tom-men-blog

[tom-men-blog]

Tommen doesn't particularly want to be in the way, which he knows he will be if customers come in. It's not as if there are a lot of places to sit and hang out in a bike shop; he tries not to react too weirdly when Jojen offers the code to his apartment, but does spit out, "Would Trys be comfortable with that?"

He laughs at Jojen's concern about Tommen's handiness and shrugs, patting the back pocket of his jeans to check for his wallet. "You're probably not wrong," he says, grinning wide enough to dimple. Tommen tilts his head toward the door. "I'll get us coffees and go from there? What would you like and where is the bakery?"

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

Jojen turns the pedal nearest him with one hand, the other ghosting over the top of the rear wheel, listening to the turns of it, the way the gear creaks and clacks. He moves his hand to the stem shifters; flicks the stem once as he cranks the pedal. The gear clacks once, twice and turns. He’s listening to Tommen talk as he does and he raises his gaze, about to tease Tommen for using the word <I>bistro</I> in an actual sentence, out loud when his gaze meets the other boy’s gaze. A flush colors Tommen’s cheeks but he holds Jojen’s gaze. Desire rattles his bones like a xylophone.

Tommen’s voice is soft, <I>What would you rather do?</I> He offers to go home after. Jojen shrugs and turns the gear shift again. He goes through the same motion he did before, turn pedals, turn gear shift, keep pedaling, listen. “I mean, I love Nice Slice but vegan pizza doesn’t reheat the way you want it to.” He shrugs and reaches for clippers off the worktable beside him. Jojen cuts the excess wire that curls off the end of the gear shift. “So I usually leave the leftovers for Trys.” He caps the cable and pinches the cap closed with pliers.

Jojen shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says, easy. “Cooking or you staying over,” he adds, looking up at Tommen through the hair falling into his face.

He tests the gears again, just for good measure. “But I don’t wanna hold you hostage or anything,” he says, releasing the clamp on the bike stand and shouldering the bike. “I gotta put this in the basement so it’s out of the way. You cool up here?” He asks.

[tom-men-blog]

Jojen’s hair falls in his eyes and his voice is low and easy, quickly becoming familiar. Tommen’s veins thrum with warmth and he feels a pull deep in his gut. He licks his bottom lip and laughs at Jojen’s use of the term ‘hostage’. “Hardly,” Tommen says. “I like your bed, anyway.”

He gets distracted by the way Jojen stands and shoulders the bike in one smooth movement, lifting the frame up over his shoulder. Jojen isn’t muscley by any definition but it’s still such a beautiful, practiced set of movements that it leaves Tommen’s mouth dry. He manages a nod, not resisting the urge to watch Jojen jog down the stairs into the shop basement. He almost wants to follow and see what kind of trouble they can both get into.

Tommen drums his fingers against his thighs as he walks around the shop, grinning when he recognizes the tune playing and humming along. He reaches out to tug at the lever on a bike bell and frowns at the weak sound it makes, trying another. This one rings loud and true and hurts his head, which is when he realizes he probably shouldn’t be deliberately using noisemakers in his condition. Tommen turns around as Jojen is coming back up the stairs; he smiles and reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, roughing it up. “How much longer are you open? Want me to get us some coffees or something?”

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

Jojen turns the pedal nearest him with one hand, the other ghosting over the top of the rear wheel, listening to the turns of it, the way the gear creaks and clacks. He moves his hand to the stem shifters; flicks the stem once as he cranks the pedal. The gear clacks once, twice and turns. He’s listening to Tommen talk as he does and he raises his gaze, about to tease Tommen for using the word <I>bistro</I> in an actual sentence, out loud when his gaze meets the other boy’s gaze. A flush colors Tommen’s cheeks but he holds Jojen’s gaze. Desire rattles his bones like a xylophone.

