Homesick (For Signal.)

[Ainsley Cooper]

He had been back now for about a week, but he still hadn't seen hide nor tail of his roommate. Then again, he hadn't been around much either. He pretty much came in, slept and left. It had been a busy week. Now, Ainsley sat around a few bags and was finally unpacking the rest of his clothes. The top two drawers were filled already, so he assumed those were for his mysterious roommate. He filled the bottom two with four pairs of jeans, a ton of shirts, boxers and socks and two sets of pajamas. His one pair of shoes (a battered pair of violet converse) sat by the door.

He had a flask tucked into the back pocket of his skinny jeans and he took a swig of it. Screw waiting until he was twenty one, he might not even make it past eighteen. A pair of lungs were apparently hard to come by.

He looked up and flipped the bird towards the ceiling. If there was a god, he was not impressed. He took another sip and settled himself on his bed. He had dressed it in a pair of raggedy sheets and an old, fraying blanket. They were from home, and he got awful homesick at school. He curled up and pulled his sketch book close and started to doodle in it.

[Signal]

It wasn't long after that the door's lock snicked in it's place, and opening rather quickly. "Oh man, that girl's got some moves." He stepped inside, and turned to the bathroom, closing the door behind himself. A minute later and Blake was back out into the room, stopped and looking around.

His stuff.

It wasn't on the floor where it usually was.

He blinked, looking at the walls. Well at least the guitars were still hanging. Sweet.

He looked at his bed. And there was a pile 4 foot tall of clothes. Kimber.

"That bitch cleaned my room again." He stepped over toward it and looked over at the other bed.

"Oh... Uh... What the hell are you doin in my room bro?" He gave a quizzical look through black bangs. "I'm cool with crashing and all, but kinda rude not to ask."

[Ainsley Cooper]

He looked up, eyebrows raised. "Uh, this is my room?" He said, but it sounded like a question. Now he was second guessing himself. Did he have the right room? He sat up, and looked over the boy. Not bad. He smirked to himself, it was a bad idea for a faggot to room with other boys, but... He chuckled, a dry clicking in the back of his throat.

"I kinda dropped last year, but I'm back this year, ya ken?" Ainsley drawled, the Texan accent was heavy. "Had some trouble back home, but now I'm back." He told the boy. He stood and walked over. His walk was more like slinking, it looked guilty. He thrust out a thin, pale hand. "Ainsley Cooper, nice ta meet cha." His fraying shirt hung off his collar bones, showing how thin he actually was.

[Admin Signal]

"Uh no, not Ken. My name is Blake." He was nodding slowly at the other boy, smiling a small smile. "Well alright then, I guess my luck about having my own place was bound to run out eventually. Uh... Welcome?" He held up his hands and swept them across the room. "I play in a band in town, so if you ever wanna come I can get you in free." He shook the outstretched hand, almost cringing at how bony the kid was.

"You hungry man?" He had a bit of a Jersey quip to his own voice, noting the Texan in the other.

"Where you from kid?" He hopped up on his bed, kicking the mountain of clothes onto the floor beside it and sitting down, getting comfortable.

"Oh and if a red headed girl comes knocking on the door, don't let her in unless I'm here... Or else she'll scrub the whole damned place."

[Ainsley Cooper]

"Ah, a bit of Texan slang." He explained. "Never mind." He waved it away. Explaining his quips just took too long. It made him miss home. It was like they all spoke a different language, no, his mind piped up, yer the one that talks different, not them. "Oh, cool, what kind of music?" He asked, the statement obviously peaked his interest in the boy. He sat back down on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and hands hanging between his legs.

"Wish I played somethang good e'nuff ta be in a band, that'd be so cool." Ainsley looked over the place, it seemed pretty clean to him. "Eh, naw, nervous stomach." Ainsley tried to dismiss the comment. His secret was going to be harder to keep, well, secret around this keep. The boy had a feeling that Blake was sharp as a razor blade.

"Girl with red hair, got it." He nodded. "She your girlfriend, I take it?" He inquired, his voice soft, but raspy. A definite smoker's voice. "And I assume hands off, too." He quipped lightly. "And I'm from Kingsville Texas." He said proudly. "Part of the Dixieland." He licked his dry lips. "And you? Do I hear... Um, Jersey, ain't it?" He scratched at the back of his neck. "Oh, and what instrument, d'ya play? Bass has always been my favourite."

[Admin Signal]

Blake gave the boy a grin. "Rock mostly, play a bit of alternative, can play some pop when I'm asked. But most of the time people wanna hear some music to get them pumped up. It's just the crowd." He let the texan stuff slide, no reason to set up boundries over miles, they were all gifteds and that was all that mattered round here.

"Yeah, she's the girl I gotta put up with." At what the boy added, Blake had to cock an eyebrow, perhaps it was the purple hair, but Blake had assumed the other wouldn't be into chicks, books and covers and all that. "Well, you are welcome to try, but she's a telekinetic kinda girl, and I'm not really all that jealous of a guy. She's... Not fond of touching though." He grinned at the boy again. Kimber was the type of girl that was completely contrast to Blake. She was all rules and orderly and blah di blah blah blaaaah.

The dark headed boy pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the guitars adorning the walls beside his bed.

"Uh. that. But I can play drums, Bass, I do vocals, and some piano. Even did recorder for a little while in middleschool." He bounced a bit while sitting on his bed. "I can show you some stuff when you want," he said with a shrug of his shoulders and as sweep of his bangs.

"Jersey boy, that's me."

[Ainsley Cooper]

"Ah, I'm not much one for touching either." He sneered ever so slightly, just a quick pull on his upper lip and it was gone again. "Touching leads ta feelings, then feelings get hurt." He waved a hand in a lazy circle. "It ain't worth it, not ta mention half the guys just deny it later..." Ainsley brayed a harsh laughter, and then leaned back, looking over the guitars. They were nice, but Ainsley honestly couldn't tell how good they were. To his eyes, they all looked like they cost more than all the money he had ever had in his life.

"Oh duh, sorry, I ain't too bright most o' the time." He picked at the skin around his nail bed of his thumb, glancing up, eyebrows quirked up. "Wow, that's a hellalot of instruments." Once again, the tone of amazement was hard to miss. "I can barely play a cowbell." He joked.

His fingers grazed the flask sitting on his bed. "D'ya drink at all?" he asked, looking over at the boy, trying to read his face. It was hard. He was in a band, and Ainsley figured that meant he probably drank every once and a while. "It ain't nothing good." He muttered with a shrug of his shoulders and popped the cap off the flask off and downed a sip. "Home-made moonshine from back home." He held the flask out to the boy.