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there  was  the  slightest  head  tilt  in  response  to  adrien's  skepticism.  it  wasn't  the  first  time  that  they've  been  met  under  scrutiny  for  extending  out  generosity.  it  always  caught  them  by  surprise,  feeling  a  bit  saddened  that  it  was  most  likely  due  to  the  counterpart  simply  not  being  used  to  receiving  such  gestures.  their  hand  fell  back  grasp  on  the  strap  of  their  bag  once  the  water  was  taken.  at  least  ozzy  wasn't  met  with  stubbornness,  adrien  clearly  needed  to  hydrate  at  the  very  least.  〝                              you  can  still  build  character  while  having  someone  intervene.            〞ozzy  muttered  the  words,  attempting  to  defend  their  own  actions.  〝                              i  think  it's  just  human  to  want  to  try  to  help,  no?            〞ozzy  understood  that  not  everyone  could  extend  an  olive  branch.  some  people  would  see  trouble  and  keep  walking,  simply  knowing  they  wouldn't  be  of  assistance.  hell,  ozzy  wasn't  one  to  speak  up  in  every  situation.  there's  been  times  where  they  kept  their  head  low,  gaze  linked  to  the  floor  and  keep  walking  past. 

survival  kit  seemed  like  a  dramatic  claim  up  until  the  other  downed  the  water  as  if  he'd  been  starved  of  h2o  for  days  on  end.  ozzy  couldn't  help  but  to  smirk  in  response,  feeling  a  bit  gloated  by  the  mission  successfully  being  achieved.  even  if  it  helped  just  a  little,  it  made  the  whole  interaction  worth  it.  〝                              i  think  if  i  went  through  the  day  without  always  having  an  emergency  bag  of  gummy  bears  –  well,  i'd  be  much  more  miserable,            〞the  concluded  with  a  sturdy  nod,  confident  in  the  fact.  the  tools  were  for  themselves,  sure.  ozzy  liked  to  be  prepared,  but  they  even  more  enjoyed  when  their  tools  worked  for  someone  else  too.  a  smile  then  spread  across  ozzy's  lips  in  response,  dark  hues  fluttering  back  to  the  painting  in  question.  a  laugh  left  ozzy's  lips  next,  giving  a  defeated  shrug.  〝                              tough  critic,  hm?  maybe  that  was  the  point  –  y'know,  life  reflects  art  or  whatever.            〞

adrien didn’t answer right away. just stared at the water bottle like it was a prop in someone else’s play — generous, domestic, wildly out of place in the chaos of his morning-after unraveling. his mouth opened, then closed again, his expression flickering between amusement, suspicion, and something dangerously close to gratitude. his fingers brushed against ozzy’s when he took it, deliberate but not quite flirtatious, like he was testing if they were real or part of the installation, before he lifted it halfway in a mock toast. “you know,” he said, tilting the bottle like it was a fine wine instead of warm plastic fetched from a bag, ���most people walk past a guy clearly on the verge of spiritual collapse and assume it’s character building. you — you offer electrolytes and gummy bears. that’s either saintly or suspicious.”

“i think this might be the most nurturing thing anyone’s said to me all week.” he squinted at the bottle like it was a foreign object in his hands, unfamiliar to the act of random kindness. “and that includes the nurse who threatened to sedate me. the water is enough.” he took a sip — small, cautious — like water might betray him somehow. his voice dropped a notch, still playful, but tinged with something tired and sharp around the edges. “you always carry around a little survival kit, or am i just a lucky bastard?” there was glitter on his knuckle too — where the hell had that come from? he didn’t remember touching anything glittery. he rarely did. like any good disaster, he had a knack for gravitating toward kindness just enough to keep himself from imploding. he cracked the seal and drank like he’d just remembered hydration was a requirement for living, then let his head fall back with a low, almost reverent sigh. his head tilted toward the painting again, sunglasses slipping down just enough to flash a hint of bloodshot against his hues of brown. “do you think the artist would be offended if i said this looks like my hangover feels?”

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true  disdain  probably  wasn't  something  ozzy  was  capable  of.  they  didn't  even  dislike  devon,  really,  they'd  still  do  anything  for  her  if  it  came  down  to  it.  but  they  were  simply  too  polarizing  to  get  through  a  full  conversation  and  seeing  the  other  perspective.  it  was  like  pushing  two  magnets  together  that  scientifically  could  never  click,  simply  feeling  the  force  negate  any  attempt  of  breaking  down  walls.  they  couldn't  help  but  feel  defensive,  it  was  as  if  everything  she  stood  for  was  a  direct  attack  on  ozzy's  qualities.  and  that…  hurt,  whether  they'd  like  ti  admit  it  or  not.  〝                               i  highly  doubt  that.            〞ozzy  muttered  under  their  breath,  never  being  one  to  say  something  with  his  full  chest.  well,  unless  it  was  something  excitable.  〝                              it's  not  about  being  too  busy  –  it's  about  maybe,  just  maybe,  not  putting  me  in  the  middle  of  it.  nate  has  a  point  on  you  should  probably  handle  your  own  shit.            〞

if  nathan  was  here,  he'd  tell  her  to  cool  it  —  that  voice  rings  in  her  head  every  time  she  encounters  her  other  brother.  ozzy  is  ..  interesting.  a  puzzle  she  wants  to  figure  out,  even  though  devon  knows  they'd  never  let  her  get  that  close.  a  sickening  version  of  two  sides  of  the  same  coin  or  whatever  the  fuck  that  saying  is.  maybe  she  should  give  them  some  slack,  cut  it  out  and  leave  them  alone.  today  is  not  that  day.  “the  last  time  i  tried  to  that,  i  was  very  civil  –  ”  christmas  of  2024  was  not  civil.  “and  she  didn't  care.  so  you're  saying  no  to  being  a  messenger,  then?  nate  already  said  i  had  to  handle  it  myself.”  maturely,  might  she  add.  “unless  you're  too  busy  to  help,  i  guess.”  they  should  be. 

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there  was  some  instinctual  part  of  sebastian  that  was  earlier  tempted  to  shut  the  whole  thing  down.  making  new  connections  wasn't  exactly  his  forte.  whatever  the  opposite  of  wearing  your  heart  on  your  sleeve  was  –  that  was  bash.  he  wore  his  heart  rather  hidden  from  rest  of  the  world.  as  if  it  was  only  an  organ  meant  to  be  within  his  own  safekeeping.  which  was  ironic  considering  self-care  wasn't  exactly  something  he  succeeded  in  anyway.  he  just  didn't  see  the  harm  in  going  to  the  library  of  a  like-minded  individual.  junie  was  surface  level,  watching  the  gleam  in  her  smile.  the  way  she  strutted  over  to  the  aisle  with  such  determination.  she  made  the  proposal  with  such  simplicity  that  there  weren't  many  layers  to  peel  back.  his  expression  didn't  falter  at  the  claim  –  though  he  didn't  believe  it  for  a  second.  sure,  junie  wasn't  everyone.  some  people  were  different,  but  most  followed  similar  patterns  that  were  only  destined  to  repeat.  〝                               you  don't  believe  that  i  can  be  prompt?                〞bash  questioned,  a  half-chuckle  leaving  him.  one  of  those  laughs  that  was  more  breath  than  actual  sound  leaving  his  vocals.  〝                               i'll  try  not  to  be  offended  by  your  presumptions.  viridian suites.            〞he  stated,  grasping  the  textbook  in  hand  more  firmly.