Tommen’s voice is soft, <I>What would you rather do?</I> He offers to go home after. Jojen shrugs and turns the gear shift again. He goes through the same motion he did before, turn pedals, turn gear shift, keep pedaling, listen. “I mean, I love Nice Slice but vegan pizza doesn’t reheat the way you want it to.” He shrugs and reaches for clippers off the worktable beside him. Jojen cuts the excess wire that curls off the end of the gear shift. “So I usually leave the leftovers for Trys.” He caps the cable and pinches the cap closed with pliers.

Jojen shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says, easy. “Cooking or you staying over,” he adds, looking up at Tommen through the hair falling into his face.

He tests the gears again, just for good measure. “But I don’t wanna hold you hostage or anything,” he says, releasing the clamp on the bike stand and shouldering the bike. “I gotta put this in the basement so it’s out of the way. You cool up here?” He asks.

[tom-men-blog]

Jojen is completely casual when he talks, his speech slow and steady. He doesn't seem concerned at all about Tommen imposing on him for dinner, offers to make tacos as he spins the wheel on the bike. He's far less tense than he was yesterday, laughing quietly and making Tommen feel stupidly warm in his middle. It occurs to him that Jojen is significantly more relaxed, which is nice - Tommen thinks about what Jojen said yesterday, how he's not usually so tense. It's nice to see the difference.

"Tacos sound amazing. I haven't had tacos in weeks. There's a tiny Mexican bistro near my high school that has the most incredible rice I've ever eaten. I miss that place," Tommen says. Then he laughs, ducking his head. The chain on the bike clicks as the wheel spins and Tommen watches Jojen watch it, cataloging the sharp tilt of his jaw and the dip of his mouth. Jojen looks up and catches his eye; Tommen flushes but holds his gaze, smiling a tiny, soft smile.

"What would you rather do?" Tommen asks. "I don't want to keep you up too late - I'm hoping my roommate will pass out early so I can go back to my dorm. I don't want you to be stuck sharing a bed with me again."

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

jo-jen

Jojen’s eyes zero in on the golden expanse of Tommen’s throat when he tilts his head back. He’s completely clean shaven and a rich golden brown. Apollo, his brain supplies in a completely helpful way. Tommen practically moans as he drinks. Jojen sort of can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You should get better about drinking it,” he says with a smirk.

He watches as Tommen wanders the shop and wonders what Tommen’s thinking. He resists the urge to ask, although the desire burns in him. What are you thinking? How does your brain work? Eventually Tommen turns in a full circle and looks at the bike Jojen’s been working on.

Jojen follows his gaze. “I’m changing the derailer – the one it came in with is completely rusted to shit.” He realizes, a little too late, that Tommen is staring at him blankly, as if to say What the fuck. Jojen smiles. “The detailer’s the bit that the gears are on, helps you shift – if that’s your thing.”

Jojen rocks back and forth on the backs of his heels for a moment. “Want to come watch?” he asks.

Tommen blinks. “What do you mean, ‘if that’s your thing’? Don’t most bikes shift?” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a bewildered grin that turns fond when Jojen rocks back and forth on his heels. Tommen nods when Jojen asks if he wants to watch, crossing the shop. “This feels a bit naughty,” he says, when he walks behind the counter. He laughs and leans against one of the work tops lining the walls, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and crossing one ankle over the other.

Jojen explains what a derailer is, and that not every bike has one or needs one – Tommen finds himself wondering what kind of bike Jojen rides, and is rude enough to interrupt Jojen’s long explanation to ask. “Does your bike have gears?” he asks, tilting his head. Tommen has never known anyone who rides a bike seriously; he had a red bicycle as a kid that he loved fiercely for about a year, but he hasn’t ridden one since. Tommen isn’t even sure if either of his siblings know how to ride a bike, if he’s honest.

