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[unquiets]

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"You've reached David. Leave a message after the tone."

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[unquiets]

( it's a lot to offer all at once — the admission that she'd stay, the quiet hope that her brother may one day turn up, that (one of) her future(s) is something bad. there's a familiarity to it, to what she tells him, and though he knows she has no way of knowing what syd said, what the vermillion said, it's still a coincidence that should feel nice — or something like it, perhaps — but doesn't.

it's a little backwards, the way she offers her answer, the why of it coming second, but it makes sense. david imagines he'd be the same if he wasn't so sure he had a means of changing things, fixing them, making them better.

(would he want amy here?)
(no.)

he keeps his fingers curled around his cup and, unlike wanda, doesn't move to stretch out. his focus remains wholly on her, on the way her expression shifts, where her attention falls. at length— )

People lie. ( firm. assured. certain. ) Did you read his mind? How do you know he's telling you the truth? No-one wants to be told they're a bad person. ( he leans forward then, the wine in his teacup sloshing with the abrupt movement but not spilling. he pauses and stills, lets the liquid resettle before continuing. ) Maybe he just wanted you scared, frightened of what you're capable of doing.

( because she is (was?) scared. they've established that. rightly or wrongly, that's how she feels and has felt for a long time. all because of how people perceive her and what she's done, what she might do.

a beat; a tilt of his head and a small, fleeting smile. a suggestion. ) How do you know he's not just scared of you because you stopped him from doing something terrible?

( he lets the question sit for a moment, and then drops his gaze and gestures lazily towards her wrist, the watch now covered again by her sleeve. )

Is that just a watch?

( or: "why?" )

[carmesi]

I tried to.

( —read his mind, that is, but all she got were undecipherable horrors that made her, as she mentioned, sick. all those multiversal monsters within stephen did not like to be intruded upon in a way that most people's defenses don't react like. even david's mind isn't so... like that (but maybe it's because he's invited her, from the start). this much she says immediately after his question, making it clear that she did try. but david continues, how do you know he's telling the truth?

his suggestion, dressed as a question, shapes wanda's expression into silent appreciation for... this very particular way that he talks in. it's not constant, but once in a while, his tone softens, his voice takes on this sense of gentle authority, to compel.

how quick he is to turn something around, spin it in its head, seek alternatives. he's not wrong to think that wanda is (continues to be) scared of the potential within her, and this very much limits how far she considers the opposite of what she's told. where most times, when talking about herself, this, her powers, she finds herself walking into walls, david's responses feel refreshingly like walls with windows wide open, offering another path, option. like it's been thought through, for a while, in his own way.

anyway, much to think about.

so, maybe, her response is not one for his questions. )

...you talk like that a lot.

( does not elaborate. wanda picks at her left wrist, removes her watch, and leans over the table, setting it down in the center. )

Do you feel anything on it? ( anything a psychic could pick up, some kind of manipulation to its components? wanda isn't one who understands mechanics, but it seems like a simple watch to her. she saw stephen pick it up from the store they had been at. ) He said he wanted to help me, so I guess this was his way of showing me some kindness. I always know what time it is now.

( a shrug; what does it matter, ultimately? stephen strange was no longer here, left her with more questions than answers, and her future is still uncertain, albeit written already for those who come from it. she sits cross-legged again, and picks at the remnants of her waffles. )

But, you said you'd help me.

( in no real terms, just that he'd 'make it softer', that he'd 'teach her' about the astral plane. which he has done, but. there's still so much more she feels she could learn from david. she smiles softly. )

Right?

[unquiets]

( the mm her 'tried to' gets is perfunctory, accepting. this stephen, whoever he is, had barriers and walls, intentional or not, that sat as a companion to whatever creatures he had inside of him. (or — whatever they were. it's hard to say whether wanda's assessment is correct, or if that's just how stephen appeared to her.) he'd wonder more if this stephen were still here in the city, but she speaks of him as if he's not, or at least as if he doesn't bother to make his presence known, so— )

Talk like what?

( she doesn't elaborate, and david doesn't know what she means, can't even guess at what she means. it's levelled back at her, a quizzical frown knitting his brow as he studies her, tries to infer her meaning before placing his cup down on the table and reaching to slide the watch closer. touch doesn't make any difference to his abilities, but he's still curious about it. it's bright, almost distinctly un-wanda-esque from everything he's been able to pick up about her so far.

he thinks he could see switch wearing it. )

—No, ( he answers, tone mild. maybe it is just a watch. maybe it wasn't, but with stephen no longer around, now that is all it is. he lifts a shoulders in a shrug that mirrors hers, mouth quirking in quiet acknowledgement of guess it is just a watch.

he pulls his hands away and places them in his lap, one atop the other. )

I will help you. ( another flicker of a frown, this one more questioning than the first. a cant of his head as he adds, ) You know that.