This felt like it was going too smoothly. Which Junie was, frankly, used to - even if any of her interactions stumbled across the line of awkward, uncomfortable, she almost always tacked it down to the other person’s fault. There’d always been an issue there, claiming her own faults. Of course Junie knew she had them - but she’d always been reluctant to allow others to see them. Always a perfectionist, which therefore became the core of her problems. Trying to maintain an image that simply wasn’t plausible. But everything about interacting with Bash was so refreshing, she even allowed herself to slouch momentarily. It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders - momentarily. And then she stood upright again, the doe-eyed look replaced with her usual steely gaze. Even though an amicable grin appeared on her features - not to mention her height, a whopping 5’0” - Junie knew she was still somewhat intimidating. She wanted the image to remain, though there was a softness to her as she spoke with Bash. “That’s true. But not everyone’s me.” It was such a loaded response - something no one should be able to get away with, but Junie said it with such conviction, there was no room to guess whether or not she truly believed she felt a bit above it all. Clearly, she did. “Two?” She’d been hoping to making a whole day of it - used to spending hours on end at the library, even when she found what she needed within the first five minutes. But the last thing Junie wanted was to seem too eager. “Two’s perfect. Which suite are you in? I’ll meet you there, my navigational skills are excellent, it’s best to let me come to you so that we’re prompt.”

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happiness  wasn't  exactly  an  emotion  sebastian  was  in  tune  with.  it  wasn't  as  if  he  was  like  this  even  as  a  kid.  once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  whimsy  twinkle  in  the  gaze,  but  being  forced  to  grow  up  a  little  too  quickly  made  it  difficult  to  achieve  filling  any  sort  of  void.  joy  somehow  became  linked  with  guilt.  thanks  to  pretty  white  pills,  bash  eventually  found  a  middle  ground  of  content  numbness.  it  was  better  than  the  alternatives,  probably.  he  couldn't  help  but  roll  his  eyes  at  magdalena's  stance,  firm  in  her  belief  and  feet  planted  to  the  floor.  it  seemed  that  neither  would  budge,  but  maybe  they  both  just  had  their  unique  ways  of  coping  with  the  world.  〝                               and  you're  no  better  than  me.                〞bash  reminded  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  one  simple  raise  before  falling  down.  he  wasn't  the  type  to  crave  others'  approval,  it  didn't  matter  much  to  him.  he  was  self-aware  enough  to  know  he  was  rather  rough  around  the  edges  and  it  only  got  worse  the  further  a  connection  grew.  〝                               like,  you  do  know  that,  right?                〞he  questioned  as  a  subtle  smirk  pressed  along  his  features.

not everyone got it . got her obsession with fitting in . everyone thought they were unique , different , their own person . but she'd learned there was no such thing . no one was different . despite their names or their clothes , everyone was the same at their core . humanity could be boiled down into a simple thing . everyone was lonely . everyone had a hole they were trying to fill . through different ways , but humans were motivated by a desire to fill that hole and find joy . this was her way . to fit in . that's what she wanted to feel satisfied in life . she didn't care what he thought or whether or not he respected her decisions . if she could , she would please everyone , but she had learned that was an impossible dream . so she wouldn't try to impress him or give in or make him like her . she would stand her ground . for once , she would stand up for herself . " do you get tired of being an outsider ? it must be exhausting to brood all day . it doesn't change the fact that you're no better than me . here we are at the same place and at the same school . what's the difference between you and me ? nothing except i make an effort to be happy . "

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the  solarium  had  more  appeal  when  people  stayed  away  from  it.  with  the  cloudy  downpour,  most  of  the  ambiance  that  the  sunroom  gave  was,  well,  masked  by  a  looming  darkness  that  paired  well  with  pelting  water.  the  muggy  atmosphere  was  right  up  bash's  alley  though  considered  it  complimented  his  broody  attitude.  something  about  it  tended  to  bring  everyone  a  notch  down.  voices  were  lower,  people  kept  to  themselves  most  likely  due  to  the  disheveled  mess  it  made  people.  no  one  wanted  to  approach  someone  new  when  dripping  a  puddle,  makeup  running  down  the  face,  or  whatever  the  fuck  else  was  the  outcome.  it  was  oddly  comforting,  the  stillness  a  storm  could  bring.

that  is  until  someone  rather  eccentric  made  the  room  her  own.  there  was  regret  on  assuming  not  many  would  walk  through  those  doors  let  alone  peer  over  to  him.  still,  as  cleo  spoke,  bash  didn't  even  lift  his  gaze.  he  kept  his  head  leaned  back  against  the  bricked  wall,  eyes  shut,  attempting  to  tune  out  the  others  words  and  focus  on  the  clatter  of  raindrops.  the  offer  of  a  trade  could  be  appealing  if,  well,  anyone's  word  meant  shit.  cleo's  contradicting  made  it  clear  that  she  wasn't  offering  anything  of  real  value.  〝                               if  you're  willing  to  give  a  lie  just  as  easily  as  a  secret,  then  what's  the  point?                〞

WITH: anyone. @langstonstarters WHERE: right outside the solarium under a balcony. WHEN:  1:32pm.

by the time she got under the balcony outside the solarium, she was soaked through, her oversized cardigan clinging to her like a sad, woolen sea creature. her boots squelched audibly with every step, leaving behind a soggy trail on the polished floor like some kind of human slug. her curls — usually wild, now practically mythological — dripped onto her cheeks and shoulders. the rain had started somewhere between the antique shop and the corner where the sidewalk buckled like old skin. cleo hadn’t bothered to run. she never did. she walked like she was part of the weather — head tilted back, arms loose at her sides, blinking up into the sky like it was telling her a secret. she popped her head into the solarium door and propped it open, careful not to step inside though, asking the nearest person, “am i dripping?” she glanced down at herself as if noticing for the first time. “i am, huh? it’s very immersive out there,” she said brightly, already peeling off her cardigan and wringing it out with the enthusiasm of someone milking a cow. “i’m cultivating a small ecosystem. think of it as… temporary pond installation art. very exclusive.” then, without hesitation, she shook herself like a dog — hair flinging droplets, arms flapping. “i feel like a very elegant sponge,” she added, voice dreamlike, spinning once in place and leaving a wet spiral on the stone.

her dress was plastered to her knees and her hair hung in long, dripping spirals. she looked like a watercolor someone had left out in the storm. a little smudged. a little holy. then she rummaged in her cardigan pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, half-ruined from the storm. she picked one carefully, almost tenderly, like it was a relic. held it between her lips but didn’t light it. instead, she turned her eyes back to the closest body, finally — eyes bright and strange, like they saw more than they should. she smiled around the cigarette. “you wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?” she asked, tilting her head. “mine drowned nobly in a puddle while i was rescuing a very old spoon.. and my $150 fruit umbrella took the day off, it seems,” she said it like it made perfect sense. like anything could be important if you gave it a name. she stepped a little closer then, just enough for the space between them to warm. “i’ll trade you something in return,” she added, softer now. “a secret, a lie, or a very unconvincing magic trick. your pick.”

