soicantlose | let's do the open post again

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I'm guessing that's because nobody makes you dinner, mostly.

Two.
The door's open, so you don't have to break in.

[The last person to offer to make Gavin dinner was his mom, honestly. He’d lied and said something at work came up. Didn’t want to deal with her questions about his personal life.]

Shouldn’t keep your door unlocked. Buncha weirdos around.

[Like Gavin, he’s gotta admit — albeit not out loud. He did steal Nate’s milk.]

Gavin has to be an overachiever here — a contrarian, really — so when Nate says to get two milks? He gets three. Two are in one plastic bag, the third in another — along with a cheap bar of nasty dark chocolate.

Nasty.

When he gets to Nate’s place, Gavin almost kicks the door so he won’t have to set a bag down. Almost. In his infinite mercy, Gavin sets down a bag. Sighs in exaggerated exasperation before pushing open the door.

“Got your fucking milk right here. You got dinner ready or what?”

"No, cause I told you, I needed milk for it." He's already rolling his eyes as he turns around from the stove, grabbing the bags so he can set them on the counter, next to the bowls of ingredients lined up by the stove. "Give me twenty minutes, it doesn't take long."

The apartment is the same as ever -- white walls, second-hand furniture, neat but not particularly personalized. Just about the only change since he got back is the suitcase sitting in the corner by the door, already emptied of anything incriminating.

“Thought you were gonna get all experimental on me.”

Gavin raises his hands mockingly before looking around the apartment. Not really expecting much of interest since his earlier milk thievery, but he does notice the suitcase.

“What was your trip for, anyway?”

He makes himself comfortable, leaning back against one of the kitchen counters. Arms crossed. Forcing bland conversation — like a good dinner guest!

"I decided I wanted to enjoy it. Lucky for you."

The question gets a dismissive wave of the hand before he moves to reach for a cabinet, stretching up to grab a measuring cup before he answers. "Quick job. Not too far, but far enough I didn't feel like driving back."

Which is the truth, this actually was closer than his usual work is. It's just easier to leave the travel time out when talking to people who don't know what he actually does, and let them assume he's just busy if he stops responding.

“Whether or not I’m ‘lucky’ remains to be seen.”

Gavin’s not one to ask too many personal questions but he’s still curious. And it’s about Nate’s line of work, not like Gavin’s pestering him about some tragic backstory. Gavin doesn’t exactly hide his own occupation: police badge clipped to his belt more often than not, even when he’s at home.

“Right. You, what — a traveling salesman?”

He snaps his fingers.

“Selling your shitty chocolate, huh?”

"Only when things really dry up on me," he answers dryly, shaking his head. "I'm an independent contractor. Construction, handyman stuff -- odd jobs."

Nate is a terrible liar, especially for someone who spends his life doing illegal activities, but this one is familiar enough that it rolls off easily. Which is good. Gavin's probably the last person he needs questioning it, considering his job. Honestly, Nate's probably playing with fire having the guy in his place at all, but considering Gavin's willing to break in on a whim, it's not like he has much say in it at this point.

"If I knew I was going to be stolen from, I'd have made more of an effort to get home instead."

“Think the chocolate gig is more believable than that. Gross chocolate’s more your thing. But whatever.”

Gavin shrugs.

“Keep your damn secrets.”

Which has got Gavin thinking, but he shouldn’t over think here. It’s part of his job to be suspicious of people, but maybe Nate’s just embarrassed. Ashamed? Gavin’s known plenty of people with weird jobs. Bad jobs — hell, the police department always needs informants.

But with Nate? Gavin isn’t sure what to think — isn’t sure he wants to think, really. If it’s something fucked up, it’s probably better he doesn’t know.

“Yeah? Noted. If I ever need something from you, I just gotta let you know I’m about to break into your place.”

Gavin points at his eyes. Points at Nate’s.

“Gonna be something more than milk next time, too.”

Now, though, Gavin heads over to the fridge. Pulls it open, pawing through Nate’s food.

“You got any beer?”

Not the best response, but admittedly, he's always known he could use a stronger cover story. Still, he'll take it, and let the conversation move on -- easier that way then trying to talk Gavin into believing something he can't really give that many details on.

Although he does roll his eyes at the pointing. "Sure. Fuck only knows what you might need from me, though. Or steal." He doesn't exactly have a lot that's worth anything -- not unless you count weapons, and those are pretty well-hidden.