[carmesi]

( it's there, briefly, his trying to infer what she means without being able to read her mind. wanda, still, doesn't elaborate, but watches instead as he studies the watch. she sets her now empty plate to the side, leaning all the way into the table, elbows on the surface, waiting for his assessment—no—and then grabbing back at the watch once he draws away from it. )

I do.

( she hadn't been trying to assess whether he'd keep to what he had offered or not. wanda has no real choice but to take david at his word, but she also doesn't want to assume that he doesn't have other things he'd rather do with his time.

watch latched back onto her wrist, she lingers there, thumb padding the soft skin on her wrist, before her eyes divert to the couch. )

...you talk like you've thought about what I wonder about a lot. Not because I've wondered about it, I know that. Just — you understand what this is. ( unsaid: be it because of his own experiences or own thoughts on the matter, about himself. she turns back to him. this idea of 'i've never met someone like you before'. differences, but such close similarities. beyond that, everything else—

she points at the couch with a thumb over her shoulder. ) Your things from the car, by the way.

( just as he had tossed them in the car, now inside a bag that wanda used to carry them up. she wasn't going to look over his things or anything, but figured she might as well just bring it up. )

I have trousers like that. The striped ones. ( the last statement, said like a question. ) You like striped things a lot. ( in any case, he doesn't seem to have a lot of clothes, so, ) There's a washing machine and dryer you can use.

[unquiets]

( at first, it seems like she's not going to elaborate at all, just reaffirming her opinion that he talks like that before it becomes evident that she's mostly just putting her watch back on. in some ways, what she adds is tangential to her story about stephen, adjacent in a way that makes sense albeit only from a certain perspective — that is, david, by virtue of having been in a position similar to wanda, has thought about it.

but it circles back to that question of how much he wants to share and say. she knows about farouk, she's seen a flash of memory of his trial, but she doesn't know the details of it all. the build-up, the fallout, the why. the what they called him.

in turn, then, it's almost as if he's not going to respond to that. you've thought about it. you understand. he looks over her shoulder towards the bag on the couch, mouth opening in a small 'o' of acknowledgement that takes a moment to turn into— )

Thank you. I was going to get them later, ( while his gaze drops reflexively to his feet, to his striped socks, before back up to wanda. his expression, a muted kind of sheepishness, suggests no-one's ever actually commented on the stripes before, says that yes, he does like stripes.

punctuated by a moment's silence, then two, then— ) I have thought about it. The same things as you. There are people that are scared of me, too. ( his turn for his gaze to flick up to the ceiling, to rest momentarily on the light. ) But people are scared by power that they don't control, so. ( you know. ) You can't take what they think to heart.

[carmesi]

( makes no difference to wanda, really; she had used his car for the convenience of grocery shopping, so the least she could do was bring everything else up. again, not an issue when she can just move things with her mind. there's a brief smile at his gratitude, at the quiet way he looks down at his (striped) socks and that's just— a slightly different side of david.

like the david who was bemused at the uncomplicated way she pointed out that they do know what north is; the david who took her notebook from her to draw the constellations he had mentioned, the first night here, enthused about their planned trip; the david who laughed at her hiccups, but softened the blow of any perceived ridicule by drawing her close. when he talks about powers, others opinion on them, you talk what way a lot, it's like a different guy; defensive, careful. nothing wrong with that, not really, but for all that he has been honest with her (and wanda has to trust that much), there's a lot that he keeps close to his chest.

then again, they know each other for less than a week.

wanda reaches for a strawberry from the bowl in the center of the table, biting down on it, slowly, just as he starts to talk again. thought about it. her eyes flick up to him, then down on the wooden surface as he looks up at the ceiling; there are scratches on the surface of the table, circles from cups and glasses from previous use. she swallows the strawberry. )

What people are scared of you?

( not that she doesn't believe that they are, but it's. a more nuanced question than what it may appear. he talked about some of his friends (ptonomy, she remembers that name), mentioned an ex, who broke up with him. she rubs the back of her thumb against her chin. )

...being someone others see differently can be lonely. I get that, so.