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light  mischief  wasn't  something  ozzy  was  always  opposed  to.  they  were  more  likely  to  linger  wherever  the  people  followed.  something  in  between  a  shadow  and  a  lost  puppy,  just  waiting  for  the  opportunity  to  insert  a  well-timed  joke  without  pushing  themselves  in  a  conversation  they  weren't  wanted  in.  there  was  some  minor  reluctance  at  the  suggestion  at  first.  finding  cool  rocks  was  a  mission  ozzy  felt  fairly  confident  on  succeeding.  part  of  them  was  almost  excited  to  participate  –  plus  the  added  bonus  of  extra  credit? 

there  was  a  visible  pout  when  the  conversation  turned  sideways  and  the  majority  found  the  maze  to  be  a  more  alluring  adventure.  ozzy  wasn't  going  to  speak  up  –  why  would  they?  they  didn't  fake  any  excitement  for  the  quest,  but  they  didn't  exactly  put  their  thoughts  on  display  either.  so  they  lingered  back,  tips  of  their  feet  kicking  the  ground  in  front  of  him  as  each  step  dragged  on.  their  gaze  fluttered  over  to  zee,  squinting  slightly  in  attempt  to  find  the  craziness  that  they  were  suggesting.  〝                               i  don't  –  but  noted  that  i  should  start  carrying  one  or  two  around.  didn't  realize  it's  usefulness  until  now.                〞

WHERE:     the maze garden. WITH:    anyone who would pull a prank on a geography T.A just trying to have a nice field trip to the castle to hunt for cool rocks instead of being stuck indoors on a nice day.

the  wind  had  clearly  decided  to  pick  a  fight  with  zahara  today.  it  tugged  at  their  curls  with  relentless  mischief,  sending  strands  flying  in  every  direction  like  a  chaotic  symphony  of  frizz  and  frustration.  no  matter  how  many  times  they  tried  to  smooth  it  down  or  tuck  it  behind  an  ear,  the  gusts  had  other  plans.  wild,  indecipherable  ones.  it  certainly  didn't  help  that  zee  had  just  finished  a  less  than  graceful  twenty  meter  dash  away  from  their  chaperone.  it  was  the  T.A's  bright  idea  to  turn  their  free  afternoon  into  an  impromptu  geology  field  trip.  the  goal  simple  enough:  find  a  few  'cool'  rocks  near  the  old  castle  ruins,  bring  them  back  to  campus,  and  earn  some  easy  extra  credit. but  naturally,  someone  had  whispered  the  brilliant  idea  of  ditching  the  assignment  in  favor  of  getting  lost  in  the  castle’s  overgrown  garden  maze.  zahara,  ever  the  victim  of  light  peer  pressure  and  even  lighter  common  sense,  had  followed  suit.  now,  hair  whipping  wildly  around  their  face  and  their  favorite  hair  tie  a  casualty  somewhere  among  the  hedges,  zee  sighed  at  the  sky  like  it  was  personally  responsible  for  their  bad  day.  probably  karma,  they  reasoned.  payback  for  playing  along  with  the  prank  instead  of  staying  on  task.  “  be  honest,  i  look  insane  right?  ”  they  asked  the  person  beside  them.  one  of  the  few  classmates  who  hadn’t  vanished  further  into  the  maze  yet.  their  tone  was  hopeful,  but  dry.  “  actually, don't answer that. i  don’t  suppose  you’ve  got  a  scrunchie  to  spare,  huh?  ”

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a  restless  mind,  sleep  never  found  ozzy  with  ease.  it  wasn't  something  that  necessarily  weighed  heavy  on  their  day  to  day  life.  they  had  a  talent  of  being  able  to  function  purely  off  of  sweets  and  unnecessarily  loud  music.  just  like  now,  white  plugs  rested  against  their  ears  while  beats  echoed  internally.  ozzy  was  wondering  around  aimlessly,  not  up  to  mischief  as  it  often  took  peer  pressure  to  actually  be  up  to  trouble.  it  was  an  attempt  to  not  annoy  their  suite  mate,   not  wanting  every  movement  disrupt  their  own  REM  sleep.  much  to  their  surprise,  someone  else  seemed  to  be  lurking  the  night.  they  couldn't  help  but  perk  up,  a  brightness  in  their  eyes  that  mimicked  one  of  a  golden  retriever  greeting  its  owner.  ozzy  approached  somewhere  in  between  timid  and  curious. 

a  hand  adjusted  to  remove  an  earbud  as  maximo  was  mid-sentence,  really  only  catching  the  end.  it  was  enough  to  cause  ozzy's  grin  to  falter  though,  considering  maximo  didn't  exactly  exude  their  own  interest  to  socialize.  〝                               oh  –  i  –  hm...              〞they  muttered,  taking  a  glance  at  the  digital  watch.  〝                               here  i  thought  i  had  an  appointment  at  this  time.  we  specific  pick  odd  times  in  middle  of  the  night  just  for  the  giggles.  a  crochet  meeting.  did  you  remember  to  bring  extra  hooks  for  newcomers?              〞ozzy  questioned  with  raised  brows,  the  corners  of  their  lips  curving.  〝                               we  could  relocate  –  by  we,  i  mean  me.  the  meeting  is  usually  low  in  attendance.  i'm  the  president,  treasurer,  vice  president…  responsibilities  are  never  ending.                〞

WHERE:     near an open window at the solarium. WITH:    anyone. hit me with your best shot.

when  restlessness  clawed  beneath  his  skin  like  an  itch  he  couldn’t  scratch,  maximo  slipped  quietly  out  of  the  dorms  and  made  his  way  to  the  solarium.  a  half-smoked  blunt,  swiped  from  the  communal  stash  he  shared  with  delilah,  usually  keeping  him  company.  he  rarely  ventured  there  during  the  day.  there  was  something  sacred  about  the  stillness  that  came  only  after  midnight.  the  halls  felt  like  a  different  world  at  night,  stripped  of  noise  and  eyes,  wrapped  in  a  soft  hush  that  allowed  the  rotating  art  installations  to  shimmer  under  the  gentle  caress  of  moonlight.  it  was  his  hideaway.  a  secret  space  tucked  between  steel  beams  and  glass  walls  where  he  could  be  alone  with  his  thoughts,  uninterrupted  save  for  the  occasional  passing  janitor  or  the  night  security  guard  who  had  long  since  stopped  trying  to  chase  him  off. on  occasion  max  would  strike  up  conversations  with  them.  half-stoned  musings  or  lazy  debates  about  whether  a  piece  hanging  in  the  atrium  was  actually  good  or  just  pretentious.  but  not  tonight.  tonight,  he  wanted  the  silence.  craved  it.  he  didn’t  know  how  long  he’d  been  meandering  through  the  space—maybe  an  hour,  possibly  two.  time  felt  hazy,  stretched  thin  like  honey.  the  soft  scent  of  weed  clung  to  his  hoodie  as  he  paused  before  a  new  piece,  exhaling  slow  and  steady.  that’s  when  he  heard  it.  footsteps.  not  the  muffled  shuffle  of  a  tired  janitor.  nor  the  familiar  rhythm  of  callum’s  boots  rushing  to  warn  maximo  he  needed  to  leave  soon  before  the  morning  crew  arrived.  max  didn’t  startle.  he  just  turned,  blinking  at  the  figure  now  standing  in  the  archway.  brows  furrowed.  the  haze  around  his  thoughts  clearing  just  enough  for  surprise  to  creep  in.  "  i've  either  overstayed  too  late  or  you're  here  way  too  early.  which  one  is  it?  "

[pclarcld]

something  about  galleries  was  comforting.  ozzy  wasn't  often  the  smartest  person  in  the  room  and  art  majors  were,  well,  judgey  as  fuck.  still,  once  they  got  past  the  ones  that  took  interpretations  a  bit  too  seriously,  it  was  quite  relaxing.  ozzy  has  been  leaning  back,  one  arm  dangling  while  the  other  hand  clasped  around  their  elbow.  the  stared  at  the  panting,  head  slightly  tilted  to  the  side.  perspective  could  often  change  the  meaning.  it  was  an  attempt  to  connect  with  however  the  painting  was  crafted  in  the  first  place.  for  instance,  perhaps  the  artist  was  at  an  odd  angel,  attempting  to  do  gymanstics  with  oil  paint  in  hand.  that  would  cause  a  mess,  ozzy  assumed,  which  only  caused  a  goody  looking  smile  to  peer  on  their  features. 

gaze  then  fluttered  over  to  a  very  much  disheveled  student.  ozzy;s  features  couldn't  help  but  soften,  instinct  automatically  fluctuating  to  want  to  help  in  some  way.  not  that  adrien  would  ask  for  it,  but  still.  〝                                do  you  want  water?             〞ozzy  had  asked,  tone  somewhat  hushed  as  if  it  would  allow  adrien  to  be  more  inclined  to  accept  the  offer.  〝                                or  nurofen?              〞ozzy  questioned  once  more,  adjusting  their  position  to  fish  in  their  bag  that  was  slung  over  a  shoulder.  zipped  peeled  open  and  ozzy  began  rummaging  about.  〝                               oh,  i  have  gummy  bears  too.  something  sweet  perks  anyone  up,  right?              〞still,  they  plucked  out  an  unopened  water  bottle  first,  offering  it  over  to  adrien  with  somewhat  hopeful  hues. 

