huggingcompetition | redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Entry tags:

reno,
rp threads

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

Getting shot through space would be traumatic if you weren't asleep and/or being beamed through it at the speed of life itself. It only felt like he'd had a long, restless sleep when Emil's eyes opened to focus blearily not on the smooth metal ceiling of his tiny apartment, or, more often than not, someone else's, but on the generically spackled ceiling of a hotel room in Malay. He was sure he was dreaming at first; he'd had dreams like this before, where he was back on earth and preparing to go about his day, at least until someone new happened out of the bathroom, or turned over beside him in the bed, but a quick glance around told him the one thing that made his heart sink straight into his stomach.

"Reno?"

Silence. just wind and surf and birds outside the cracked open window, and his own pulse plodding along strangely placidly.

He checked his phone to confirm what the date was, finding himself only a little bit alarmed to find out that time had passed here. Not much, but some. Enough to have taken up his vacation before he had to head home and begin arranging for the next winter sports season.

It would go like that for months after arriving back home and settling back into his routines. Wake up, work out, practice, visit with friends and family, with the underlying feeling that something was just off. It almost felt wrong just going back to his life now.

Sometimes, he'd try to talk to a concerned friend asking questions. Explain that he wasn't sleeping well. Making an effort to rationalize that he wasn't unjustified in feeling like something was missing or wrong. He had so much on his phone that confirmed what he already knew: this "dream" of his, about all of these people he'd met, couldn't be fake. He had photos taken of the park, of ladies he'd made friends with, of interesting people he'd met in the observatory or at the rink, of Koller and Reno and Mo Guanshan and Sam. He still had messages from some of them.

He reread those a lot as time went on. He couldn't possibly have fabricated those, surely. He'd start doubting every so often, wondering if it was all an elaborate, staged thing, like he'd been brainwashed. He joked that he'd been abducted by aliens, which did throw off some concern with the humor of it, but feeling so left of center never really stopped.

Even when the world started turning into the sort of low-key hell that had always been predicted by the sci-fi writers of the last century, Emil kept going. He went to the finals another few times, even making it to the Four Continents, with a piece that he'd choreographed on his own, to a remixed piece that he'd once worked on when he was still in his "dreamstate". That year he dressed in red with a yakuza-style phoenix emblazoned on his costume's back.

The summer after, he opted to take time off from his normal busy schedule to spend time close to home with his family, to reflect on what he wanted to do with the few years he had left in his skating career. He only had a few years left in him after all, as his body filled out and matured. He'd kept his hair short and feathery, but let his beard grow fuller and make his face much more mature. He walked the streets of Prague like anyone would the streets of home, having moved here the year prior after leaving his parents' home. It had been a move advised by his coach and some well-meaning publicists after some suspicious occurrences, including redirected phone calls and some increasingly freaky "fan-mail" that had apparently never had a name or return address attached. He'd been curious, but followed the advice nonetheless, if only to keep his actual fans from going on some kind of witch hunt.

Pulling out of his distraction for a moment, he stops in his meandering path through a small city park to sit and take a moment to zone out, a tablet in his lap for his fingers to flick across mindlessly. It's become home to a massive photo gallery, transferred from his phone when it was finally on the verge of death. The background of it is, predictably, a starfield, though if anyone looked closely enough at it they would realize that it isn't the view from anywhere on earth. In one corner of the image is a figure standing without paying attention, a shock of red hair tied and twisted into a haphazard bun over a simple tshirt, hint of tattoo peeking from the collar. Emil finds himself glancing back at it as he scrolls through an article linked from his Twitter feed, barely absorbing a word as his mind wanders.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He can't help but laugh about that. "I hate to break it to you, but the entirety of this is gonna be kinda gay."

A large part of him wants to follow after Reno, to cling and be reassuring and demand that Reno let out everything he's feeling. He wants to know everything that happened, he wants to be properly guilty over this so that he can be done with it sooner. But he wants to keep his word and start over and make sure that everything goes well this time around. There's no caveat that requires them to whore themselves to others, and nothing saying they can't just have a normal relationship now.

