pineapple1ce

[pineapple1ce]

“um, no. i was at freya’s actually.” it spreads through him like a rash, the biting urge to declare that nothing happened, to defend himself in case she got the wrong idea. though, he doubted anyone in the group would believe it since freya was freya and tommy was, well, tommy. on the lonier nights when his mind wouldn't sit still, he’d drift down to mizu looking for company, and still end up in his bed alone. “did— you?” his tone tilts upwards, an attempt at casual that doesn't quite land, as his free hand scratches the side of his head, chasing an itch he can't pin down. “yeah, lets get rid of this damn thing.” a sideways glance, then, towards jules, as the sun edges higher, throwing a glare across her face, and her hair shifts with the wind. the look is enough to say the rest: we might have a long morning, maybe even a long summer, but i'll do it with you. sponge in hand, he dips down at the bucket just as jules does, fingers skimming too close, and the water lightly ripples from the near-contact. for a fleeting moment, he doesn't pull back. even with the wall glaring down at them in red, he finds the nerve to break the silence with a joke: “are you trying to hold my hand? right now?”

SEEING THE WORDS SCRAWLED ONTO THE FIVE had made her wish she could sink her nails into the house and never let go. when she had texted tommy “did you see this??" her message had hid a sudden fear: this could not be taken from her too. “ i just… i don't know who the hell would do this, ” she remarks, anger dampened from weariness. as she lets him take the bucket, juliette notices his shirt. “ you slept here, too ? ” she hadn't checked when she had awoken, half of it haste, half of it hesitation. she hated the times she let that one memory pervade their friendship. one of the memories that was meant to stay buried. jules lets herself be pulled away from thinking more about it as tommy mentions the writing, her gaze following his. “ if you have other ideas, i'm all ears, ” she replies with a dry laugh. even she cannot confirm it aloud, as if it was worse than what had already been used, already been written. and despite this denial, comes an admission, a weak spot, that she would allow herself around tommy. “ all i know is i don't wanna keep looking at it. ”

[pineapple1ce]

the look in milos' eyes could flatten a tower and it makes tommy feel as small as a pebble -- something milos might idly kick down the pavement just to watch it scatter. still, he decides to bite back. “or what--” the shove catches him full in the chest, sending him sprawling back into the barstool behind. hands shoot out fast, knuckles whitening against the counter. for a second he looks like he’s clinging for dear life, not unlike a young fawn finding its balance on a pair of ice skates. heat crawls up the back of his neck, the embarrassment scalding, but pride has a way of coaxing him forward. he springs back up hastily, like he has a point to prove, and dusts at his shirt where milos shoved him, exaggerated, as if brushing off dirt that isn't there. step by step, he squares up to milos, until there is little space between them. “get a fucking life, mate. this is getting boring and you're pathetic.”

milos  gets  some  twisted,  fucked  up  sense  of  satisfaction  from  watching  tommy's  smile  get  wiped  from  his  face.  it’s like watching a flawless mirror crack, revealing the mess beneath. feels  like  the  most  honest  thing  about  him  right  now.  “  of  course  that's  what  you  make  of  it,  ”  milos  scoffs,  eyes  boring  into  him.  tracking  him  like  he's  prey.  when  tommy’s  words  finally  land,  a  sharp  blow  that  ignites  the  monster  within  him,  milos  gives  in.  a  surge  of  adrenaline  that  feels  both  terrifying  and  familiar.  he  no  longer  tries  to  resist  the  rampage  that  has  been  brewing.  tommy's  now-upright  frame  is  a  challenge  —  an  invitation.  “  maybe  you  should  watch  your  fucking  mouth,  ”  milos  spits.  he’s  fought  men  bigger  than  tommy.  height  means  nothing  when  you  have  trained  hands.  he  shoves  tommy  hard,  watching  him  stumble.  “  if  i  could  spend  every  day  killing  your  mood,  i'd  do  it  in  a  heartbeat.  ”  he  knows  he's  attracting  attention,  but  he  doesn't  care.  the  world  shrinks  until  it's  just  the  two  of  them.  milos  lives  for  this.  he  stands,  shoulders  set.  he  wants  a  reason  to  truly  unleash  his  wrath  and  he  hopes  tommy  will  give  it  to  him.