( she wants to help, too, the same way he is helping her, even if not in the same way. wanda offers him a shrug, offer's there, and steals at another piece of waffle (just a small piece) so she can scoop up the leftover syrup on her plate with it. )

[unquiets]

( her question has a different response to her statement, both of them reflexive, sitting on the tip of his tongue. it doesn't matter what people, they're not here. (too defensive, too evasive—. she'll think it's weird, think he's weird.) he's always been seen as different. (alienating, driving a deliberate point of difference between the both of them when nearly everything else he's said has sought the opposite—.)

there's an ease to wanda that implies she'd accept it if he didn't answer, a willingness to not necessarily accept people as they present themselves, but that she won't push if she doesn't feel it necessary or worth it. he could probably slide into the former, but it wouldn't be good for them.

he inhales a breath, long and slow, and watches as she drags a piece of waffle over syrup. it's sticky, tacky, and leaves streaks on the plate. )

People I worked with. ( worked with, oddly similar to how wanda had worked with the avengers. ) They... helped me at first. Taught me about my powers, helped me reconsider everything I thought about myself. Then—. ( a flick of a hand, dismissive. ) Someone came up with a maybe. An idea, a delusion. Something that might happen in the future. A David Haller that doesn't exist anywhere but in imagination.

( a quick, thin, bitter smile, there and gone. )

I haven't done anything. ( I'm a good person. ) People get these ideas. Even you, at first. ( simple, not accusatory. ) Am I safe?

[carmesi]

( david starts to talk, and wanda sits up on her knees, rests on her legs, back straight, attentive. all that, yet her attention remains on her plate, as she pulls another piece of waffle to finish up the syrup. he'd be right to assume that she really wouldn't have minded if he had decided not to answer, but it helps, and plenty, that he does.

she can fill in some of the blanks: what he thought about himself, the psychiatric hospital, then his powers— )

A delusion?

( quietly asked, between when he states the word and continues, something that might happen in the future. agonizingly familiar, but instead of just the one person saying this, it seems that, for him, it was a group of people thinking this way.

and it's not accusatory. wanda knows; they've been over it. if she didn't think of him as 'safe', they wouldn't be roommates. wouldn't be eating waffles on the floor. there are always concerns, though, when getting into people's heads, especially with someone who had admitted to her that there had been a scary monster in his mind, poisoning him.

wanda's quiet, then looks up at him. )

David— ( another pause, eyes down over to his shoulder, thoughtful, before they're back to meeting his own. he had spoken of people that he lived with, that he was used to that, but. for what it's worth, the timbre of her voice doesn't fluctuate; he can't read her mind, but he could perceive that she isn't suddenly regretting asking or coming to her own conclusions based on his words that would otherwise accelerate her heartbeat; consequences. ) Fear really changes people. That's not your fault.

( and although she is scared of her powers, what she can do, it still stands— i can't control their fear, only my own. her hand on the table, her fingers curl inward, making a fist, and she stands abruptly (she does this a lot), back to the kitchen. it takes her but a moment to come back, with the sticker sheet in hand. she's pulling at one of the sparkly stars just as she sits down besides him. wanda looks at him. )

I'll take my chances with the real David Haller here. Even if we won't always agree, I mean it. We're friends.

( and she places the sticker on his shirt, close to the collar. they don't have the star charts yet, so she presses it proper, making sure it sticks on the fabric. )

You help me, I'll help you. We won't have to be alone anymore. Whatever happens back home— we can try and figure it out.

[unquiets]

( fear really changes people. she's not wrong, but that doesn't make it better. doesn't change outcomes. doesn't change the starting point, or the journey. it's better not to have it.

as she stands, abrupt and sudden, the cassette clicks and there's a thunk as the side they'd been listening to comes to an end. david doesn't move to change it immediately — wanda's back from the kitchen too quickly for that — he does turn towards it as if the thought's there. wanda's re-emergence ensures it's only a fleeting consideration. he casts her a glance, lightly quizzical at the sight of the sheet of stickers in her hand.

moreso when she just sits down next to him. )

I don't need you to always agree with me. ( for all intents and purposes, he means it; right now, in this moment, it's the truth, so when she starts to press the star into his top, he exhales a laugh, short and fond. he reaches up to gently pull her hand away once she's pressed it in firmly enough that it won't immediately fall off; he keeps his hand wrapped gently around her wrist, the touch of his fingers light.

he knows she's not alone here, even without him, but that doesn't mean he disregards her anymore. regardless of whatever else happens, they'll have each other.

but—.

he shakes his head, small, slight. he appreciates her offer, the we can try, but he doesn't need it. ) I've figured it out. Home. ( gentle, sincere. ) What I need to do. I'm not in any rush, so if I'm here for a while, that's fine. It won't make any difference. I'm not going to leave you.