He steps forward when Jojen really goes to work on the bike, watching the way Jojen’s hands move. It makes Tommen’s mouth go dry; it shouldn’t be hot to watch someone get all covered in grease changing a part on a bicycle of all things, but Tommen can’t look away from the practiced, sure movements of Jojen’s fingers. He bites his bottom lip and looks away when Jojen looks up at him, pretending to be distracted by something hanging on the wall of the shop. Then something actually does catch his eye, and he steps closer to the counter to read it. “There are bike races here?” he asks. He feels like there’s so little that he knows about this city he’s chosen to live in for the next four years. Tommen wonders how much of it he would never learn about if he hadn’t been run over by Jojen yesterday.

[tom-men-blog]

Tommen didn't know bike messengers were still around - he's seen them in movies, but never known anyone who works as one. He moves back into the workshop and pulls himself up on one of the counters, leaning forward a bit and pressing his palms into the metal, fingers curling around the front of the counter. He watches Jojen work more, a weird, warm feeling in his belly. "Do you participate?" he asks. "This seems kind of like a second skin for you. How'd you get into it?"

Jojen tells him a bit about how he got into cycling and Tommen nods along, trying not to be distracted by the way Jojen grits his teeth and tightens the muscles in his arms to make parts fit together on the bike. Tommen's gaze keeps straying despite his best effort; Jojen looks so comfortable here. Tommen soaks up the cool air and whets his mouth and eventually jumps off the counter to get another cup of water.

He drains that, and another. Tommen has been dying of thirst since yesterday, which he supposes makes sense. He clears his throat after a bit, breaking the silence, and smiles at Jojen when Jojen looks at him. "So, leftover pizza for dinner? I feel like that's the life of every college student in America."

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

jo-jen

Jojen’s eyes zero in on the golden expanse of Tommen’s throat when he tilts his head back. He’s completely clean shaven and a rich golden brown. Apollo, his brain supplies in a completely helpful way. Tommen practically moans as he drinks. Jojen sort of can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You should get better about drinking it,” he says with a smirk.

He watches as Tommen wanders the shop and wonders what Tommen’s thinking. He resists the urge to ask, although the desire burns in him. What are you thinking? How does your brain work? Eventually Tommen turns in a full circle and looks at the bike Jojen’s been working on.

Jojen follows his gaze. “I’m changing the derailer – the one it came in with is completely rusted to shit.” He realizes, a little too late, that Tommen is staring at him blankly, as if to say What the fuck. Jojen smiles. “The detailer’s the bit that the gears are on, helps you shift – if that’s your thing.”

Jojen rocks back and forth on the backs of his heels for a moment. “Want to come watch?” he asks.

Tommen blinks. “What do you mean, ‘if that’s your thing’? Don’t most bikes shift?” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a bewildered grin that turns fond when Jojen rocks back and forth on his heels. Tommen nods when Jojen asks if he wants to watch, crossing the shop. “This feels a bit naughty,” he says, when he walks behind the counter. He laughs and leans against one of the work tops lining the walls, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and crossing one ankle over the other.

Jojen explains what a derailer is, and that not every bike has one or needs one – Tommen finds himself wondering what kind of bike Jojen rides, and is rude enough to interrupt Jojen’s long explanation to ask. “Does your bike have gears?” he asks, tilting his head. Tommen has never known anyone who rides a bike seriously; he had a red bicycle as a kid that he loved fiercely for about a year, but he hasn’t ridden one since. Tommen isn’t even sure if either of his siblings know how to ride a bike, if he’s honest.

He steps forward when Jojen really goes to work on the bike, watching the way Jojen’s hands move. It makes Tommen’s mouth go dry; it shouldn’t be hot to watch someone get all covered in grease changing a part on a bicycle of all things, but Tommen can’t look away from the practiced, sure movements of Jojen’s fingers. He bites his bottom lip and looks away when Jojen looks up at him, pretending to be distracted by something hanging on the wall of the shop. Then something actually does catch his eye, and he steps closer to the counter to read it. “There are bike races here?” he asks. He feels like there’s so little that he knows about this city he’s chosen to live in for the next four years. Tommen wonders how much of it he would never learn about if he hadn’t been run over by Jojen yesterday.

