forum A fever you can’t sweat out//one on one (closed)

Started March 22, 2019 by @_sleeby_rat_

tune

To put it lightly, Jackson was not having a good day. It had started fine, with his nice coffee from his non-talking coffee machine, which he had asked for after the one in the apartment before had scared the shit out of him by asking him first thing in the morning what coffee he wanted, to which he responded by instinctively backhanding the machine across the room with his prosthetic arm. It had proceeded with a walk outside, something he did routinely in the mornings. But when he came back to three men defacing his apartment after seemingly having been let in, everything went downhill from there. Three incredibly injured vandals later, he was being kicked out on his ass to the curb, the landlord shouting things like "no-good hunk of trash," "fucked in the head," and other colorful insults while he threw things at the fuming man sitting on the curb after being bodily thrown out by apartment security. And ten minutes later, he found himself, sitting on a bench with a box of his only possessions in his arms as he fumed

(Sorry, life happened.)

Noah's day was going great. He woke up, got some coffee. His coffee maker knew just what he liked. He worked out for a bout half an hour before getting ready for work. Everything was going well at work. Business was good and the money was coming in. Noah only kept enough of his profit to live generously. Nice place, expensive things, nice car, groceries, and a maid to clean the place once a week. The rest either went to make sure his workers were paid well and the rest to charities. He wanted to make sure no one else suffered as he had. It was already written in his will that everything he owned go to charities. On his lunch break, Noah walked to one of his favorite cafes near his building. Their hamburgers were the best. He ordered his usual then went for a stroll as he ate. While he had a car, he only used it if where he was going was out of walking distance. While in his stroll, he saw the most curious thing. There was man sitting on a bench, with a box that looked like they belonged to him. It was a very pathetic box of things. "You know, most people keep their things in their homes." Noah said, taking a seat beside the man. "Or shelters, I suppose."

(It’s all good dude, happens to everyone. Take your time if you need to)

“Yeah, well good for them,” Jackson muttered bitterly. He hugged the meager box closer to his chest, seemingly concerned that the man sitting beside him would try and take from it, though there wasn’t really anything to take but a few photos, a flash drive, a blanket, and a few stray knickknacks. He looked rather scrappy like this, having been roughed up a bit by security when he was thrown out. There was a reasonable-sized bruise blooming beneath his left eye, and his lower lip was scraped and split. He looked intimidating, but in a sad sort of way. Someone that could be a threat, but was too dejected to put anything into being much more than grumpy. He looked off to the side a bit, though, as if not wanting to really acknowledge the other man was there, which caused the hood of his sweatshirt to shift, revealing the glint of the standard chain of military dog tags

Noah smirked as he watched him. He was known for taking in stray dogs. Caring for them, giving them a job in his company. Helped them get back on their feet. His eyes scanned the male beside him, taking in his looks and posture. He'd be intimidating if he didn't look like a kicked puppy. He finished his food and tossed the trash in a nearby trash can. "If I'm to assume correctly that you need a place to crash, my penthouse has more than enough room for you until you can get back up on your feet." Noah offered. He saw the glint of the dog tags. All the more reason to offer him help. "And don't worry about paying me rent or anything. It's free." He crossed his arms, waiting for the man's reply.

“Yeah, and what then? Nothing’s free, especially in whatever hellhole I came back to. I’m not stupid, you’ll want something from me eventually. And a god damn penthouse?” Jackson asked, turning to really look at Noah now, fixing him with those burning orange eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the gross rich bastards who goes around collecting guys to add to their…harems,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing towards the end of his sentence. “I won’t do that shit, I’m not…god, never mind, I’ve got places to go.” But even as he spoke, it was clear he was lying. And deep down, the idea of a penthouse really did sound appealing, especially compared to another shitty apartment

Noah snorted. "A harem? What the hell have you been reading? I don't have a 'harem' and while I find you attractive I'm not going to force you to be a sex slave." He rolled his eyes. What were the rich portrayed as these days? Did the people really think he had a harem? "And despite who may have taken advantage of you in the past, I do mean it. You can stay with me for no charge as long as you get a job and save until you can afford your own place. If you need help with a job you can always work for me. My company is always hiring. Especially those less fortunate. You will be well taken care of."

“And what kinda company is that, huh?” Jackson asked, still not appearing convinced of Noah’s sincerity. “Because if you’re one of the rich bastards running a big company making all the little people feel small, I don't think I need your help,” he huffed. He rested his head atop the box, wishing this guy would just leave him alone. He didn’t like when it felt like he was being baited into a trap, as his whole stay in what was now the modern world felt just like that. For once, he missed the gunshots and stench of death on the battlefield. Missed something familiar, even if he had nightmares about it. Nightmares about going back.