[carmesi]

( wanda is uncertain the star will stick for too long, the glue catching the fuzzy elements of the fabric over time, but she allows for him to pull her hand away. her eyes remain on the star, even as he says i've figured it out. though he is gentle and sincere, the hand on her wrist warm, wanda can't help this... wayward feeling. it comes from him, and david had told her that emotions are a journey and he should be allowed them, choose what to feel, what to portray. it's not like she can quite place what the emotion is, but it makes her a bit nervous.

still, she opts to trust him, despite how she sees it, and slides her wrist from his hand just so that her own hand can takes its place. a reassurance, for herself.

this, in a roundabout way, answers wanda's question about what he wants to do. david needs to go back home to do what he has to do, which he has figured out, but he's in no rush to do so. wanda looks down at their joined hands, strands of hair falling over her face and shoulders. it's still hard to ignore—the feeling, so, )

I'm going to hug you now.

( both as a warning (that he doesn't really need) and as a way to push herself into moving. david isn't wrong: though wanda has these shining moments of pushing past her fears, she finds it unbearably difficult to find courage when she's stumped by the possibility of loss, more so than anything else. her powers are one thing; she's been getting more comfortable with them, the more she is here, surrounded by people who accept her and them. but it was in losing her parents, countless of people she knew back home throughout the years, pietro, those she cares for here—that it makes her choosing (?) to have a roommate such an emotionally risky thing for her.

thus, i'm not going to leave you are exactly the right words, even when she knows that there's no real certainty in the matter. could david promise that certainty, with his powers? for now— he's here.

wanda lets go of his hand and scoots a little closer, wrapping her arms around him, pressing herself close. something twists in her gut, and it's not— it's not him, so much as the realization of something she's always known. how she's never got to say goodbye to anyone she ever loved. it's quiet and a little sentimental when she speaks, her hands curling against his shirt. )

You can't leave without saying goodbye.

[unquiets]

( though david's recently aware that wanda can pick up feelings, he assumes — for now — that it's limited to when they speak to each other telepathically; he assumes, too — foolishly, a little arrogantly — that it won't be with all things, that his emotions aren't as transparent as all that, not all the time. (he knows he's emotional, it's just — he tries to be less so these days. tries to be calmer. outwardly if not inwardly.) he doesn't begin to imagine, then, that there's anything from his I've figured it out that she might pick up; imagines even less that she might be biased in her decision to ignore any hint of anything less than pleasant simply thanks to what else has been shared between them.

while wanda looks down at their hands and tells him she's going to hug him, he stays looking at her, the way her hair casts shadows across her face, hides her expression. he doesn't think it's shyness that has her telling him, she's been more than open with small touches here and there — the poking at his back to get his attention earlier, the comfort in proximity when they were looking at the stars — which means it's more to do with the rest of it.

she wraps her arms around him and he does the same in return, a tight, easy, comfortable hug that, when her fingers toy with his shirt and tells him not to leave without saying goodbye, he punctuates with a sudden exhale of breath, warm against her hair, her ear. he pulls away, just a fraction, hands resting against the tops of her arms, just below her shoulders.

he dips his head to catch her eyes, and— )

I just got here. Why are we talking about saying goodbye?

[carmesi]

( it would be easier to hide this growing anxiety if only they hugged for longer, but david—wanda has come to learn—bulldozes through when he's feeling particularly strong about something. so, now that he pulls away this fraction of a distance, hands just below her shoulders, wanda's caught in just leaving her hands to lightly hold onto the sides of his shirt.

he tries to catch her eyes, but wanda's looking down, away. it's not about being shifty, it's just— embarrassing, really, how much emotion can just wrap itself around her, leaving her to managing all sorts of complicated feelings that aren't just her own (though they are, mostly her own, just this barrage of grief that she's been carrying with her so long). )

I didn't mean it like that. ( her voice is quiet, like she's trying to hold her breath, lest it gives life to choked vocal chords. it's fine—she's fine. ) I'm just ... trying not to read into it.