Well, relatively speaking. The learning curve won't be as extreme for them now.

When Reno backs off, Emil's hand comes up, waving him back over. "Hold on, you still need my number don't you? It'll be easier to coordinate that way." He plucks a slender phone from another pocket, offering it so that Reno can put his own information in, intending to text him right back as soon as it's done.

He takes the phone, holding it thoughtfully before shrugging slightly and holding it back out with a slightly sad, mostly apologetic smile.

"I don't have a phone," Reno explains, chewing one side of his bottom lip with a small shrug, reaching up to scratch the edge of one eyebrow.

"I'm not a legal citizen...I don't have the identification they want for a cellular contract and I didn't want to waste money all the time on burners. I've had to save a lot...chasing you down wasn't cheap," the Turk barks a soft, helpless laugh. It hadn't amounted to much, all those trips, bribes, fake IDs left and right.

"It's okay. I'll figure something out and we'll talk about it at lunch, right?"

Edited 2017-08-29 01:53 (UTC)

Emil nearly vibrates on the spot, wanting to simply offer to put Reno on his own plan, to get him a phone and help him set up faster and easier. He keeps the thought to himself though, instead rubbing his hand along the underside of his jaw in thought. He takes his phone back and lifts it briefly, considering whether he should at least take a photo of the two of them together. A new one tucked away with all the rest. Proof to give his friends that he wasn't just making it all up in his mind.

He'll refrain for now though. If he takes a picture, he might want to put it up on his social media, and who knows what Reno will say about that.

"If you want, I can help you put together paperwork. ID and things. If you've got a criminal record...that actually helps a little, establishing a timeline, kind of. It gives you a presence. It also looks good when you start 'cleaning up'. Just. Let me know what you want to do next ok?"

He'd probably be pleased as punch, really. Proof that he still mattered when he was trying very hard not to feel like he didn't.

"That's gonna look great to your friends, huh? Criminal boyfriend. Tch," he sighs, not terribly proud of what he'd had to do. He doesn't really regret much of it, since he stayed out of anything violent and had a reputation for being fair with people, even if extorting them. Doesn't mean he's got anything to be proud of.

"I'll ask questions about papers myself. You've got enough to worry about without worrying about me, too. Mind yourself," the redhead sighs, scratching the side of his face before tapping a foot.

"Write your number down for me. I'll call you when I can from the phone in the shop near my place, alright?"

Emil nods some, still looking a little unsure, like he really does just want to take care of it himself if only for the sake of his own conscience. But Reno does have a point when it comes to getting the work together himself. They'd figure this out.

He laughs a little, waving off the concern. "At first, yeah, they might be worried but as soon as they see you're not in it for money or anything like that and you aren't getting me in trouble they'll ease up. Besides, when they see you skate- have you kept up on it? Or should I teach you how not to fall over again?" He smiles a little more brightly at that, slipping a hand into one of his pockets for a receipt, as well as a mechanical pencil he has to click a few times before the lead pops out. His number goes on the receipt for Reno to hold onto.

He pauses in the act of holding it out, figuring that he could risk taking that picture, even if he's not sharing it with anyone.

"Er...can I? Since I don't have anything but the old pictures..."

"Tch. I can skate," he mutters, glancing off to the side a bit huffily. He could skate. He could skate extremely well now, but without legal legitimacy, there was no way to go forward with skating, and he'd never gotten any interested sponsors. Of course, the rinks he skated weren't important enough to attract that kind of attention, anyways.

"What?" Reno murmurs, looking up from the numer he was trying to memorize - just in case - before realizing what was being asked.

"You have to ask? Since when have I been camera shy?"

"Just figured I should ask, given the whole criminal thing," Emil replies with a shrug before moving himself to Reno's side, taking his hand out of sight of the camera and taking a frankly handsome selfie of the two of them. Undeniable proof that this is, in fact, his Reno. He eases away after taking a couple of shots, facing the other man again.

"Then maybe we can go to one of the rinks soon. I really want to see how good you are now."

