The Inevitable (Erik)

[Jin-hwan "Jen" Park]

Jin thought it highly likely that within the meta-human gene was a strand of biological code as-yet-undetected that made every single person at the Hammel Institute a graceless, fumbling klutz. Hardly a day went by without someone bumping into someone else causing them to drop stuff. Hell, it had happened to Jin-hwan just the other day – a dimpled boy who sang to woodland creatures.

Apparently, he’d moved out of Los Angeles and into a Disney movie.

Currently, though, he was seated on the couch in the common area of the residential building, which everyone who was anyone knew was the most comfortable place in the room. Unfortunately for everyone who was anyone, he’d proceeded to spread out a plethora of design materials – color swatches, a few collage posters, a stack of magazines – on both of the other cushions. His black denim clad legs were crossed at the ankles, where the fabric of his trousers had been neatly tucked into his high-top boots.

He should be safe here.

His fingertips were clicking away at the white keys of his Macbook Pro impossibly quickly. He was very absorbed in the contents of the screen, which were also reflected in miniature in the non-prescription lenses of his black-rimmed glasses.

Then, there was a shadow in his peripheral vision that he could only assume was a person. The clicking of keys ceased; several beats of silence passed.

After a furtive up-and-down study of the intruder, he resumed his typing. As long as the other boy didn’t manage to somehow topple into him, he should be able to avoid a conversation.

Right?

[Erik Stewart]

The ‘shadow’ wasn’t quiet for long. Though Jin might not have even turned to look, he’d know he was male by his voice, hushed and urgent against the phone to his ear. It had a distinct southern tone to it. It wasn’t sprightly and nuanced and chocked full of southern hospitality: it was instead the dark and vaguely threatening type, which reminded one of thick underbrush and unfamiliar country.

Jin might not have heard exactly what the other boy was saying, because, for now, his voice was quiet. There was definitely no pillow talk going on, though; he was just shy of outright hissing at whomever was on the other line. Gradually, he escalated. Low, private tones broadened into loud proclamations. The phone reciprocated: there was the faint tinny sound of another person’s voice through the receiver, matching him…but they were cut off by a final, explosive shout.

”Why don’tchu shove it up yer ass, see how you like it!” And then he hung up.

It was an awkward situation and the tension was palpable. Unluckily for Jin, he seemed to become aware of his presence just a second after, and fixed him with an angry stare.

“What th’ hell r’ you lookin’ at?”

Erik didn’t look particularly intimidating – at least, not at first glance. But he’d had a way of carrying himself, though he was small, and thin; his eyes were blue darts, the black pupils punched in the middle, which gave him a piercing look underneath his dark brows. His face might’ve been pretty once, but recent events had left it discolored and a tad swollen. Flesh had raised over one eye, leaving it almost shut. On his bottom lip was a dark spot of dried blood. It’d been split.