( telling him without telling him, that she's felt something through him that she's been trying to parse and the result isn't great. the sticker on his shirt has tangled itself on her hair, and wanda notices, drawing her hands away from him to try and get it off. it distracts her enough to be able to say, with a little more strength in the volume of her voice, ) We don't choose to come here, and we don't get to choose when we leave. It's just... ( she catches the sticker, which sticks to her thumb. wanda brings her hands down to her lap, careful of not ruining or losing the star. ) I never get to say goodbye.

( this isn't about david, even if it partly is, and wanda recognizes it as much. she raises her hand to show him the star; it's clearly for sticking on paper and other such surfaces, not randomly on shirts. )

Glue's probably old. ( not at all related to the star: ) Sorry.

[unquiets]

( —read into it? read into what? his response? something else? the question catches, sits to one side of his thoughts, even as his hands remain resting on her arms, reluctant to pull away entirely. it's notable that he doesn't make the same effort — trying not to read into it (whatever it is) — when her voice is quiet, when she avoids looking at him, and he inhales a breath before glancing away to the side. after a loose count of three, he straightens, finally dropping his hands and sitting back further when she pulls her hands away from his top to deal with the sticker caught in her hair.

he looks back to her, to her hands, as she continues. is that all it is? not getting to say goodbye? it's not precisely impatience the explanation sparks, but it's decisiveness, a thought and a(n almost) solution— ) Then I'll write you a letter. I'm not going to let the choice be taken from me, but if it is, then— You'll have that.

( it doesn't quite solve the problem of her reciprocating, of saying goodbye in return, but it's something. perhaps not closure in the truest sense of it, but it'd mean less wondering, fewer questions. while it's not to the extent of wanda, david knows what it's like not to get to say goodbye, too, and so—.

he reaches out to take the star balanced on the tip of her finger, the corners of his lips curving up into a small smile. ) You're being silly. This was supposed to be a nice, happy new roommates dinner. ( he leans forward again, quiet teasing, almost coaxing in his tone. ) Don't make it sad.

[carmesi]

( she wants to argue that it's not her fault that she is 'making it sad', because this whole thing has been sparked from that wayward sentiment in his words. of having figured it out, why she can't put her finger on why it doesn't feel right. but that really is the thing about 'reading' other people's feelings: interpreting them is not always so simple, and this is one hell of a layered emotion.

wanda follows his hand as he takes the star from her, eyes moving then to his face, as he offers her a small smile. only then does she look him in the eyes.

(it doesn't escape her, his proposal, of writing her a letter. if she's being silly, then he is, too, offering this otherwise simple and easy solution to a problem that's so much bigger than what wanda is willing to admit, even to herself. why had she never thought of it? it's actually brilliant—) )

With your handwriting? ( she teases right back, managing a small smile of her own and rubbing at the corners of her eyes. he's close enough that— wanda presses in for another hug, scooting closer herself, mostly against his side. ) It better be a long letter.

( it doesn't have to be (they've really known each other for just a few days). when she draws back, she holds onto his arm, allowing herself the courage to stop being sad about something she doesn't understand and something that david is more than willing to try and help her avoid feeling, ultimately. )

...but this is enough, too. ( a quiet pout, her hands moving down his arm to hold his hand proper. ) Are you happy?

( the 'nice, happy new roommates dinner' may yet be salvageable. )

[unquiets]

( this time, when she moves closer for a hug that's as much existing in each other's proximity as it is anything else, he doesn't pull away to interject with anything. he stays where he is, with her pressed against him, companionable and content. he doesn't care to linger on the awareness that syd hadn't appreciated it, that she hadn't considered much of a solution to anything because it hadn't changed the fact that he'd left. that wanda accepts it is— oddly, startlingly relieving. whether or not it'd stay that way, whether or not she'd still feel appreciative for it if and when it happens is irrelevant — for now, it ties a bow on something uncomfortable, packages it into something more palatable.

the reality of it will happen when it happens. )

—That sounds like a trick question. ( he tells her, a non-answer to her are you happy? he'd been happy, and then the conversation had taken a turn, and now what is he supposed to say? yes and he runs the risk of looking like an asshole; no and he still runs the risk of sounding like an asshole.

he looks to her hand in his, settles on— )

I like spending time with you. I'm happy that we're friends.

( happiness is a strange word for it, anyway. content, he thinks, would be better; grateful, maybe. happy implies a kind of simplicity that he doesn't think the city's earnt, that this hasn't earnt. )

[carmesi]

For the record— not a trick question.

