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26 January 2008 @ 01:59 am
Cole and Rumi: Because You're Prince Charming  
Who: Cole Porter and Rumi Tatsuya
Where: Rumi's loft
When: After the Cole/Nicci scene.

He's not even sure why he's calling. The phone is answered after a moment - Rumi never misses a phone call. "Hey, Cole," he says, sounding slightly out of breath. "What's up? How are you?" He sounds glad to hear from him.

"Hi, Rumi." He's really trying very hard to not sound like he's about to burst into tears. He's shaking a little, and it's not just the cold. "Have I interrupted something?"

"No, no," Rumi assures him. He'd been working out, but he doesn't mention it. He notices something off about Cole's tone, but he doesn't mention it yet. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing much." He's still trying to sound light. "Just out for a walk. Walking home actually. I did a show. Was hoping you'd be there, but that's alright. And now I'm walking home and a hooker showed up and yelled at me and pulled a knife on me and how are you?" He's crying now. It's just a little bit, but it shows in his voice-- a little quaver. He puts his hand over his mouth.

"A hooker... what?" Rumi stops in his tracks, on his way towards the bathroom to take a shower. "A hooker pulled a knife on you? What the... why? Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm walking home," he says again, taking his hand away from his mouth. He sniffles and scrubs at his cheek. "He pulled a knife on me because... because one of his... his... customers ha-has a crush on me." He sniffles again. He's a miserable little creature. "So I was... infringing on his territory and he wants to strike a deal or something and what the hell, Rumi, he knows where I live!" He's kind of falling apart, little pieces of him falling away.

"Listen, I'm going to have my driver pick you up, okay? You can come to my place, he can't get you there. You'll be safe, and we'll have this taken care of. Where are you? Which street? My driver will be there in two seconds."

"But I don't have any clothes." It's kind of irrational-- being upset at the idea of having to sleep somewhere else because he doesn't have clothes there to change into. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, wiping his nose. He looks up at a street sign, though, and gives Rumi the name of the intersection he's crossing, the name of the street he'll still be walking down. A bad part of town. Now Rumi knows.

"Why are you... alright, he's coming to get you. I'll have someone pick up some clothes for you to change into, too. I'm going to hop in the shower, you just... stay where you are, and you'll be picked up in a few minutes, alright? Don't worry about it, we're going to take care of this. Trust me."

Cole does trust Rumi. For some reason, he completely trusts this boy he barely knows, lets him know vaguely where he lives, lets him come and rescue him. Cinderella again. "Okay." His voice is soft, a little hoarse. He sniffles. He wants Rumi to be in the car when the driver comes, but he doesn't know what would happen if he was. It's not like Rumi's the cuddling sort. It's not like he would hold him, really. "Okay," he says again. "I'll... I'll see you soon." He licks his lips. "Thank you."

"See you soon," Rumi says, and hangs up the phone. He makes the calls - has his driver sent to pick up Cole and has his assistant go to buy some clothes for Cole. He showers quickly, and by the time he gets out, Cole is being let in by one of his assistants. He's pulling a shirt over his head, sticking to his still-damp chest a bit. "Hey, Cole," he says. There's a flash of something on his right hip - a tattoo - before it's covered by his shirt. "Thanks," he nods to the man who brought him up, who bows his head and then closes the door, leaving them alone. He looks back to Cole. "Are you alright?"

Cole isn't his perfectly crafted self right now. His cheeks are a bit splotchy, eyes a little red-rimmed and shining. His mouth is flushed and the tip of his nose is red from crying. His hair is even more tousled than usual-- in a messy way, not in his usual careful way. He looks boyish, unhappy. Terribly pretty. He sniffles and nods, swallowing. He's not. He's really not. But he nods anyway.

"Jesus, what..." Rumi swallows, and keeps moving forward until he's reached Cole. He pulls him in and wraps his arms around him, hugging him close. "Hey, you're alright," he says. "No one's going to hurt you, alright?"

Cole wraps his arms around Rumi, turning his face to his neck. His fingers curl in the back of his shirt, pulling it a bit tight. He's shaking, crying again, but silently. Someone called him a whore. People have done it before, but this one meant it. It takes one to know one, and this one wants to work with him. Live off of him. He's had his life threatened and someone's been following him and knows where he lives, and he's already exhausted and... It's just been a very shitty night. And Rumi just happens to be the person who's bearing it. Cole nods again. "Okay." It's muffled.

"Talk to me, alright? Tell me exactly what happened," Rumi says, keeping hold of Cole, solid and strong. He gives off an aura of power, of the assurance that he can handle anything. "Tell me everything, what he said to you."

Cole sniffles. He sounds absolutely miserable. Pathetic. "He's been following me. And he... he came to my show." He draws back to look at Rumi. He licks his lips, salty with tears. "He followed me afterwards when... when I was walking home, and he pulled me into an alley and he started yelling at me. He said... he said I was stealing one of his clients. He said to stay away from him if I knew what was good for me or something. And... he pulled a knife on me." He shakes his head, looking down. It's all sort of blurring together. He can't remember everything. "And... and then he put his knife away and he told me he wanted to make this deal... that I would drive men nuts and take whatever I wanted from them... milk them... and then when they went crazy from not... from not... getting me, then I could send them his way and... and he could have them." It's horrible. It makes his stomach turn. He shuts his eyes and turns his face away.

