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"Are you okay?" Miguel asks - his limbs in a hectic flurry. The erratic beating of his own heart impressively persistent as he had then crossed into the open courtyard - his beat ridden Batman slippers at an even keel.
Which - "y-yeah," the other had startled in, green eyes acutely given to his person before leveraging back to the large arachnid overhead.
It was - in Miguel's most humble opinion - an ugly looking sort of creature. The kind with stubby legs, and a giant butt - caramel in tone and free falling, without a worry or care, from the light fixture above.
A menace.
It had become all to clear then - what with the trash bag having been thrown to the ground, the squeamish sort of off kilter look to the other, and the continuously rapid twitch of both Robby's left and right eye.
"...are you scared of spiders?" Miguel asks - his tip toeing rather light. And not at all as presumptuous - nor terribly indignant - as one could have claimed it to be.
Which - "no," Robby had lied. And - "I-" He dodged beneath the thing, taking care to reserve several feet in-between as he had then gathered the mess on the floor - "shut up."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're smirking, aren't ya?"
Miguel had laughed at that - outright. His shoulders shirking for a moment or two before he had stooped to assist with a tub of butter. The large container having rolled just out of the other's reach.
"This shit is green."
"I know," Robby huffs, attention briefly given to the lid. "He doesn't get the concept of expiration dates. Or any dates for that matter."
"Guess you're lucky that he remembers food now, huh?"
"I guess."
Miguel trails after him. Neither of the two knowing why. His assistance in the matter rather trivial - and without any true sense of duty. It was merely a thing. A two in the morning type of resignation - of having been awoken by a shout, and bouncing from the confines of where he had been drooling against the arm rest of the couch.
'Mendioso,' Yaya would have surmised. And for all purposes, yes - Miguel certainly was - is - just that.
"Thanks," the other had then mumbled beneath the slamming of the dumpster lid. The large slab of tin at home in it's alcove, dark and forboding - smelling of shit and piss toasting on an open flame.
"No problem."
Their shoulders had bumped from their slight turn about. The brush of denim against Miguel's bare legs making him feel a tad underdressed. Though his mind had been quick to remind him that it was, in fact, Summer - and what sort of psychopath wore pants in the Summer time? Especially at night - in Reseda of all places?
'Robby Keene, that's who' - had come the answer. With both boys now mutually watching the other. Precarious, it seemed, their knowledge of never having gone longer than this. Not since that first night. And surely not without buffer. No, there hadn't been a wound to deal with for instance - nor Johnny to contend to. Neither Yaya to berate - or Sam, Demetri - hell, even Hawk - to assure guidance in their newfound lack of a fuse.
...just - well, "right, uh - tomorrow," Robby had broke with a nod. His fingers at a low strum against the very sleeve of his sweatshirt, "or Monday. Practice." At the dojo, it goes unsaid - reading much more like a closing farewell than a proper reminder.
Though - "wait," the branch had taken - Miguel's limb suddenly outstretched - his fingers clinging to the very same expanse of fabric found upon Robby's wrist, "shit, sorry-" The mutter grips tight, the material falling just as easily as it had been tugged, "I - uh..."
'Awkward', the inner tremble of his voice had scolded. And, 'loser' - it snarks thereafter. Which - weird. Why is this weird? Why is he acting weird? Just the other day Miguel had draped his arm around the former - the smell of apricots having caught his attention first, before the bright beaming of teeth had driven him into a delirious state. Laughter bubbling at the seams as Sensei had then patted them across the shoulders, knighting them with renowned pride.
"Do you maybe wanna hang out?"
"Hang out?" Robby levels. Uncertainty driven. The tilt to his stance quite the comical affect. "With you?" Which - alone, he means. And, yeah - Miguel supposed that that was exactly what he was proposing here.
At least... - "yeah," he had shrugged. "There's this comic book store and I-"
"Oh," Robby coos, cutting him off with a hark then. "I get it. You're using me for a ride."
"What-? No, Robby that's-"
"I'm kidding," the other had smiled - like, smiled - smiled. A feat that was still on the receiving end of a foreign trade. It was... nice, truth be told. To not be given a snarl, or a look of pure unadulterated hatred. In fact, Robby had a rather nice smile. Which was weird. And disturbingly unimportant. So it, - "when do you wanna go?"
"Hm?"
"The comic book store?" Robby asks, his neck perpetually tracked to the right.
"Oh - uh, how about tomorrow?"
"Okay," the other had nodded. "I'm sure da- Johnny would let me have the car. For you," he adds, because of course he would, "but if you pick out some pervy manga, Diaz - I'll judge you."
"Says the boy who cries at a spider."
"Hey-," Robby laments. His lips now laced with something much more familiar - more nuanced, and honest, than any look that Miguel has been offered in quite some time. Aside from that damn smile, of course. "Watch it, or I might change my mind."
"Too late," Miguel harks - prefaced with an already kicked out heel. His body clearly striding in the direction of his home. "You can't back out of a date once you've made it."
"Sure you can," Robby says - the blatant ignoring of Miguel's colorful choice of words particularly apparent. "It might make me an asshole, but what else is new?"
The chuckle had grated low then, thrumming like an old car engine. The night stilling as Miguel had then swept wide, his back congruent to the face of the apartment door - hands now on route to the hemline of his shorts.
"So...one o'clock?"
"One o'clock," Robby agrees, mirroring the stance - surveying him for a moment before chancing a glance overhead.
And Miguel, having had followed the sight, had laughed once more - louder than before. His fingers contempt in uprooting the tail end of his shirt - exposing his midriff to the night as he had done so.
"I'm pretty sure it ran away."
"What-?"
"The spider," Miguel chuckles.
And though he had certainly been expecting a glare. Or a kind smile, or something much more in line with their new set of grounds - he had, instead, been met with a cautious slant. A sort of open mouthed uncertainty that had given raise to a particular shade of pink upon Robby Keene's cheeks.
To which - "oh," Robby had muttered, acutely looking away - and not at all towards his eye level. "Yeah... - so, tomorrow," he repeats. And - "one o'clock."
"Yeah," Miguel mumbles - releasing his shirt with a tepid nod. The construed exclamation of 'dumbass' being fastened to the night air, because - well, just look at himself - trying to act cool when he was anything but.
"Okay, uh - goodnight?" Robby hovers then, halting at his door the same. His trying smile neatly in place - and still ever so near that fascinating tone of rouge.
Which is - ...well, Miguel almost wants to touch it.
Almost.
"Yeah... Uh - goodnight, Robby."
"Goodnight - D-Miguel."
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