( wanda confirms, after he's given her his own kind of answer. he didn't need to answer it directly if he didn't want to, but he answers it honestly enough; that much wanda can ascertain. she's also a pretty straight-forward kind of person, even if she'll speak rather cryptically about things that she, personally, doesn't fully understand; never saying something she doesn't anticipate elaborating or that she doesn't expect the person she's talking to to not understand by themselves.

then, her expression softens. )

Me, too. ( i like spending time with you. i'm happy that we're friends.

she draws her hands back to pick up the sticker sheet, then offering it to david to put the star sticker back on it. better, perhaps, than throwing it out... wanda pushes up to stand, holding onto the sheet after the fact, but doesn't take a step away. resolutely, she states, ) It got sad not because I was being silly. The music stopped. ( duh ) That's why.

( she glances down at him. )

Do you want to pick something different?

[unquiets]

( his gaze flickers, brief and assessing, before seemingly accepting wanda's words at face value. it doesn't change his answer, doesn't lead him to adding anything new or elaborating because, quite quickly, wanda speaks. it's redundant, perhaps, the establishing that they're both okay (more than okay) with this, the thing that neither of them have quite settled on a definition of beyond accepting that they get each other.

he wouldn't be here if there was any question about it; she wouldn't tolerate it. her mind had made that much clear.

—still, that doesn't change that it's nice to hear it spoken aloud and confirmed.

she stands only after he's pressed the star back on the sticker sheet, and though he's not convinced it'll stay on the sheet for long, not with the fluff caught on the back of it from his top, but it sticks for now. once he's certain it's not going to flutter pathetically to the floor, he lifts his gaze to look at wanda, expression reflecting firm, certain doubt. his eyebrows arch and he looks to the stereo, missing her glance down at him. )

So you need background music at all times. ( a soft murmur of a statement, intoned musingly enough. it's cute as a mock defence, entirely ridiculous, and there's no need to call it out for what it is.

except— ) I'd been going to play the second side. You interrupted.

( a no on the picking something different, then. )

[carmesi]

( the amused statement doesn't escape her, and wanda rolls her eyes to herself; he's making a point about her exceptionally-bad excuse, not wanting to call her out for it but making it clear that he could. wanda shifts on her feet, about to head to the stereo, but when he mentions that she interrupted, she pauses halfway through a step. )

You're the DJ, aren't you? You are slacking on the job.

( she intones, along with a playful ruffling of his hair as she goes past him, a light reminder of his not-so-official role from the previous day in the car. she sits on the couch's arm, then, placing the sticker sheet next to the stereo, all while she works on ejecting the tape to turn it around to play the second side. she's quiet for a moment, reading the label, city pop.

pressing play, it's quiet at first, before a more upbeat rhythm starts, introducing then a voice the neutralizes the beat. wherein the other songs before were by some male singer, the female vocalist is pretty refreshing. the songs to follow will be of a similar vein in sound, even if the singer is different in each one.

wanda turns to david, pointing at the stereo. )

It's 'city pop'. I haven't heard that before. ( it sounds like it was something recorded from a recording, like most everything else, but it still is pretty crisp. lifting her feet from the floor, she lands back on the couch to sit on it proper. ) Good? ( their taste in music may not be all too similar, but so far they haven't had any trouble of the musical kind. after the song plays for a bit longer, wanda's swaying with the beat, then— )

Come, get up.

( she stands, hands reaching out to him to help him up. was he not done eating waffles? sorry about that, but they won't be going anywhere. it's a 'happy, nice new roommates dinner', so time to put the 'happy' back into it; they danced before, while in the astral plane, to an even slower song. it can't be too hard to figure out what wanda is asking of him. at least she does say, )

Just one song.

[unquiets]

I was the DJ. That job ended when you necked a glass of wine and I drove us back, ( he retorts, expression deliberately neutral but for the small curve of a smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth. it's a light rebuff, half-hearted and not remotely serious, and his attention returns to his unfinished waffles and the bowl of fruit while she busies herself with the tape.

he's in the middle of eating a strawberry when the music starts back up, a small tilt of his head towards the stereo the only initial sign he's listening, followed by a full turn when wanda speaks. city pop. he has no idea, either. it's — fine. easy listening. not quite hold music, but not far off it, either. while david's particular about the sounds he's willing to tolerate, even if they're ill-defined and difficult to articulate, this is inoffensive and, in truth, a little boring. he chooses to eat another strawberry instead of offering his opinion, only looking back to wanda when she tells him to get up.

he lifts his head to look up at her, eyes unblinking as he tries to gauge how serious she is. the tips of his fingers are a little sticky and tinged with red from the strawberries, and his gaze flits from them to the table and back again. a little absently, distractedly, he wipes them against his pant leg and only then takes wanda's hands to stand. it's a little awkward, him uncrossing his legs, her taking his weight to help pull him up, although there's a little something that makes it momentarily less graceless than it'd be otherwise.

david keeps hold of her hands, eyebrows quirking. one song. dancing isn't something he tends to do, not in person, not like this. it's different in the other place. reality-that-isn't-reality. the is-real-but. )

Who leads?