"I'm not a fuckin' terrorist, Emil. Sheesh, gimme some credit," he grumbles, reaching up and checking his hair and ever-present goggles before leaning in and smiling for the photo.

"Mm...well, maybe that can be one of our dates," the redhead snorts, smirking softly and raising both hands out in a shrug. Not like he was going to let Emil say they needed to start over without dragging it out until the other man regretted and reneged on the decision. It's not even a competition, but Reno has to win.

"You gonna go inside now or keep standin' here? I got calls to make and work to do before I can quit my job and cross my fingers I don't end up in serious drama."

The joke would be on Reno at that point, because Emil would eat up the chance to do this even if they did it slowly. So it would be a war of attrition until they got back to the point that they had been.

"That's an excellent idea. We could do that when you're a little less busy. You can definitely leave messages even if I don't pick up. I can't really bring my phone with me onto the ice."

He snorts quietly and waves Reno off then, stepping back toward the door. His smile fades a little with the sudden anxiety that this was going to be the last time he saw Reno again. "Fine ok I'll get out of your hair. But seriously, you have to call me when you're done with all of that."

He sees the faltering expression, knows it's source because he shares the feeling. Eventually he steps forward, reaching into Emil's pocket to get the pencil, tearing the receipt in half and writing an address down, handing it to the skater.

"Don't come here unless it's an emergency, alright? It's not a good place for someone like you. I'm not going anywhere, Emil. I've been here waiting for years...I don't think a few months will be the end of us, hm?" Reno murmurs, sighing softly before cupping the side of the other man's head and leaning it to press a kiss to his hair. That seemed safe enough, right?

"I'll call. Just let it go to voicemail. I hate talking on the phone. You'll get to hear the dulcet tones of my voice, know I'm still around, and I don't have to feel weird telling you things I should be saying to your face. Rest up. I'll see you later."

Emil looks down at Reno's hand disappearing into his pocket, then at the address on the other half of the receipt. He reads it over when it's handed to him, brow furrowed. He knows this general area, at least through reputation. He'd only survive going through here by dint of looking tougher than he actually is. Not a good area of the city by any means. He's not all that surprised that Reno has made his home there.

"Okay..." He folds the paper carefully and tucks it into his wallet for safe keeping, about to say his goodnight and head inside, until Reno kisses his head. He can't help but lean into the gesture, eyes closing. "Okay. I'll let numbers I don't recognize go straight to voicemail. I want to hear all about what you've been up to since you've been here." He looks back at Reno with a slightly wobbly smile and wraps one arm around his shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug.

"Stay safe out there, huh?"

He straightens back up to head inside after that, giving a last look back and a slightly too bright smile; he'd just have to convince himself that this really was going to work out for them. He heads up the narrow stairs with his phone up, typing out as fast as his thumbs can move a message to one of his closest friends. He includes the picture of the two of them together after making her swear that she wouldn't show it to anyone else, or post it online. She was reluctant until he sent it.

The rest of the night was spent on a FaceTime call between them, interrupted by her brother only once, attracted by the unusually grave tone of Emil's voice. He's immediately threatening, insisting that if this "dream guy" did anything at all to compromise Emil's safety that he'd fly out of Naples personally to knock him out. Emil couldn't help but laugh at the idea, soothing Michele with the assurance that he'd do it himself if it came to that. Even though all three of them knew otherwise.

When he finally sleeps there are no dreams, no anxious lonely spotlights, no hyper-realistic memories, no awful what-ifs. Just peace.

By the time the lunch date comes about, Emil is waiting outside his apartment building, dressed as casually as ever, a pair of wristbands hiding his cuff augments from general view. He pulls at them anxiously, glancing up and down the street, valiantly ignoring the sneaky little voice trying to convince him not to get his hopes up.

Edited 2017-08-30 10:53 (UTC)

"Safe? Me? Please," the Turk snorts, rolling his eyes and smiling, hugging back because it felt right and good. He still let go, sliding away with no small amount of reluctance. Nodding, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and heads off, though he stops just around a corner, watching Emil leave, watching movement behind windows, watching the locale.

