on. He turned it up, and put the player in his back pocket. In a matter of seconds he was playing The Beast and the Harlot without missing a beat.
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Post by dylan flambyte parker on Feb 17, 2012 17:54:38 GMT -5
Dylan eyed the phone. "I-..." Should he leave? He didn't want to get the kid in trouble. Sighing, he glanced towards him as he prepped up the drums and plugged in his music.
"Damn," He huffed under his breath, smiling faintly.
Nodding, alert and attentive, he waited for him to finish patiently, signed. 'You're really good.'
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Post by nashville 'nash' aspen greer on Feb 17, 2012 18:03:42 GMT -5
Nash pushed the earphones down around his neck, biting his lip again. He folded his hands in his lap, tapping the drum sticks together. 'Thank you.' He signed. He couldn't hear it, but he knew he was doing it right. He could hear the beat in his earphones, even if he couldn't hear anything else. He tapped on one of the drums before putting his sticks back.
He wanted to tell him not to go; glad that he had kind of made a new friend. He just looked at him instead, then looked down, rubbing his eyes.
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Post by dylan flambyte parker on Feb 17, 2012 18:08:31 GMT -5
Dylan nodded in response, fidgeting. No, he hadn't liked anybody, and he didn't see this as meaning he did either, but hell, the guy deserved a compliment. Standing, he strode towards him and crouched. "You really are handsome, you know?" He spoke in to his ear, louder than a whisper, but not loud enough to leave the confinements of the shed before he straightened up again, just in case.
He didn't need Nash getting in trouble for his own stupid actions.
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Post by nashville 'nash' aspen greer on Feb 17, 2012 18:16:38 GMT -5
Nash bit his lip, his cheeks turning bright red. "You too.." He mumbled, wringing his hands together. He didn't know how to react; the only person to ever have called him handsome was this boy, and obviously neither of them had any interest other than friendship. Or nothing they were showing. He looked back up at him, taking the earphones off. He sat them aside, then fixed the beanie on his head. He got up, accidentally brushing him as he moved in front of him. He checked his phone, then tossed it back on the couch. He sat down, folding his hands together.
'She can't keep me from my dad. I'm nineteen.' He thought, chewing on his lip.
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Post by dylan flambyte parker on Feb 18, 2012 1:51:59 GMT -5
Dylan smirked faintly, stepping back as the touch sent a chill down his spine. The feeling passed and he fixed his own hair and hat, sat down again, once more stretching.
He looked around curiously, removed his jacket like he had befire, rubbing at a tattooed arm.
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Post by nashville 'nash' aspen greer on Feb 18, 2012 1:57:45 GMT -5
He looked around the room, then back into his lap. He always felt awkward around other people. But at least the guy knew sign language. He pulled his beanie off his head, tossing it beside him. He ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up then fixing it back.
He leaned over to look at his tattoos, running a finger across one of them. He didn't know how people had the tolerance for those things. But he was a baby when it came to pain; he could stub his toe and complain it was falling off.
"You.. have any m-more?" He asked, then walked over to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water.
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Post by dylan flambyte parker on Feb 18, 2012 2:03:36 GMT -5
"Yeah," He managed before Nash got up for water.
He tugged his shirt up to his shoulders so the rest of the tattoos coating his upper body could be seen, eyes watching him curiously, keeping an eye on the door as well.
He refused to get him in trouble because someone walked in to him showing Nash his body art. 'I'm a tattoo artist,' He signed.
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