[carmesi]

( when david spends a couple of seconds too long between her, looking at his hands, to the table, then back again, wanda can't help but add, ) Don't be boring. ( accompanied by a grin that she is unable to contain. not that she expected david to need the encouragement/dare. she saw a chance to be a bit of an imp and took it.

then david's up on his feet, hands still a little sticky from the strawberries, but that doesn't matter. who leads? is met with a shrug of her shoulders, easy, as she starts to move their hands back and forth, get a chain of movement going to whatever the beat of the song is. there's no fancy footwork or anything, just feeling whatever they feel like.

even if wanda does try to get david to spin with something resulting mostly in failure. )

—in my culture, dance is a very fun experience. ( as her movements falter, the spinning a non-success, arms now crossed as she continues holding david's hands. ) The music is usually faster than this. ( she tries untangling her elbows, turning them over and going under their hands. ) We would only need a guitar and something to hit like a drum, and even the old tetkas would join. Pietro was very popular in the dance circles.

( the music she describes is similar to what had been playing in the other place, with the people dancing in the plaza, in what-was-sokovia, in her mind. community and warmth, especially at a time that felt completely devoid of that. )

There was a rave some months ago. I hope another one happens soon.

( especially given the extra soothing effects of it— )

What's your favorite kind of music?

[unquiets]

( —it's not dancing-dancing. it's vague, led more by wanda than david despite her shrug, and though it's not precisely energetic — in part thanks to the music — wanda's enthusiasm is contagious despite david's non-starter of a spin. in my culture, she says, and david's gaze flickers over her as he, too, remembers that plaza in wanda's mind. the music and the people that david had interrupted with something of his own. (hard to call any of that anything to do with his culture, though. he doesn't even know where he'd first heard that song.)

the glance slides into something of a question when she mentions a rave, david imagining the kind where addresses were mentioned only by vague location, followed by vague instructions, followed by abandoned warehouses in industrial estates and gas stations. or ones you only went to if you knew someone who knew someone, who'd give you a phone number to call, and then there'd be a recorded message with the address.

it'd never been his scene. too many people. too much noise. )

I haven't thought about it. ( it's not quite right to say he'll listen to anything, but he wouldn't call himself fussy even if there's an element of being particular about it. interesting works, something with a good bass line, or percussion; something that a melody that doesn't grate. psychedelic, in some respects, but not in the way that most people mean it. surreal, fuzzy, looping—

—but disco's fine, too. new wave, like the band wanda had played earlier.

a little bit of a lopsided, acknowledging smile— ) —Not usually anything they play at raves.

[carmesi]

( wanda hadn't been sold on the idea of the rave at first, but the first time she had gone, just out of curiosity, had made her more enthused to go the rest of the times it'd take place. to anyone else, it would feel foolish to try and explain, the kind of feeling she got from it, how everything was at peace and her mind was just swimming with the flow, instead of this burden of listening and picking up on things. )

This one was different. It wasn't about the music.

( but, chances are she won't encounter much of a calming, similar experience again. it's been months, anyway, and so much more has happened in the diadem since that would make it kind of reasonable why no one would want to put up a rave again. but still.

david doesn't give her much of a clear answer, haven't thought about it, again. as the song comes to its end, wanda lets herself hang from his hands, weighing down, and turning around him, if only to let herself sit back down on the couch, letting go of his hands. one song, she had asked, and that's enough as is. a thought comes to mind, as she considers him. )

Have you been? To raves? Concerts, or anything like that?

( wanda knows he was institutionalized for several years, but before then, perhaps? (he doesn't look much the type, though, to be fair.) wanda, for all that she lacked because of the situation in sokovia, was still able to enjoy live music, from neighbors and local musicians coming together during times of respite. sokovia wasn't always without things, even if they certainly didn't have frosted flakes.

her questions, and the ones that follow, are not meant to judge him, rather than they are a way of trying to assert who exactly david is, beyond what she already knows. )

What do you do in your spare time? For fun?