A nice place for a nice boy, where his home was a bad place for a bad boy.

Almost like starting over all the way back in the beginning, when he was still a stupid teenager. Back before he'd done horrible things just to get by.

Can people really start fresh? Completely? Maybe, he muses, smiling to himself and making his meandering way home. Back to his mattress on the floor, his milk-crate shelves, his box TV and his empty fridge. Except now he doesn't have to hate his empty space so much anymore, a little bearded ray of light in an otherwise dismal day keeping him above water.

Getting his hopes up was harmless in the end, the familiar shock of red hair turning a corner. He was in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and khaki slacks with brown loafers, an expensive-looking watch on one wrist looked at quite pointedly as he walks up, smirking at the skater.

"What's this, so eager to get lunch you're waiting outside ahead of time? Tsk, I hope you weren't left hungry too long?"

"What was that? I couldn't hear you over that shirt," Emil teases, grinning as his hand lights on Reno's shoulder, leaning in and bumping his jaw against Reno's in an easy greeting. "I couldn't help it, I was hungry. I'd even debated on leaving without you."

He hops off the step he'd been perched on, his hands tucking into his pockets, posture a little bit slouched as he relaxed at Reno's side. "So what did you have in mind? If anything. I know there are a few places we won't go broke for big portions."

"You said you already had a place in mind," the Turk murmurs, busy looking down at his shirt and trying to find any fault in the blue birds and bright pineapples on a background of palm trees and badly drawn waves. Well...maybe it's a little loud. But only a little!

"Leaving without me? I really don't think you should make it a trend," he remarks dryly, arching a brow at the other man. He raises a hand before Emil can protest the unfair comment.

"It's a joke. I'm over it. I freaked out for the first few months. By now I'm just..." he shrugs, unable to really describe his state of mind beyond 'fine', which was never an accurate enough assessment. Fine described an Amazon package, not a person's feelings.

"Anywhere that has crepes, if you know them. I'm a fuckin' sucker for crepes. They're the coolest thing. Breakfast? Crepe. Lunch? Crepe. Dinner? Crepe. Dessert? CREPE. There's nothin' you can't get!"

It is a loud and awful shirt and Emil actually likes it, at least on Reno. It's very indicative of...something. Maybe not his fashion sense.

Reno's joke catches him a little offguard and his smile fades, eyes going down to the sidewalk. He wouldn't start an argument about this, but that stung. Reno might claim that he's ok now, but that's not something Emil can honestly say.

The question of crepes is a distraction at least, and Emil seriously considers if he knows anywhere that has them that's not fancy and overpriced. He nods after a moment, pulling up a location on his phone so that Reno could see where they're going. It's a little longer of a walk, but he's fine with that. It would give them a little more time to just have time together. He doesn't trust himself to speak back up yet though.

"Don't grouse. The only thing that got me through all of it, aside from sheer stubbornness, was self-deprecating humor. Cut myself a little all the time so the bigger hurts get lost. It works for a while," he muses, shrugging slightly and shaking out both hands before reaching over and poking a finger gently against Emil's cheek.

"You missed me...right?" he asks, looking genuinely concerned. He knew he hadn't been forgotten, knew he wasn't an unpleasant memory, but now he didn't know if it was love anymore. At least, he didn't know if it were reciprocated love. He'd never stopped pining for Emil. It was never about the drugs, for Reno. He couldn't speak for the other man, though.

"Mm...nevermind. Let's talk about something else, yeah?" Because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to hear the answer yet, if it were no.

"I talked to the guys--" meaning the gang members he was affiliated with "--and they're gonna help me get sorted with documents. Just the basics. Apparently it's not that hard to get legitimized as a citizen at all, with the right channels. I gotta run jobs for them for a little while longer, but nothing big. The usual stuff. It'll pay for the papers without dipping into my savings. Apparently I was born in Pavlov," he chuckles, arching a brow before gesturing vaguely.