WITH: whoever! @langstonstarters WHERE:  the palladium forum. WHEN:  10:37am.

adrien’s leaning too close to a canvas in the campus gallery, smudging fingerprints near the “do not touch” sign, narrating his thoughts like he’s on a date with himself. he’s wearing aviator sunglasses inside — unashamed — despite the fluorescent lighting and the fact that he clearly hasn’t slept. his shirt is half-buttoned, collar askew, and there’s glitter near one eyebrow that refuses to be explained. his breath still smells vaguely of mint and regret. a crumpled energy drink can rattles in the pocket of his coat every time he shifts, like it’s trying to escape before whatever shame spiral he’s circling around pulls it in too.

he squints at the painting in front of him — “untitled” in all caps, emotionally vague — and then gestures lazily toward it, that trademark adrien beaumont smirk already forming. “they call this ‘untitled.’ i call it ‘emotional damage in oil paint.’ what’s your critique, art student number seven?” he tilts his head without looking over, lifting the edge of his sunglasses just enough to lock eyes with whoever’s unlucky or curious enough to be standing nearby. “be honest. is it the painting that’s making me dizzy, or the fact that i may or may not still be drunk?” he doesn’t wait for an answer. instead, he lets the sunglasses fall back into place and mutters, mostly to himself now: “looks like heartbreak and tax evasion had a baby.”

[pclarcld]

attempting  to  not  be  so  presumptuous,  bash  bit  back  the  grin  that  threatened  to  peer  on  his  features  as  maeve  took  a  seat.  the  physical  space  between  them  closing  felt  reminiscent  of  the  doors  left  ajar.  maybe  there  was  something  acceptable  to  leave  opportunities  with  the  tiniest  gaps.  maybe  he  didn't  have  to  walj  through  every  single  one.  maybe  time  would  allow  wind  to  gently  brush  against  the  wood  and  expand  the  gap  naturally.  maybe  it  didn't  all  have  to  be  so  fucking  daunting.  it  always  felt  as  if  each  truth  he  said  was  just  arming  the  other  person  with  a  list  of  reasons  to  leave.  on  why  it'd  be  acceptable.  ultimately,  bash  couldn't  blame  those  that  left.  it  was  subtle,  but  noticeable,  the  flash  of  anxiety  that  seeped  at  the  mere  assumption  of  leaving.  god,  he  was  so  fucking  sensitive  at  times.  it  was  easier  to  pretend  to  not  care.  people  would  always  come  and  go,  but  it  was  easier  when  bash  was  in  control  of  the  circumstance.

shaking  his  head  slightly  and  with  a  click  of  a  tongue,  his  gaze  was  fixed  to  the  floor.  he  wasn't  avoiding,  necessarily.  just  processing.  wondering  why  he  had  left  the  door  open  and  questioning  why  he  was  sat  here  close  enough  to  familiarize  himself  with  the  perfume  that  lingered  on  maeve's  skin.  he  could  blame  it  on  the  alcohol.  still  so  easy  to  wash  it  off  as  nothing.  but  he  wasn't  drunk  when  annotating  notes  of  so  sad  today.  he  wasn't  even  inhaling  smoke  when  deciding  to  drop  it  off  at  the  suite.  no,  he  was  woefully  sober  in  attempt  to  plead  his  case  for  the  other's  patience.  〝                                   i  think  reading  stories  that  are  sadder  than  how  i  feel  keeps  me  humble,                  〞he  explained  with  a  lightness  in  his  done  and  a  subtle  grin  tracing  his  features.  〝                                   raw  emotion  is  powerful,                  〞plus  sometimes  it  was  necessary  to  meet  his  solemn  aura  with  some  escapism  that  made  it  impossible  to  get  lost  in  the  numbness.   

gaze  flickered  up  then,  looking  beside  himself  as  the  reminder  that  maeve  chose  to  sat  right  beside  him.  she  didn't  make  the  simple  turn  to  the  suites,  but  somehow  managed  to  be  here.  no  pressure  was  added  on  their  already  suffocating  dynamic.  maybe  they  could  just  sit  here  and  read  their  respective  books,  part  of  bash  was  okay  with  that.  there  was  a  spike  of  chills  than  ran  through  bash  at  the  admission  to  later  would  encompass  maeve  knowing  just  a  little  bit  more  about  how  he  thought.  still,  he  swallowed  that  down,  already  knowing  that  there  was  no  going  back  and  perhaps  he  didn't  want  to  either.  〝                                   you're  not  dramatic,                  〞he  recalled,  voice  regaining  its  confidence  as  he  recalled  her  words.  〝                                   it's  probably  a  good  thing  to  have  some  boundaries.  i  can  assure  you,  i  won't  recite  any  poetry.                  〞perhaps  because  after  all,  he  did  prefer  that  she  stay. 

maeve drifted her gaze over the floor like she was tracing a thought that wouldn’t fully land. she stood near the hallway toward the dorms, almost as if taunting herself to slip away again. she wore boots too expensive for the conversation they were having and a blouse slightly wrinkled from a day she’d already half-forgotten. the lamplight caught the sharpness in her features, but her expression was unreadable — calm, guarded, almost too practiced. around them, the room was quiet in that way that felt intentional. someone across the space glanced up, then looked quickly away again, pretending not to notice. a low conversation trailed off. the tension in the air was quiet and private but visible — like a match already lit, held just long enough to start burning skin. she lowered herself beside him at the table — not too close, not too far — just enough that her perfume reached him and her shoulder nearly brushed his. she sat with her legs folded to the side, ankles crossed, hands resting neatly in her lap. for a moment, she didn’t look at him. just breathed. settled. like maybe she was giving him a second to pull away if he wanted to.

then, voice rationally gentle, even: “i’m sitting.” her eyes shifted to him now. still unreadable, but softer than before. not vulnerable, exactly — but open in a way that cost her something. she exhaled through her nose, slow. “i’m not here to dig for secrets or perform some emotional rescue. you don’t owe me your damage just because i happened to see it, anyways.” for a second, she just watched him. not unkindly, but with a sort of devastating patience, the kind you offered people who’d forgotten they deserved gentleness. her voice, when it came, was quiet — not soft, exactly, just measured. deliberate. “i don’t need your truths gift-wrapped, bash.” she folded her hands in her lap, thumb absently brushing the ridge of her knuckle. her gaze flicked to him. it landed like a tether. “but you let me in. even if you didn’t mean to. and maybe that terrified the shit out of you, i don’t know. but you can’t unring a bell just because the echo makes your skin crawl.”