[tom-men-blog]

jo-jen

Jojen’s eyes zero in on the golden expanse of Tommen’s throat when he tilts his head back. He’s completely clean shaven and a rich golden brown. Apollo, his brain supplies in a completely helpful way. Tommen practically moans as he drinks. Jojen sort of can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You should get better about drinking it,” he says with a smirk.

He watches as Tommen wanders the shop and wonders what Tommen’s thinking. He resists the urge to ask, although the desire burns in him. What are you thinking? How does your brain work? Eventually Tommen turns in a full circle and looks at the bike Jojen’s been working on.

Jojen follows his gaze. “I’m changing the derailer – the one it came in with is completely rusted to shit.” He realizes, a little too late, that Tommen is staring at him blankly, as if to say What the fuck. Jojen smiles. “The detailer’s the bit that the gears are on, helps you shift – if that’s your thing.”

Jojen rocks back and forth on the backs of his heels for a moment. “Want to come watch?” he asks.

Tommen blinks. “What do you mean, ‘if that’s your thing’? Don’t most bikes shift?” The corner of his mouth tilts up in a bewildered grin that turns fond when Jojen rocks back and forth on his heels. Tommen nods when Jojen asks if he wants to watch, crossing the shop. “This feels a bit naughty,” he says, when he walks behind the counter. He laughs and leans against one of the work tops lining the walls, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and crossing one ankle over the other.

Jojen explains what a derailer is, and that not every bike has one or needs one -- Tommen finds himself wondering what kind of bike Jojen rides, and is rude enough to interrupt Jojen’s long explanation to ask. “Does your bike have gears?” he asks, tilting his head. Tommen has never known anyone who rides a bike seriously; he had a red bicycle as a kid that he loved fiercely for about a year, but he hasn’t ridden one since. Tommen isn’t even sure if either of his siblings know how to ride a bike, if he’s honest.

He steps forward when Jojen really goes to work on the bike, watching the way Jojen’s hands move. It makes Tommen’s mouth go dry; it shouldn’t be hot to watch someone get all covered in grease changing a part on a bicycle of all things, but Tommen can’t look away from the practiced, sure movements of Jojen’s fingers. He bites his bottom lip and looks away when Jojen looks up at him, pretending to be distracted by something hanging on the wall of the shop. Then something actually does catch his eye, and he steps closer to the counter to read it. “There are bike races here?” he asks. He feels like there’s so little that he knows about this city he’s chosen to live in for the next four years. Tommen wonders how much of it he would never learn about if he hadn’t been run over by Jojen yesterday.

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

[tom-men-blog]

jo-jen

Jojen likes weekday afternoons in the shop. They’re slow, right before the four, five o’clock rush of people getting off work, maybe catching a flat on their commute home and desperately needing a fix so they can get going tomorrow. It’s these nice, dead kind of afternoons where he can turn his Spotify up loud and set in on the bikes he’s got due.

He’s currently working on an old Schwinn that needed a new derailer - it’d taken a few days for it come in so the bike isn’t due back ‘till the end of the week but Jojen would rather get a head start on it now. He works on the bike while texting Tommen and singing along to the new Hop Along record.

Jojen’s wipping grease off his hands when he hears the bell on the door ring – he’s twisting around to look past the wall and into the shopfront. Tommen calls hello, waving. Jojen smiles, a little surprised to see him here. He’d figured that Tommen would stop by the apartment later. It’s not that he’s unwelcome, just surprised. “Hey,” he says. Jojen has the A/C blasting and he’s in cutoffs. Tommen looks like he’s dying in his very California tank-top and jeans.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, wiping his hands on a rag before walking into the front of the shop. He grabs one of the staff cups and fills it with water. “Want something to drink?”