"We should visit one day. It looks nice. Small. Old."

"I'm not good at humor like that." Obviously. The poke has him making a face, but he still smiles at the question. Of course he did. It scared him to think that he'd just fabricated it all in his mind, that there was nobody in the first place that actually held those affections. "Dream guy" had to be real, if he wasn't, Emil was pretty sure he would have to be sectioned for being in love with his imaginary friend.

Before he can respond in any coherent way Reno changes the subject, and Emil blinks at him, absorbing after a moment. They were setting him up as a legitimate citizen. That was good! He'd be able to make a more stable life like this, right?

"I'd have suggested one of the little islands off the coast of Japan, personally. You used to speak something that sounded like an old dialect of Japanese." He nods though; they would have to start travelling and seeing other places together now that they had the chance.

"Hey, genius, we're trying to make me a Czech citizen, not Japanese. A criminal record with no legal visas could get me deported to a country I don't know any better than another. So I'm Japanese-Czech, so what?" Reno snorts, rolling his eyes and reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out a lollipop, of all things, peeling the wrapper off and sticking it into his mouth as he walked. It had kept him from other less savory distractions like smoking, after all, and it actually made for a more intimidating look, the way he kept the stick out the side of his mouth, like stereotyped gangsters with their toothpicks.

"I still do speak Japanese, evidently. Something with a Yokohama accent? Anyways, they use me for liaisons with overseas constituents." A nice way of saying Yakuza associates, but they were being delicate. Everyone here assumes I'm running from an old gang in Japan, everyone from Japan is confused about where I'm from because my tattoos are authentic and my language is fluent, but I'm a ghost there. It's actually kinda nice, everyone spreading wild rumors about me and all of them being wrong."

He smiles, shrugging and stuffing his hands in his pockets as they walk, gazing up at the clouds idly. The candy clicks against his teeth as he rolls it with his tongue, thinking.

"When do you leave again?" he asks, glancing over at the skater from the corner of his vision, still keeping his face skyward, casual. The seasons rolled quickly and Reno still doesn't full grasp the circuits, but he knows Emil won't stay in Prague forever. He'll have to figure out his situation before then.

"So I'm the only one that actually knows anything about you and where you came from," Emil muses, smiling faintly. It actually felt kind of nice, being the only one in the world with that information.

The crinkling of the candy wrapper draws his attention and he can't help smiling at it. It fit, he thought.

"I've got another month, then the season starts up. I'll have to start training, but at least I can devote most of the fall to that instead of needing to participate in regional competitions. Last season I placed highly enough to still have that standing." He starts to go into greater detail, about the last season, about the plans he had for this one. He didn't have a full program put together yet, but he wanted to do something that related back to his first, and to the time after it. The year prior his theme had been about the persistence of memory, a clear ode to his continuing to hold onto what had happened after he'd turned eighteen and the things that he still held onto from that time. Reno included. So this time around, he wanted something that would mean he was moving forward and really growing up, moving on.

He looks back at Reno, his hands still in his pockets. "I want your help with this season."

"Yep, just you. I wouldn't trust anyone else anyways. I didn't even want to approach anyone we knew, just in case, y'know?" Further highlighting how alone he'd been, though he'd long stopped looking at it that way. There were millions of distractions in this world that didn't exist in his own.

"I know! I saw. I was there..." he murmurs, scratching one eyebrow, candy clicking softly as he smiles. "I attended as many of your shows as I could, though I was pretty much always in the nosebleeds. It was a pretty good consolation. You looked amazing," he muses, reaching up to clasp his hands behind his head, eyes still skyward.

"Huh?" he pauses, blinking a moment and lowering his hands with a small frown. "Emil, I don't know anything about skating. Not really. Asking me for help is like saying 'Eh, I'm not really interested in the gold, psh'. I mean, seriously."

Part of him wants to demand why, if Reno had attended his performances, hadn't he tried to get his attention. He could have, he could make a sign or stand on a seat and yell or make some other kind of commotion. They could have met before now...