“so… i’m here,” maeve said finally, voice even. “and i’m not asking you to walk through a door. but i’ll sit on the floor beside it. for now.” a pause. then, almost teasing: “unless you start reciting poetry. then i’m leaving immediately.” a breath caught somewhere in her ribcage, and for the first time, she visibly calmed — shoulders softening, jaw no longer tight. “sorry,” she added under her breath, tone dry. “i was being dramatic. slightly.” she set so sad today down on the table in front of her, next to his book. she wasn’t close enough to press into him, but close enough to say i’m not leaving. her posture eased as she leaned back slightly and she tilted her head toward the book in his lap, eyebrows raising just slightly. “and now that i’m done being dramatic,” she said, voice lighter, teasing, “what’s this?” her finger brushed the worn edge of the bluest eye before she leaned back again, mock-serious. “i swear to god, if you wrote tragic margin notes in this one too, i’m going to annotate so sad today with glitter pen in response and mail it back to you.” a pause — then softer, fonder: “but i am going to finally dissect your annotations later. just so you know. i was just waiting to stop being annoyed with you, i suppose.” her lips curved into a smile, a real smile with him. and that felt like enough for them now.

[pclarcld]

what  one  did  and  didn't  deserve  was  a  harsh  conclusion  to  come  to,  but  still,  perhaps  it  wasn't  a  complete  exaggeration.  it  was  unfair  to  assume,  but  he  just  had  an  inkling  that  the  action  probably  wasn't  completely  uncalled  for.  even  for  the  sake  of  argument,  standing  up  for  yourself  went  a  long  way.  bash  would  rather  lose  a  fight  and  go  down  kicking  than  never  speak  up  at  all.  most  people,  he  realized,  had  more  bark  than  bite.  and  he'd  be  damned  to  be  lumped  up  with  one  of  them.  〝                                i'm  not  saying  you  deserved  it,              〞bash  corrected,  tone  evening.  it  wasn't  doused  with  softness,  but  it  was  spoken  with  an  amount  of  certainty.  〝                                 i'm  just  saying  i  know  how  i  am  when  i've  been  on  edge  and  i  would  say  when  someone  swings  at  me,  i  don't  think  it  came  out  of  nowhere.              〞he  stated,  shoulders  raising  slightly  before  falling.  〝                                but  we're  two  different  people.  perhaps  i  deserve  it  more,              〞

the way ella was staring at him would have had an onlooker assuming something very bad had been said between the two of them. "what?" she couldn't believe that the question was even being asked. "of course i didn't hit them back, bash! what do you take me for? i certainly wasn't raised like that." this was not the time to be acting high and mighty but she would to try preserve what little image she had left. ellinore was a difficult one - exhibited all the signs of a potential 'mean girl' - and yet would crumble at any sort of confrontation and take things straight to heart. "besides, my head was in a toilet and that was a nightmare, but, no. i wasn't going to hit her back and i certainly wasn't about to hit corvina to get her off me. if she wants to be like that, well then, fine! but that's not me." she shook her head, again, an overreaction on her part but she couldn't help it. "do you think i deserved it?" deep down, ella already knew the answer to her question but she didn't want it to be true. "you know what? just forget i said anything."

[pclarcld]

not  to  always  be  correct,  but  there  was  some  pride  on  the  accuracy  of  rightness  that  bash  seemed  to  take.  one  way  or  another,  his  perspective  always  seemed  be  reasonable.  his  moral  compass  was  slightly  questionable,  that  much  was  true.  but  he  always  had  a  reason.  there  was  a  constant  pros  and  cons  list,  sometimes  internalized  immediately.  other  moments  had  to  be  explicitly  written  out  on  a  notepad  as  he  weighed  options.  now  that  was  one  of  those  times  where  it  was  instant.  shit  item  he  broke  and  wanted  no  links  tied  to?  yeah,  leaving  was  the  only  logical  option.  so  he  couldn't  help  but  grin,  stifling  a  laugh  as  the  other  connected  a  few  dots.  〝                                   not  to  brag,  but  my  right  to  wrong  ratio  is  pretty  high,               〞he  commented  with  a  shrug  of  nonchalance.  〝                                   a  few  hundred?               〞bash  had  echoed,  wondering  if  it  was  a  hyperbole  for  arguments  sake.  still,  there  couldn't  help  but  be  an  extra  kick  in  his  step.  〝                                 yeah,  fuck  that.              〞

she  glances  around  the  room,  still  not  catching  sight  of  a  soul  besides  bash  and  herself.  no  obvious  security  cameras  either.  it  takes  another  second  for  the  dots  to  connect  —  thank  you,  lucky,  for  teaching  her  to  pick  up  on  unspoken  communication,  she  guesses  —  that  he  isn't  asking  literally.  “ohhhh,  you  mean  …  right.”  said  softly,  and  mostly  to  herself.  is  it  maybe  against  her  better  judgement  to  leave  the  scene  of  the  crime?  most  definitely.  but  at  the  same  time  …  she's  picked  up  enough  things  in  this  store  and  immediately  put  it  back  down  once  she  saw  the  price  tag  to  know  that  getting  stuck  paying  for  that  thing  had  the  potential  to  end  in  a  very  uncomfortable  call  home  to  get  bailed  out  of  a  financial  hole.  “i  think  you  might  be  right  about  that.”  would  it  be  lame  to  leave  an  apology  note?  probably.  and  would  almost  certainly  take  too  long.  “i  think  getting  stuck  with  a  demon  would  be  preferable  to  getting  stuck  shelling  out  a  few  hundred  on  shards  of  glass.”  and  not  even  glass  you  could  keep,  at  that.

[pclarcld]

the  list  of  mistakes  were  practically  never  ending  for  someone  like  bash.  people  say  not  to  live  life  with  regrets,  but  they  followed  him  like  a  shadow.  memories  crept  up  and  formed  like  an  everlasting  fog  that  was  impossible  to  shake.  it  loomed  in  mockery,  presenting  each  situation  with  a  carefully  dissected  analysis.  there  were  some  conclusions  bash  would  simply  fall  in  habit  of  fully  believing  every  time.  he  chose  the  least  painful  path  that  he  was  convinced  existed.  maybe  some  of  it  was  unfair,  always  making  the  decision  without  including  the  other  person.  he  couldn't  help  it  though  once  he  decided  it  would  be  too  much  being  the  one  to  walk  away  wounded.  still,  he  missed  percy  whether  he  liked  to  admit  it  or  not.  for  the  various  reasons  that  were  displayed  in  this  very  moment.  the  softness  in  their  eyes  and  the  delicacy  in  the  touch  of  their  hand  overlapping  lapping  his  own.  he  needed  a  moment  to  just  look  at  them.  process  the  words  that  left  their  lips  with  absolutely  no  reluctancy.  why  they  chose  to  be  kind  when  he  had  so  eagerly  treated  everything  like  nothing.  it  would  be  easier  if  percy  hated  him,  really.  〝                                   and  how  could  you  help  –  why  would  you  want  to  help?               〞the  words  didn't  mean  to  come  off  accusatory,  but  still,  he  questioned  why  it  would  be  worth  their  time  at  all  to  sit  here.  close  in  his  space  and  all  for  what?  gaze  fluttered  down  to  their  point  of  contact,  he  was  still,  but  not  locked  frozen.  part  of  the  touch  was  warm  enough  to  thaw  the  coldness  that  tended  to  always  linger.  〝                                   you're  too  kind  sometimes,  y'know.  i  don't  know  how  you  go�� through  life  so  dauntless.               〞

tunnel vision was bash’s real enemy, so caught up in all the bad parts of himself that it clouded over all the good, a constant storm that danced behind his eyes and his words. percy didn’t say anything in response, tried not to think too deeply about the sentiment, and wonder if they fell under that title – one of his fuck ups.  she grabbed a tin of ava’s lip balm, helping herself, buying time as she ran the salve across her lips, minty, prickling, and distracting. not enough, though, not when bash mentioned his writing or lack thereof and not when he left certain doors ajar, no matter how slight the space was. percy figured she had nothing else to lose with him, already tossed aside – what could be worse than becoming someone’s shut-out ghost? ghosts can still slip through the cracks.  “i don’t think that’s true – i know that’s not true,” she corrected, out of the chair, moving closer until she sat at the edge of where he was, forgetting to keep distance for both their sakes. percy’s eyes bore into bash’s, searching, her hand wrapping around his hand that held the book, gentle but firm.  “you can’t say it’s true either. books are nice, but your words – they’re meant to be written down. it’s not either-or. maybe i can help.” 