Rumi nods, and passes his hand over Cole's hair, smoothing it back. "Who cares what he said, alright? Those people, they're leeches. Parasites. What you do is completely different. You give lonely old guys some happiness. Believe me, I know, I'm just... like, forty years off from being one of them. We're going to take care of this, okay?" He leads Cole over to the sofa, sitting him down. He grabs the phone off of the coffee table, calls and speaks in Japanese in quick, stern tones. He hangs up and then sits down on the coffee table across from Cole. He takes his hands, holding them. "You need to tell me everything you know about this hooker. What he looked like, his name if you know it. If you've seen him before."

Cole looks down at Rumi's hands. He really wasn't expecting him to be like this... to hold him and smooth his hair and comfort him. He raises his eyes to his, searching them. He shakes his head. "I've never seen him before. And you're not going to be a lonely old guy." He tries a weak little smile and draws a hand out of Rumi's to wipe at his cheeks and try to smooth his hair a bit. "Christ, I must be a mess. I'm sorry. I don't mean to show up at your apartment all... ugly and horrible." He looks around the apartment. "Beautiful, by the way."

"Thanks," Rumi says, glancing around himself. Expensive furniture, a jacuzzi against the far wall, the biggest television money can buy. Just more ways he found to spend his father's money. "You're not ugly, believe me. You couldn't be ugly if you tried. Now tell me what he looked like, alright? Describe him. It's going to be taken care of, he's never going to bother you again."

His eyes go back to Rumi again. He thinks back on their conversation over drinks. How he'd seen crimes being committed. He has a lot of money after all. Cole swallows. "You're not going to kill him, are you?" He's absolutely serious.

"No," Rumi says, the corner of his mouth curling upwards just a bit. "No, I'm just going to have a message delivered to him. A warning. He comes near you again, there will be consequences. So, tell me all about him."

Cole searches Rumi's face. He trusts him. He slips his hand into his again, holding both of his hands. "He's... he's thin. He has dark hair. Dark eyes. He... I think his tongue might be pierced." He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm sorry." He shakes his head. I can't remember very much. He's young. "Young-looking, anyway."

Rumi nods, logging it all away. "What was he wearing?" he asks Cole, holding his eyes, squeezing his hands lightly. He doesn't think he's very good at comforting people - at making someone feel better, feel safe. But he knows he's good at taking care of things, and he's sure that this boy who threatened Cole will get the message loud and clear.

"He had... a coat. It looked like it was too big for him. And he had... boots." That was where the knife came from. Cole swallows. He looks down at their joined hands again. He just wants to curl up with Rumi, snuggle against him. He looks up at his face. "Really tight jeans."

"Alright." Rumi lifts one hand, brushing it over Cole's hair again, a sweetly affectionate gesture. "He won't bother you anymore. And if he does, you tell me. It will be taken care of. You don't have to worry about him knowing where you live, he won't be bothering you if he has any sense of self-preservation." He picks up the sleek black cell phone from the coffee table again, and calls a number on his speed dial. He speaks only in Japanese to whoever it is, in short tones. Making orders. He hangs up, sets the phone down. "Do you want a drink? Something to help you relax?"

He wants a bath. And he wants someone to hold him. And maybe kiss him. Maybe just on the forehead. He could deal with that. He wants to curl up and go to sleep. But he's jittery-- awful and anxious. He nods. "If you'd like something." He doesn't want to drink alone.

"We'll have a little bit of wine," Rumi nods. There's a knock on the door then, and Rumi looks up, then back at Cole. He lifts his hand and kisses his knuckle gently. "I'll be right back," he says, and then stands and goes to the door. He speaks to someone in Japanese there, for a moment, and then comes back in with a bag of clothes for Cole. Asaka had gotten a few changes of clothes and warm pajamas for him to wear, all in Cole's size, from the stores they had shopped at together. Rumi goes over to him, setting the bag down on the sofa beside him. "Some clothes. You go ahead and wash up, change if you want to, get comfortable. I'll get the wine."

Cole looks at the clothes and then up at Rumi He feels so vulnerable. Completely bare. Ugly. Incompetent. He feels like a crybaby, someone who has to run to someone bigger and braver to clean up his messes. He feels like a whore. For the first time in his life, he actually feels like a whore. The kiss on his knuckle burns like a brand. He nods and picks up the bag, wandering off toward the bathroom to wash up and change his clothes.

Rumi pours wine for them, pulls out a plate of dozens of different little sweets and cakes from the refrigerator and sets it on the coffee table. He's wearing a pair of gray fleece scrubs, nothing underneath them, and a slightly snug black t-shirt with a worn-out print of the Power Rangers on it. He turns on the television, which causes the lights to dim automatically, and sits down on the arm of the sofa with a glass of sweet red wine in hand, waiting for Cole to return.

