2007-11-14: Out Of The Closet

Starring:

Mikhail_icon.gif Monica_icon.gif

Summary: Monica thinks Mikhail is gay. Mikhail isn't. This may take some work.

Date It Happened: November 14th, 2007

Out of the Closet


Mikhail's Apartment, NYU

Cleaning up didn't seem like a bad idea at the time. It was the 'while still in pain' part that threw him off. The other day's sudden events near the Starbucks left him aching in certain places. With the other roommates absent, Mikhail finds himself doing most of the work in making everything look…sanitary. He's messy, but he's able to keep neat organized piles of stuff.

Leaning on the swiffer, he sighs. Nothing else is going to be cleaner than this.

—-

The call was brief, sort of a 'hi!' 'hi!' 'come over!' 'ok!' sort of thing. But eventually Monica makes her way to Mik's apartment, a four pack of some micro-brew that she thought looked interesting and like it would appeal to art student sensibilities tucked under her arm as she knocks.

—-

Quick phone calls win out for him. Mikhail snaps out of his daze once the knocks are heard, turning to walk over and open the door for his visitor. "Oh, hey," he says with a wave, backing up to let Monica inside. "As you can see, I tried making everything neater."

—-

"I appreciate the effort." Monica grins and lifts up the four pack. "Thought you might like this stuff. I haven't tried it. So what's up?"

—-

Mikhail raises his eyebrows at the drinks, curious. "Ooh, nifty. Thanks. Maybe we can try it or something," he says, setting the swiffer against the wall. It promptly slides down onto the floor. After another pause and staring at the downed cleaning utensil, he shrugs. "Well, things have been sort of the same," he starts, "but all art aside, I went down to this Brawler's Headquarters down in the Bronx."

—-

"Brawler's Headquarters?" Monica repeats as she looks for a place to sit. Removing a paint stained t-shirt from something vaguely resembling a beanbag chair, she sits…or sinks. "What's that?"

—-

"Um. It's like…a fight club. Just…not secretive," the artist explains, gesturing his hands. When he does stop waving, his right hand is visibly bandaged. Mikhail sort of watches Monica sink in, biting onto his lower lip as she does so. "…Sorry about the lack of real furniture. You want my desk chair?"

—-

"Naw, I'm comfy." she says brightly. Then she frowns. "What were you doing in a fight club, Miki? And you hurt yourself. You're an artist, you can't damage your hands." Her tone is chiding, she waggles a finger.

—-

He frowns back. "I just wanted to see how it was," he replies. "Atmosphere. Experience. I need to work on the experience part, actually." He sucks at brawling. Miki's nose scrunches a little at the finger waggle, eyes then falling back on his right hand. "Oh no - this was from yesterday. I was going to get coffee with Eric and then…a car crashes right into the Starbucks." It sounds extreme, but it happened.

—-

"I don't like my friends hurting themselves. You take good care of that, okay?" Monica pauses a minute and then asks, "Are you going to go again? To that fighting thing."

—-

A soft sigh and a downward tilt of his head shows that he understands what she means. It's not like he did it on purpose, but she's right - she shouldn't have to worry about things like that. "Okay," Mikhail nods. As he plops down on the floor, he blinks. "Well…I was thinking about it?" A small sheepish grin follows.

—-

"Can I come?" Monica asks, perhaps surprising him. She certainly surprised herself. "I - I'd like to watch."

—-

The artist also looks a little surprised. "I…don't see why not," he says. What's a little sideline support? "Don't be surprised if I don't win, though. I still need to work on my fighting skills." He flexes an arm, but his jacket sleeve makes it hard to tell whether or not there is muscle present.

—-

Monica grins a little bit. "Well, maybe I'll give it a bit of a go. I've been watching lotsa movies." Little Monica, in a pit fight? Perish the thought!

—-

If she gets involved, then things would be more interesting! Mikhail laughs softly. "That'd be awesome," he says. "They usually start people off easy if you're a newb, but hey - who knows."

—-

Monica grins. "Yup. Who knows. Pass me a beer, would you? It's okay, I took the subway."

—-

"Heh. Okay." Mikhail chuckles, taking a bottle from the small pack with ease. "Here you go," he says, handing it over before going to take one for himself.

—-

Monica pops the cap with her hand, setting it to the side and taking a swig. "So what do you wan to do tonight?" she asks. It's the query of bored college kids everywhere. "We could cook up some ramen. Or go get some sushi."

—-

Opening his own bottle, Mikhail takes a minute to observe the shape and color prior to taking a small sip. He makes a face, but swallows, smacking his lips softly. "I think we need more groceries to do the ramen thing. The guys ate everything last night, I found." Evidence was in the trash. "Sushi sounds good. I'm not opposed to that." It sounds finer than instant ramen, sure, but both are delicious to him.

—-

Monica starts to get up, until she realizes she's stuck in the bean bag. So then she tries to get up some more, and actually sinks a little bit. With a sigh, she holds out her handa appealingly. "Uh…help?"

—-

Another sip. He sits there, staring at her blankly. Then it hits him. "Oh." Setting the bottle down, he gets up, smoothing out his clothes. His good hand reaches out, hesitating, but he does take it. With a grunt, he pulls. Hopefully she'll get up.

—-

Monica is athletic, she just needs to find her footing, and with a little hop and the aid of his pull, she comes up. "Thank ya!" she says brightly, and bends to retrieve her beer. "Do you want to call any of the others to see if they want to come along, or just you and me?"

—-

"You're welcome!" the artist replies in an equally peppy tone. However, his expression pretty much remains oh so stoic. He scratches the side of his head as he grabs his drink, jutting out his lower lip some. "Uhhhh we can try to see if anyone else is available. If that fails, I think just us two will be cool." Smaller group, less noise, less expensive? They're both weird, anyway.

—-

"Well you know, I figured you might like another guy's company. You'd have more fun, right?" Monica asks brightly, taking another swig of beer.

—-

Mikhail laughs, but he seems a little confused near the end of it. "Another guy buduhwhaha?" Sip.

—-

Monica blinks. "Well, you know. A friend." There's a little emphasis on 'friend'.

—-

"…" Friend. Mikhail tilts his head, brushing back some of his bangs. "Ah. Well, another guy would be interesting but wh-" Again he stops, brow furrowing.

…Oh.

He slowly places a hand over his mouth. Maybe even a little horrified. "…oh shoot."

—-

Monica blinks. "Mik, I may be from the South, but I ain't ignorant." She smiles brightly. "Just because you're gay doesn't mean I'm not your friend!"

—-

This is where Mikhail starts crumbling. Mentally. He sputters. "Whoa, whoa wait a minute! I, I am? Me?" The beer is held up as he tries to clear the air. A beat passes. "…Lemme say this…" Another beat, his tone deadpan. "No."

With that, he runs out of the apartment.

—-

Monica blinks. "Oh." she says. Either hes a straight boy who wears flaming pants, or he's TOTALLY IN DENIAL. Dutifully, Monica follows.

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