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  single  moment  of  honesty  and  it  was  borderline  impossible  to  reciprocate.  still,  it  was  so  tempting  to  go  back  to  nothing  but  a  starry  night  and  dying  flowers  all  around.  it  was  a  nice  memory,  if  bash  was  honest  with  himself.  perhaps  it  was  all  thanks  to  liquid  courage,  but  regardless  it  had  been  some  time  since  he  opened  a  door  let  alone  walked  through  one.  every  single  time  someone  extended  their  hand  to  grip  on  the  door  handle  they'd  push.  pull.  yank.  nothing  would  come  about  it.  it  was  a  door  that  was  battered  and  bruised,  caution  tape  plastered  all  around  with  an  obnoxious  yellow.  it  wasn't  worth  opening,  let  alone  walking  through.  he  told  people  this.  bluntly.  loudly.  he'd  prove  it  time  and  time  again.  and  it  worked.  people  left  him  alone.  and  it  was…  easier  that  way. 

life  was  duller  now.  the  volume  of  all  the  noise  in  his  head  was  dialed  down  to  a  subtle  buzz.  numbness  had  its  perks  and  it  most  certainly  carried  its  own  weight.  still,  it  was  most  likely  better  than  the  alternative.  molars  pinched  the  thin  skin,�� an  indication  that  vulnerabilities  threatened  to  spill  from  his  lips.  it  was  tempting,  considering  maeve  appeared  so  desperate  to  be  validated  for  her  own  reasons.  she  understood,  he  knew  she  did.  he  knew  she  understood  the  void.  even  if  it  looked  different  from  his  own,  she  had  the  knowledge.  it  was  comforting,  in  a  way.  as  if  he  wasn't  alone,  even  among  a  stranger.  because  what  else  would  they  fucking  be  considered?  〝                                   i  know.                  〞infuriating.  too  much.  that  wouldn't  change,  whether  his  truth  was  known  or  not.  suppose  it  would  connect  some  dots.  have  explanations  for  paradox  way  of  life. 

listening  to  her  synopsis  of  their..  situation,  a  breath  left  bash  almost  silently.  he  shook  his  head,  just  slightly,  in  disagreement.  though  suppose  her  interpretation  wasn't  exactly  false,  perception  was  funny  like  that.  he  fumbled  with  the  magnet  bookmark  in  hand  before  finally  deciding  to  clip  it  on  the  single  page  he  left  off  on.  he'd  like  to  believe  that  it  was  tempting  to  walk  away  then.  take  the  final  blow  and  end  the  current  interaction,  but  he  didn't  want  to.  not  really.  〝                                   i  didn't  mean  to  ignore  you.  i  was  just...                  〞scared?  being  pathetic?  what  was  it  that  maeve  wanted  to  hear,  exactly?  the  truth,  probably.  he  folded  shut  the  novel  in  hand  before  flickering  his  gaze  at  her  once  more,  allowing  his  voice  to  trail  off. 

for  being  strangers,  maeve  sure  had  a  way  to  be  an  expert  on  reading  in  between  said  lines.  she  seemed  to  know  what  stung.  what  statements  would  hit  with  a  little  bit  too  much  of  reality.  sure,  he  was  selfish.  he  didn't  want  to  be  wanted,  because  that  would  cause  reciprocation.  and  bash  was…  well,  when  he  was  in,  he  was  all  in.  people  often  thought  they'd  be  prepared  for  it,  but  they  weren't.  〝                                   would  you  want  to  be  wanted  when  the  one  person  who  knew  you  wholly  leaves?                  〞choice  or  not,  bash  didn't  do  well  with,  well,  abandonment.  he'd  always  come  crawling  back.  every  time.  like  clockwork.  truly,  part  of  him  pleaded  to  be  desired.  as  if  it  was  permission  to  take  up  space  in  a  world  he  didn't  think  he  fit  in.  it  probably  would  have  been  easier  to  note  that  he  had  no  memories  from  their  open  night.  maybe  then  they  could  have  started  ten  paces  back.  in  that  scenario  it  was  straight  forward.  small  talk  would  come  easy.  but  how  does  one  talk  about  nothing  when  they  already  saw  your  wounds? 

every  time  sebastian  paused  between  his  words,  the  air  grew  thicker.  it  was  tempting  to  let  the  boiling  water  overflow,  sizzle  once  hitting  upon  the  wooden  floors.  bash  wasn't  one  to  shy  away  from  a  scene,  it  was  a  craft  to  form  his  perfected  expectation.  he  was  easy  to  set  off,  still,  unfortunately  the  emotions  that  lingered  wasn't  anger.  he  wanted  to  be  full  of  rage.  wanted  to  hate  her.  wanted  to  accuse  maeve  for  being  way  out  of  her  element.  he  didn't  owe  her  shit,  still.  part  of  him  wanted  to  get  to  know  her  too.  〝                                   do  you  want  to  sit  or  are  you  not  patient  enough  to  learn  what  our  truths  are?                  〞truth  took  time  to  expose.  still,  his  voice  had  a  softness  to  it.  he  wanted  maeve  to  take  a  seat  near.  even  if  they  said  nothing.  maybe  they  could  just  take  time  learning  to  be  comfortable  in  each  other  vicinity  rather  than  suffocating  themselves  in  their  locked  rooms. 

she wasn’t even sure why she stopped. not really. maybe it was the way his eyes flicked up — too fast, like a slip, like a breath caught mid-sentence, as if looking at her had been accidental. like maybe it meant something, or maybe it meant nothing at all. she hated not knowing the difference. or maybe it was just the book in her bag, the weight of so sad today pressing into her side like a secret she never meant to share. it sat there like a bruise she kept touching, just to feel something. the hallway around them was hollow and overlit, humming with the kind of quiet that felt deliberate, like the universe was leaning in to listen. old posters peeled from the walls in curls, forgotten announcements ghosting the space like shed skin. he didn’t owe her anything. they weren’t friends. they weren’t anything. and yet she felt.. betrayed? no, that was too big a word. but something close. something raw and restless. something with the shape of hurt and the taste of regret. he’d opened something in her: some small door she hadn’t realized was still locked. and now he just stood there blank as a winter window.