"Go ahead, make yourself at home." It's dripping with sarcasm as Nate gestures with a wooden spoon, but honestly he sounds more amused than really annoyed. "Bottom shelf. Make yourself useful, get me one too."

“Maybe sometimes I just want a place to crash that’s not my own. That so hard to believe, huh?”

It’s not like Gavin’s place is a total wreck, but it’s got memories. Attachments. Legal residence, and all that: coworkers coming to nag him when he’s not answering his phone. Exes have his address, too, and it’s not like any of those have messed with him lately — the ones who have tried are stupid, and exes for a reason — but there’s still comfort in being somewhere else. Somewhere not his own where nobody would think to look.

And Gavin barely sleeps, so maybe a change in scenery might help. Having a nice little sleepover, drinking all of Nate’s milk — three whole fresh cartons now! — and crashing on his bed while the guy’s out selling his ‘chocolate,’ or whatever.

Ever the gracious guest, Gavin does at least grab Nate a beer. Even pops the top off before handing it to him.

"You know, you can always move if you don't like it. Easy solution."

Not that Nate can really argue much, considering he ends up crashing on his bartender friend's couch at least every couple of weeks. Sometimes the apartment's too quiet to stand for the whole night. And not that a change of scenery has ever done much good for his lifelong insomnia, but as much as he likes -- treasures, even -- having his own space, sometimes it's nice to stare at a slightly different ceiling.

Difference being he doesn't break in, but whatever. He's sort of resigned himself to the fact that it'll probably happen again.

"Thanks." It's absent as he takes the bottle, focus on the skillet he's stirring.

“Yeah? You gonna fork over the first and last month’s rent? Security and pet deposit? Damn, what a guy.”

Maybe Gavin will move someday. A little closer to work, even. More room for his cat — or, hell, another cat.

It is, perhaps surprisingly, not entirely Gavin’s fault that his savings account is as paltry as it is.

“Think the easier solution here is mooching off of you. Seeing as how you’re so accommodating.”

Gavin closes the fridge, cracking open his own beer.

“Y’know, wouldn’t have to break in if you gave me a key.”

He pointedly isn’t looking at Nate as he says this: more-so staring at the fridge as if it’s riveting, somehow.

Nate would point out that he's been complaining the entire time, but it's pretty useless. The fact that all he's doing is complaining might as well be rolling out the red carpet.

"And lose the warning of hearing you try to break in?" He says it like a joke, even though it's genuinely the first thing in his mind. He tries not to leave anything too incriminating around to be found, but still -- even a few seconds is useful, sometimes. "At least this way I know when you're coming."

“I drank your milk. Jesus. Not like I broke stuff. Or are you missing some fancy shit you’ve neglected to mention?”

Hypocrisy at its finest: Gavin would have lost his shit if someone just welcomed themselves into his home. Less so with Nate, maybe, but still. At least then it’d make sense — payback! — even if he’d still throw a fit about it.

Gavin almost says something along the lines of ‘Could just assume I’m here at any given point, then,’ but he’s not sure where that train of thought is going.

He’s insufferable, sure. But he doesn’t need to push people into reminding him all the time.

“Oh, you’ll know I’m coming. I’ll be sure to text you — right before I kick your door down.”

A wry smile twists at the corner of Gavin’s lips, then: “It been twenty minutes yet?”

"No, but a minute to put on a shirt is nice." Not actually a joke, as much as it's not his first priority; when he's alone, Nate doesn't usually bother.

He rolls his eyes at that, putting down the beer to grope on the counter for whatever he can find. He ends up with a wadded-up empty butter wrapper, tosses it in Gavin's direction without looking. "It'll be done in a few. Can't rush it if you want it to taste good. Anyway, the pasta's not done yet." With impeccable timing, the statement's followed by the timer on the microwave going off, and Nate busying himself with finishing things up.

tfln overflow (@ratmanreed)

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2/2 - saw you’re good with prose or brackets but feel free to switch to whatever you’re feeling!

prose is good with me! I'm really not picky ^^

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cn: mention of past bad / abusive relationships

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fingers crossed ur week is kinder than your weekend

<333 if I can remember to take my meds it should be

aw hon :( be kind to yourself

working on it! stuff got shuffled on me

mooood work is kicking my ass

oh nooooo, hopefully it gives you a break <3

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