Jojen looks sort of stupid in a pair of cut-off jeans and a grease-streaked t-shirt, but he also looks really, really good, in his element and relaxed. Tommen can’t help but smile when Jojen asks how he’s feeling. “Better, now that there’s air conditioning,” he says, only half joking. “Could I have some water, please?”

Tommen walks up to the counter where Jojen is pouring filtered water into a glass with bike cogs on it. He hands the cup to Tommen and Tommen takes it gratefully, draining half the cup in one go. He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes, dropping his head back. “God, water is so underrated. What an incredible liquid.” He drinks more and then sets the glass down, leaning on the counter and meeting Jojen’s eyes. “Thank you.”

The shop is small, but filled to the brim with merchandise for sale. The workshop behind the counter looks like it could easily get cramped on busy days; Jojen seems to be alone, which Tommen wonders about. How many people work here? Is there usually only one person manning the whole operation? He doesn’t ask any of that, though. Instead he nods toward the bike on the rack that Jojen had been working on when he came in. “What are you doing with that?” he asks curiously. Tommen doesn’t know a damn thing about bikes.

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

[tom-men-blog]

don’t wanna get lost in the ocean now « jojen, september 6

A quick Google search yields the address for Dash, which Tommen then punches into the navigation app on his fancy, not-shattered phone. It says it will take him about half an hour to walk there (probably not a good idea), about half an hour to take the bus there (also probably not a good idea), or about ten minutes and $6 to take an Uber there. Tommen opts for the last option because he doesn’t know his way around the city just yet and he’s only one day into the healing process for his concussion, which is aggravated today by how sore the rest of his body feels, as if it’s catching up to his head.

He shoves his wallet in his pocket and summons the taxi service with a tap of his thumb, then changes his ratty t-shirt for a tank that’s a little less sweat-soaked. His dorm room doesn’t have air conditioning, and it’s almost 90 degrees today. Tommen feels disgusting.

His driver is silent for the trip, which Tommen appreciates, and it ends up taking less than ten minutes to get him to the shop. The outside is all windows, a bike rack on the sidewalk spelling out the name of the place. Tommen thinks that’s charming, and he grins as he gets out of the car and walks into the shop. A little bell above the door dings and the entire room smells like rubber. Tommen looks around, taking in the large display of bikes for sale. Then he hears someone tinkering with something, the sound of metal on metal, and he turns his head and sees Jojen near the back of the shop, bent over a bike working on something Tommen can’t really see. Jojen looks up at the sound of the bell and Tommen smiles, giving a little wave. “Hey,” he calls. 

[tom-men-blog]

kk thank you for not being a dick with shitty taste

text > jojen, september 6

😎

[tom-men-blog]

okay what's the name of your shop? or should i just go to your apartment? i do not remember your address 😕

text > jojen, september 6

😎

[tom-men-blog]

since you dropped me off that's questionable?

text > jojen, september 6

😎

[tom-men-blog]

okay it would be kind of nice to see someone who isn't wearing sunglasses and dancing

text > jojen, september 6

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[tom-men-blog]

"dealt with" you make it sound like a poop pile when are you off work?

text > jojen, september 6

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[tom-men-blog]

i mean you definitely ran over a pedestrian that's technically a crime 😜 i don't want to burden you? it's nbd, i won't die.

text > jojen, september 6

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[tom-men-blog]

i trust you, that's not the issue at all i just don't know how my head would react currently it's throbbing because of my roommate's shitty techno, so 😕

text > jojen, september 6

😎

[tom-men-blog]

currently no because i am still technically concussed future says yes though

text > jojen, september 6

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[tom-men-blog]

okay, i feel like you should also know this at the onset of our relationship i have never smoked weed you also read, apparently. don't forget that.

text > jojen, september 6

😎

[tom-men-blog]

what do you do when you're not biking or playing in a band or studying? or smoking weed or eating vegan pizza with boys you accidentally ran over

text > jojen, september 6

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