“you’re infuriating,” she said, voice low, as if saying it too loud might break something — an admission more than a statement. her feet had stopped moving without her consent. they planted themselves like she’d grown roots right there in the linoleum, cracked and waxy beneath fluorescent light. arms folded across her chest — not cold, not angry, just trying to hold something in. she looked like a girl trying not to shatter, compressing herself into the smallest shape that might still count as whole. her gaze moved across his face like it was reading a language she’d never been taught. she was looking for meaning in the creases, in the not-quite expressions. like he might accidentally tell her the truth just by blinking wrong. and he just stood there. still. infuriatingly quiet. then again — louder this time, and sharper, like the edge of a snapped violin string: “you’re really, really infuriating.” her voice echoed slightly in the narrow corridor; a fluorescent light above them buzzed like it agreed.

those too-wide eyes soft around the edges, the kind of softness that made her want to scream. how could someone that guarded carry a face like that? a face that looked like it had once known tenderness. she hated that softness. she hated that she noticed it, analyzed the little things. “you ignore me. shut down whenever it gets too close. and then you do… that.” her hand twitched toward the strap of her bag, where the book pulsed like a second heart. “and you just expect me to — what? read between the lines? translate your annotations into some kind of apology?” her jaw clenched. the words weren’t loud. they weren’t theatrical. she didn’t believe in scenes. not in public. not where someone might see the seams. but her voice shook just a little — just enough to feel real. like it had to be dragged out of her, hand over fist, from the deep place where truth hides. her eyes locked on his like she could dare him into clarity. he looked at her like he was on the verge of saying something — something real — but couldn’t quite cross the line. it made her feel foolish. it made her furious.

he looked back like he might speak — like the truth was sitting in his mouth, silver and shaking — but he didn’t. didn’t cross that invisible line. and it made her feel stupid. it made her furious. “i know we don’t know each other. i know you don’t owe me anything.” the sentence cracked in the middle, held together only by the tension in her spine. “but you let me care. for five fucking minutes.” she laughed once, bitter and brief. not amusement — disbelief. “and then you slammed the door shut like i was never supposed to knock in the first place.” her arms dropped to her sides — slowly, like her body wasn’t sure it could hold itself upright without the barricade. her fingers twitched once, then stilled. her breathing was uneven now, shallow, like her ribs were afraid to open all the way. she stood like someone trying not to fall apart in front of someone who wouldn’t catch her. “and i hate that i’m still standing here,” she whispered, shaking her head once, as if to scold herself more than him.

the words fell out of her like ash. like the last thing still burning. she shook her head once, more at herself than at him. a warning, a scolding, a plea to shut up — but it was already too late. she had cracked slightly. ��wanting to know you. wanting something from someone who made it very clear that he doesn’t want to be wanted.” it wasn’t a performance. there was no script here. just the truth — raw and ugly and honest — dropped like a stone between them. she didn’t step closer. didn’t back away. she just looked at him, face tense with a cocktail of frustration and ache. like she was daring him to move. or begging him to. she wasn’t sure which anymore — frustrated, confused, aching. and still, impossibly, wanting.

[pclarcld]

there  was  tragic  empathy  that  ozzy  attempted  to  relay  as  cleo  coped  with  the  reality  crushing  in  on  her  world.  they  plucked  a  dead  leaf  or  two  from  the  strands  of  hair,  holding  back  a  laugh  in  response  as  they  went  over  the  squirrels  clearly  evil  vendetta.  〝                                   squirrels  can  grow,  cleo.  keep  an  open  mind.  they're  probably,  like,  actively  writing  an  apology  letter  right  now.  they  were  blessed  by  a  big  brain  and  they  have  so  many  thoughts.  what  were  they  supposed  to  do  if  not  plot  the  murder  of  a  human?                  〞it  was  the  only  explanation,  really.  ozzy  let  their  hand  drop  from  the  mission  to  remove  any  loose  nature  clinging  to  cleo's  hand  and  instead  let  their  arm  plop  along  her  frame. 

ozzy  nodded  in  agreement,  a  peace  offering  only  seemed  fair  considering  that  letter  would  be  pretty  unlikely  due  to  the  lack  of  opposable  thumbs.  another  chuckle  left  ozzy  as  they  nudged  cleo  as  a  playfully  scolding.  〝                                   heyyyyyy…                  〞they  drew  out  the  word,  coating  the  word  with  a  wounded  tone.  〝                                   i  don't  want  a  leash.  i  want  to  be  free.  i'll  still  stay  close  though.  promise.  i'm  really  hard  to  get  rid  of.                  〞and  that  was  just  that.  an  indefinite  promise.  they  were  puppy  like,  in  that  way,  easily  trotting  behind  like  a  shadow  of  sorts.  they  hated  to  be  alone  after  all,  so  it  didn't  take  much  to  convince  time  well  spent  together.

feeling  complete  and  whole  was  an  abstract  idea  that  seemed  so  foreign  now  that  it  was  brought  up.  a  gap  always  followed  ozzy  around,  no  matter  how  often  or  how  far  they'd  run  away  from  it,  the  theoretical  idea  would  always  catch  up.  so,  they  brought  back  the  arm  that  was  one  laced  around  cleo  and  held  out  a  pinky  as  a  proposal.  〝                                   well,  i  pinky  promise  to  never  stop  providing  for  me  you  and  nutsy.  nutsy  will  have  all  the  grand  things  –  a  lavish  purse.  all  the  acorns  in  the  world.  you  name  it.                  〞

cleo didn’t even pretend to take the squirrel accusations seriously. she laid there dramatically, one arm slung across her forehead like she’d been wronged by fate itself. “apologize? to that little freak?” she said, squinting toward the tree like she half-expected the squirrel to still be lurking. “ozzy, that thing tried to assassinate me. i saw it in his beady little boba eyes. no remorse. just violence.” she rolled onto her stomach, the grass sticking to her elbows, and let her hand drift toward ozzy’s knee — fingertips idly tapping against the fabric of their jeans like she didn’t even notice she was doing it. she propped her chin in her hands, feet kicking lazily behind her, gaze flicking toward them with a conspiratorial grin.

“but fine. maybe i’ll consider a truce — if he brings me a peace offering. like a leaf. or a tiny acorn hat. you know. something tasteful.” she reached out again, this time giving their side a half-hearted poke, followed by an exaggerated sigh. “and you, with the leash ideas. what are you gonna do, knit him a sweater that says ‘emotional support menace’? because i will not be responsible when he rips that thing to shreds and climbs onto your head like you’re his personal jungle gym.” cleo tilted her head, considering them for a beat, then added slyly, “actually, maybe you’re the one who needs a leash. keep you close. for my own safety. or entertainment. or both. tired of you wandering off like a little creature.”

she gave them a slow grin, fingers now trailing up to absently tug at the cuff of their sleeve like she was grounding herself there without meaning to. “but honestly? if we had a squirrel pet, i think i’d finally feel complete.” she rolled onto her back again, this time letting the side of her arm bump against theirs as she stretched out, her fingers twiddling in the air above her. “we’d be unstoppable. me, you, and nutsy. the holy trinity.” a pause, then a breathy, over-the-top sigh. “ozzy, i think i’m starting to believe in fate again. this is your fault.”

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  certain  amount  of  beauty  entangled  around  bath.  ozzy  was  particularly  allured  in  as  soon  as  they  first  roamed  the  campus  a  couple  years  back.  they  were  more  than  glad  to  get  to  explore  new  hidden  gems  and  share  the  spots  they've  grown  to  to  adore.  still,  people  would  take  shit  anywhere.  some  things  never  changed,  but  suppose  there  was  something  comforting  about  that  too.  ozzy  was  the  type  to  see  the  positivity  in  just  about  anything.  sometimes  it  could  come  off  a  bit  obnoxious  and  they'd  do  their  best  to  settle  down  the  radiant  beams  that  often  rayed  off  their  being.  〝                                   what's  wrong  with  dreaming  big,  y'know?  like,  maybe  there  ends  top  be  a  mathematical  equation  to  make  my  the  structures  work,                  〞they  mused  out  with  a  small,  yet  playful  pout  playing  on  their  features. 

one  foot  in  front  of  another  worked  on  autopilot,  but  ozzy's  gaze  remained  on  taking  in  their  surroundings.  wind  lightly  brushed  against  their  cheeks  and  when  ozzy  looked  up,  past  the  overhanging  trees,  the  sun  still  blared  down  and  kissed  the  green  grass  long  the  sides  of  the  pavement.  they  blew  a  raspberry,  kicking  off  a  pebble  to  roll  into  the  dirt  rather  than  by  its  lonesome.  〝                                   no  names  necessary  –  i'll  be  sure  to  give  every  engineering  major  a  very  long-winded  lecture.  then,  suddenly,  they'll  all  switch  curriculum.  you'll  see.                  〞

ON A SUNNY AFTERNOON.