Cole emerges from the bathroom in a few moments, face washed, hair put back into order more or less. It's still a little tousled, but he doesn't look quite so miserable. He's wearing the pajamas from the bag-- soft, pale blue flannel bottoms and a white long-sleeved t-shirt with a clouds across the chest. He pads over to the sofa and sinks onto it, pulling the cuffs of his shirt down over his hands. He looks at Rumi and scoots over, clearly making room for him to sit next to him.

"You feel any better?" Rumi asks, reaching for the glass of wine on the table to hand it to Cole, his fingers lingering around Cole's as he does. "I know you're shaken up, Cole, but... listen, you know I have that hooker come over once a week to hang out, and I talk to him and stuff, and they just... operate on a different... plane than us."

Cole's looking up at him, his fingers still wrapped around the glass of wine. He'd forgotten about Rumi's hooker, to be honest. He'd forgotten that there was anyone but him in Rumi's life. Any sort of competition. "Yeah." Not his usual brilliant conversation. His eyes drop to the empty space beside him. He looks at the television and takes a drink of his wine. He's never quite sure from one moment to the next how Rumi feels about him.

Rumi's eyes are on Cole, watching him closely. Completely tuned into him. "Why me?" he asks him, after a long pause. "Why did you call me, out of everyone else?"

Cole licks his lips. He looks back at Rumi. "I don't know." It's completely honest. He shrugs one shoulder. There's a faint blush to his cheeks now that he's warming up. He's drinking his wine a bit too fast. "Because you were the first person I thought of." His eyes fall to the empty couch cushion again. "Because... you're Prince Charming." He looks up at Rumi.

"Hardly," Rumi says, smirking faintly and looking down at the cushion himself. He doesn't want to invade Cole's space - he's afraid that touching him, being near him will give him the wrong idea. Make it seem like Rumi wants something from him. "But I... I really like you, Cole, and I'm glad I'm the first person you thought of."

Cole's studying Rumi's face. "If you really like me, why are you sitting on the arm of the couch?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as forlorn as it does. He really is a crybaby tonight.

Rumi pauses, looking away from Cole's face, towards the cushion in question, before he looks back up. "Because I like you," Rumi says, with that barely-there smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "If I didn't like you as much as I do, I'd be able to sit there and not have a care in the world. But as it is, I can't help but stay in my place and agonize over what you think of me."

Cole presses his lips together. He looks away from Rumi, leaning forward and setting his glass on the table. He turns to Rumi, reaching for his glass and tugging it out of his hand. He sets it on the table again, then turns back to Rumi, leaning toward him. He reaches for his hand, pulling him off the arm of the couch onto the cushion and slides close, sliding right next to him. He lifts Rumi's arm and tucks under it, leaving Rumi's arm around his shoulders and sliding his own arms around Rumi's waist, his forehead resting against Rumi's neck. He closes his eyes and sighs softly.

Rumi closes his eyes as well, turning his head towards Cole slightly, feeling the warmth of it creep up his back, fill his head with fuzzy pleasure. "Cole," he says quietly, his voice hardly more than a whisper, "I don't expect anything from you, alright? If I touch you, it's not because I think you owe it to me, it's because I like you."

Cole's thumb is brushing back and forth along Rumi's side. He nods and raises his head, looking at him, his face close. "I know," he returns, just as soft. His hair is golden in the low light, breath smelling faintly of wine. He smiles faintly and lowers his head again, fitting his forehead against the curve of Rumi's neck. His legs are pulled up on the couch. He moves closer, close enough that his knees cross over onto Rumi's thigh a bit.

Rumi turns his face to kiss the top of Cole's head, breathing in the smell of his hair - clean and warm, nice shampoo. He tries to remember that Cole's affection probably has nothing to do with him. It's purchased. His time, his attention, goes to the highest bidder. But it feels so good to have Cole curl up next to him, Rumi can't quite keep focused on that. All he can think about is how beautiful Cole is, and the fact that he called him, came to him for comfort and protection. That he's the lucky one who gets to hold him, who gets to defend him. His phone buzzes on the table, and he reaches a long arm for it, grabbing it and putting it to his ear. He listens, says one sentence in Japanese, and then hangs up and kisses the top of Cole's head again. The message has been delivered, and if the hooker who threatened Cole is smart, he'll stay away.

He doesn't feel like he has to explain himself to Rumi. He doesn't feel like he has to tell him that he's not a whore, that the way he's cuddled up to him has nothing to do with the clothes and the gifts. Maybe Rumi understands. He smiles at the kiss on the top of his head and reaches for the phone, drawing it out of Rumi's hand and sliding it to the other end of the couch. "Just me, please," he murmurs. "My turn tonight." He wraps his arms around him again.

Rumi nods, sliding his hand over the back of Cole's hair and squeezing him momentarily by the arm around him. "Just you tonight," he says. "I'm all yours." He'll hold Cole this way until he falls asleep, then tuck him into his bed and sleep on the sofa. He'll turn on the heating blanket on his bed to keep Cole warm, and in the morning he'll make waffles. But for now, he just holds him.