[unquiets]

( it wasn't about the music. he shoots her a look, head canting to one side. are raves usually about the music? his expression says he doesn't think they are, and the quirk of his mouth confirms that even before he adds, ) That's a diplomatic way of saying it was about the, ( he lifts a hand and gestures with a hand, half-hearted finger quotes. ) 'Atmosphere'.

—House parties mostly. ( parties in a loose, vague sense. how loose and vague depends on when they're talking about. he knows he's mentioned, in unspecific terms, his commune, but he's made a point of avoiding details, of not elaborating on what that was like. ) The kind where music adds ambience, but no-one's really there for it. It's more a flavour thing.

( she sits, and he makes his way over to the collection of cassettes homed near the stereo, and he starts to flick through them one by one, trying to find something that'll help illustrate his point. it'd be easier, of course, if panorama wasn't such a hodge-podge of things and, as plastic slides against wood, he continues, ) My family listened to all sorts. Fifties, sixties, seventies. I listened to some eighties, like the band you played earlier. I never liked anything that was too—. ( he flicks a hand in the direction of his head and refrains from elaborating further. instead, he glances back over his shoulder at wanda. ) Live music didn't really work for me. Concerts and gigs and whatever.

( a beat; a concession— ) —Probably went to one or two with Amy. ( and hated it, he doesn't add. ) And piano recitals.

( wanda's city pop continues, and david decides for now not to change out. what does he do for fun? what a question. he turns to face her, placing his hands on the top of the unit behind him. )

My— The people I lived with before, we would spend evenings together. Play games, have like... A book club once a week. Tell stories, enjoy each other's company. I meditate, sometimes. Nothing wild or crazy. Things were a lot for a while, so I've been trying to enjoy the simpler things.

[carmesi]

—so, you need background music at all times.

( she throws right back, easily and comfortably, leaning back on the couch as he turns to the collection of cassettes. one day she should try and organize her collection, label it properly, maybe categorize it based on the genre. a project for the future, perhaps, now that her moving is pretty much sorted. wanda leans against the arm of the couch, trying to catch what he's flicking through, then up at him when he does glance over his shoulder. )

Piano recitals?

( —how random. anyway, she kind of gets a better picture now, based on david's whole... thing, the schizophrenia probably made it a pain to deal with music that didn't 'work' for him.

she leans back once he turns proper. spend evening together, plays games, a book club (why did he hesitate?), enjoy each other's company. very kind of quaint, as far as 'fun' is concerned, but wanda can see how something like that can be both pleasant and enriching. it makes even more sense, when he bookends it by saying that he's trying to enjoy the simpler things, considering how everything a lot for a while. for wanda, it's more about making up for the fact that she didn't have many lived experiences herself; try them once, sort of thing, and if she likes it enough she'll try them again. )

We can do things like that if you want. If it helps. ( ? anyway, as if providing an explanation, ) I like to try things out once at least, especially here. There's a lot of time to kill, and other than — work, it's not like I have to answer to anyone. ( anymore. she tilts her head. ) My brother was the extrovert, anyway.

( and although she's been trying to be a little more of what pietro always tried to encourage her to be, it's not exactly fun all the time, or easy.

she sits back, an amused expression on her face, teasing— )

That all makes you sound old and wise.

[unquiets]

( her echo of his words earns a huff of a laugh and he steps away from the wooden unit with the stereo on it to make his way to the sofa and drop himself next to her. his tone's a little wry when he leans into her briefly, answering, ) Sure, we can go with that.

( he straightens when she asks about the piano recitals, explaining— ) Amy played. We had a piano in the house. My mom tried to teach me too, but I didn't take to it. I did play soccer as a kid, though.

( and then she leans back. her offer, the we can is nice. sweet. it's not enough to make him feel bad about the misrepresentation, the lack of complete transparency about what he'd been up to before awakening in the scrapyard — all that she knows is all that she needs to know, and it's not as if any of it's a lie. he knows how people interpret the enlightenment house. he knows how it comes across. wanda's said she won't judge, but that doesn't mean he needs to test her.

he pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged. ) That's why I asked if you like games. ( partly, anyway. ) But I don't know how well a book club will work if it's just the two of us. ( quizzical, fleeting— ) A book pair? ( nah. another slight, subtle lean towards her, faintly (jokingly) accusatory— ) I am older than you. You're like, a baby.

( punctuated by a breath of a pause. )

—Amy wasn't an extrovert, but she had more friends than I did. My friend, Lenny, though, she could convince you to do anything. Of anything, if she put her mind to it.