He's distracted enough by this train of thought that it takes him a moment to actually reply.

"I mean it, I want your help! You don't have to get on the ice or anything, just be there to bounce ideas off of. I'm sure my coach would like the break..."

"I...guess. I'll help with whatever you want, but I don't want to be responsible for screwing everything up for you," the redhead murmurs, unsure, even while flattered.

If he knew Emil's thoughts he may have commented on already feeling dismissed by the ignored letters and gifts. He'd given up on pushing contact by that point, determining that face-to-face was the only thing that would suffice and that he went to the performances because he wouldn't miss them for anything.

Even when they got him in trouble with the gang for his absences during important issues.

Only in retrospect was sending clippings of hair and such probably weird enough to get thrown out, but he didn't understand the concept of people not getting their own mail, back then. everything was a learning curve for him.

"We should go skating sometime, though. I don't fall down anymore," he smirks, shrugging slightly. In fact, he had learned more than a few moves, and could do jumps effortlessly. No more fear of frozen water and knives on his feet.

"You don't have to perform with me or anything like that. You know I've only ever competed in men's singles." Though he might have enjoyed pair skating, it's not his call to make.

Yeah, not getting your own mail might seem pretty weird, until you factor in the possibility of really weird stuff sent by fans to celebrities, however minor of one he might be. Sometimes fans were kind of an uncomfortable thing to have.

The offer to come skating with him informally makes Emil smile though, and he nods at the idea. "I'd like that."

The restaurant was up ahead and already his stomach rumbles with the prospect of a good meal that he didn't have to make or to order in to a hotel room or hostel. He reaches to snag Reno's elbow and hurry him along a bit more. "If you like we could go see my new home rink later. The old one's in Brno so I can't really commute to it all the time."

"Hm? Yeah, sure!" Reno replies with a relaxed enthusiasm, nodding for emphasis. "If the fee isn't too much I'll come skate there, too. Not doubt a hell of a lot better maintained than the one I go to. I learned how to drive a zamboni because their guy was always off drunk somewhere. I probably spend as much time tending the ice as actually skating it," he huffs a sigh, rolling his eyes irritably.

"You should consider pairs," he remarks after a moment of silent thought.

"Your style lends itself really well to a more interactive format. Like...you do things that are pretty impressive, but alone a lot of your performances seem like there's supposed to be someone else there with you. If you had a partner worth anything, I think you'd take gold, easy. When it comes to individual sets, no offense, but your choices really aren't as gripping as Katsuki's or Plisetsky's."

Yeah Emil, he's been paying attention. A lot, evidently. The things that had mattered to Emil became important to the redhead in the Czech's absence. He even took a few public courses on astronomy (which served a double purpose because he needed a basic education and getting to at least 8th grade level was not something he could ask anyone to help with).

"You've gotten damn close more than once. Last years performance...well. It's pretty obvious that when there's any deeper meaning behind a set, the passion for the performance is what carries it just as much as individual talent. If you did something you really, genuinely, liked along with your physical ability and personal talent, there's no reason you can't take gold. I truly believe that."

Emil chews some at his lip as he considers that. He's never really seen that from his own performances, but then again it's different being an observer as opposed to performing. He could see things like what Reno was describing in other skaters, but he can't really see it in himself.

But maybe that had changed in the years since they'd met, then been separated. He doesn't know. But he does acknowledge that he's just not as engrossing to most audiences as some of the other skaters. More often than not, he's more of a footnote of competition seasons, even when he wins medals. The growing collection of them kept in a simple, out of the way display case is pretty indicative of that.

He's quiet on the matter, accepting the fact for what it is. He won't admit just yet that this might just be his last competitive season, just by dint of age and physical changes. A guy his size can't jump the way he does without fucking up the ice pretty bad.

"You know, I think if you'd been able to do it right, you would have blown me out of the water during the season. I know I'd have loved to watch," he comments, smiling faintly and nudging Reno's arm with his own. "Your passion's always obvious, and you've got so much of it. I don't think mine comes through very well."

redheadedstepson Terra Firma

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