✴ ˚ — closed starter, written for @pclarcld !

               WHEN  SUMIN  SETS  OUT  TO  WANDER  THE  CAMPUS  GROUNDS  WITH  OZZY,  THEY  END  UP  FOLLOWING  A  TRAIL  OF  FLOWERING  VINES  THAT  SCALE  TOWARDS  ONE  OF  THE  SCULPTED  INSTALLATIONS  IN  THE  COURTYARD.  Insects  hum  dreamily  about  some  of  the  plants,  and  pipits  sing  high  overhead,  and  the  blue  sky  shines  cloudless  beyond  the  horizon.  Sumin  takes  a  bite  out  of  her  apple.  The  gush  of  fresh  juice  makes  her  forget  that  her  next  class  starts  in  less  than  an  hour.

       ❛❛I’m  just  relaying  what  I’ve  heard  from  the  engineering  majors,❜❜  she’s  saying  to  them  as  the  two  walk  in  step,  frowning  when  a  group  of  students  passes  them  without  giving  them  a  wide  berth.  She  levels  a  glare  at  them.  She  will  remember  their  faces.  ❛❛They  think  you  architecture  majors  are  clueless.  It’s  always  complaints  about  how  much  your  artistic  pursuit  never  stops  to  consider  the  practical  aspects  of  structures  and  buildings,  and  about  the  number  of  potential  building  code  violations  they  find  in  designs.  I  can  give  you  their  names,  if  you  want.❜❜

[pclarcld]

offense  wasn't  taken  at  the  sneer  that  coated  sumin's  features.  he  tended  to  have  that  impact  on  people,  most  automatically  rolling  their  eyes  when  he  stepped  a  foot  to  close.  he  didn't  mind  it.  part  of  him  was  amused  by  the  effect.  so  he  didn't  bother  correct  the  same  as  it  was  rather  meaningless.  he  doubted  it  would  become  necessary  for  the  other  to  catch  his  attention.  still,  to  be  halted  in  place  for  reasons  unknown  was  a  bit  uncalled  for.  he  didn't  exactly  enjoy  wasting  time  over  nothing.

there  were  more  than  likely  a  few  valid  reasons  to  be  stopped  harshly  before  entering  the  room.  it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  bash  was  met  with  a  punch  in  the  phase  just  by  showing  up  into  the  wrong  place,  wrong  time.  while  this  didn't  exactly  have  those  kind  of  stakes,  bash  was  still  caught  off  guard  with  sumin's  repulsiveness  to  his  interruption.  over  a..  〝                                   come  again?                  〞bash  had  questioned,  features  scrunched  as  gaze  lingered  from  sumin's  stance,  to  the  tupperware,  to  the  pale  wall  with  a  beetle  roaming  the  free  land.  〝                                   what  exactly  are  you  tripping  on  and  can  you  share?                 〞bash  stated,  a  half  chuckle  leaving  him. 

WE ARE ALL BUGS ON THE WALL.

✴ ˚ — closed starter, written for @pclarcld !

               THE  SMALL,  BLACK  BEETLE  CRAWLS  UP  THE  WALL—  IT  LOOKS  LIKE  A  DOT  SLOWLY  MOVING  ACROSS  A  LARGE,  WHITE  EXPANSE—  IT’S  SEEMINGLY  ENDLESS  FOR  SOMETHING  OF  ITS  SIZE,  AND  SHE  FEELS  A  SENSE  OF…  KINSHIP.  They  are  all  bugs  in  this  world,  really.  Sumin  is  enthralled  for  a  moment,  forgetting  what  she  meant  to  do  with  it;  the  clear  tupperware  is  forgotten  in  her  hand,  hanging  by  her  side,  as  she  watches  in  quiet  wonder.  Then  disturbance  arrives  all  too  quickly  when  someone  walks  into  the  common  room  and  self-awareness  finds  her  like  a  bullet.  Sumin  looks  over,  ready  to  return  to  her  task,  but  feels  a  prickle  of  annoyance  at  who  she  makes  eye  contact  with.  A  long,  heavy  sigh  leaves  her  lips—  it’s  a  common  response  upon  seeing  Sebastian,  or  Bash,  or  whatever  he  likes  being  called.

       ❛❛Samuel,❜❜  she  sneers,  then  notices  that  the  beetle  has  been  startled  out  of  reach  upon  his  gangly  entrance,  and  she  feels  like  he’s  suddenly  at  fault  for  there  being  any  beetle  inside  to  begin  with.  Fucking  asshole.  Turning  to  face  him,  she  shoves  the  tupperware  into  his  chest  before  he  can  enter  the  room  any  further.  ❛❛Look,  man,  you  scared  it.  Now  I  can’t  reach  it.❜❜

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  careless  shrug  of  the  shoulders  as  a  response.  he  wasn't  exactly  the  empathetic  type,  wrapped  around  in  his  own  world.  suppose  he  was  more  closed  minded  than  he'd  like  to  think,  seeing  the  world  from  a  birds  eye  view,  but  narrowed  in  on  his  own  perspective.  he  always  scoped  the  world  from  an  outwardly  body  experience,  yet  all  consumed  of  the  events  that  impacted  him  before  daring  to  walk  in  someone's  else's  shoes.  people  had  it  worse.  some  had  it  better.  what  the  fuck  else  did  it  matter  besides  awareness?  it  wasn't  as  if  he'd  pretend  to  relate  to  something  untrue.  still,  he  was  amused  by  delia's  disinterest.  of  course,  how  silly  of  him  to  propose  wasting  such  previous  time  of  charity.  〝                                   ouch,  first  you  don't  want  to  help  out  of  the  kindness  of  your  own  heart.  but  now  i  gotta  provide  entertainment?                 〞all  over  a  shit  outlet.  or  potential  charger,  suppose  it  was  still  up  for  debate  until  the  theory  was  tested.  〝                                   loser  completes  winners  assignment  of  choice?  i'm  sure  you'd  have  a  blast  completing  the  digital  art  project  i  gotta  do.                  〞because  godforbid  the  STEM  major  enjoy  anything  creative. 

nose  scrunches  as  he  explains  the  horrors  of  black  mold,  she  really  didn’t  want  to  hear  about  it  anymore  than  she  had  to,  “  that’s  awful,  don’t  tell  me  that,  ”  it  wasn’t  that  she  was  avoidant,  she  usually  liked  to  address  things  head  on,  but  the  whole  situation  wasn’t  her  doing  anyways  and  she’d  prefer  to  never  think  of  it  again.  “  twenty  ?  ”  she  repeats  the  number  back,  head  tilting  to  the  side  eyes  appraising,  “  that’s  no  fun,  ”  it  isn’t  that  she  means  to  be  insensitive,  she  really  tries  her  best  to  be  aware  of  other  people  and  their  feelings,  and  she’s  responsible  with  money  too,  for  the  record,  but  still,  twenty  dollars  isn’t  enough  to  interest  her,  “  come  on,  you  can  think  of  something  better  than  that.  ”