[pineapple1ce]

setting: a tree near the oceanfront

tommy sets down a bouquet of lilies next to the other flowers that are gathered for the mizu waiter, whose body was found on the beach. “i think sadie's right, you know... it's definitely weird this happened that night.”

[pineapple1ce]

“you know, it's kind of hard to think when i've got salmon sperm dripping off my face,” he mumbles as he readjusts his mask. it's a weak joke, half-hearted, but it earns him a breath’s worth of distraction as he settles back against the couch, mirroring her posture like it's worth something. “it’s not one of us,” he says quickly, confident, almost like it's rehearsed. it's the kind of certainty he’s been clinging to all week. “there's no way, makes no sense.” still, he can't shake hana claiming not to have received the text. odd, but explainable, he convinces himself. “because my theory is that person we saw, in the carpark, it's them. and we were all at the party, so it has to be someone else.” suddenly, he jolts upright, mask slipping down his cheek as he turns to freya. “why do you think it's someone in the group? that's crazy.”

location : freya's apartment time : approx. 11:56PM open to : @pineapple1ce !

❛    i  just  dont  get  it    —    why  would  someone  want  us  to  think  that  teddy’s  still  alive  ?      obviously  .  .  .      you  and  i  both  know  that  he’s  not.    no  offense  to  theodore.    but  he’s  not.    obviously.    ❜      there’s  a  sheet  mask  stuck  to  blemish  -  free  skin,    head  tilted  back  against  the  couch,    a  picturesque  display  of  relaxation.    yet  inside,    a  sense  of  unease  digs  into  the  spaces  between  her  ribs,    settles  down  behind  her  heart    —    held  close  there,    just  like  teddy.      ❛    okay,    i  take  it  back  :    there’s  plenty  of  reasons  as  to  why  someone  would  want  us  to  think  he’s  still  alive.    so  let  me  rephrase    —    i  don’t  understand  why  any  of  our  friends  would  want  us  to  think  that.    or  why  they’d  even  joke  about  something  like  that.    ❜      it’s  a  typical  friday  night  for  them  :    face  masks,    pizza,    shitty  boxed  wine.    like  hell  is  she  letting  anyone  take  this  away  from  her.    ❛    what’s  your  theory  ?    you  have  to  have  one.    ❜

[pineapple1ce]

eyes squint against the break of dawn as he steps out of the five, searching for jules, absent from her room. yesterday's shirt clings to him, collar creased, shoes scuffed. he looks smaller in the morning light, guilt dripping down his spine weighs heavier than the sweat on his forehead. when he finally finds her by the water, he can only hope she hadn't slept here either. hopefully no one did. “i just saw your text,” he says, breath uneven from the run over, somewhat leaving him like an apology. under the sun, half-silhouetted and half-exposed, she'd stood there alone, and it twisted something in him to see it. he should've been here sooner, should've been here in the first place. “let me?” he asks, hand moving to take the bucket from her. for a beat, only seagulls cawing and waves curling along the beach, as they walk back to the five, crimson writing sharpening into view. “it's not-- it's not what i think it is, right?”

✶   open  to.   〳 unlimited. ✶   time.   〳 approx.  6:45  a.m. ✶   place.   〳 [ext.] the  five

THE  SUN  CRAWLS  OUT  OF  ITS  SLUMBER  and  rests  its  lazy  gaze  on  juliette,  who  stares  back  into  its  embrace  with  equal  tiredness.  she  had  slept  at  the  five,  thinking  she  would  get  less  sleep  if  she  slept  at  her  grandmother's,  who  would  only  ask  questions  that  prodded  all  the  wrong  places.  but  the choice  was  meaningless.  she  had  woken  up  over  an  hour  ago,  memories  of  the  weekend  still  heavy  enough  to  drag  her  out  of  any  useful  sleep.  the  photograph  that  had  slipped  into  her  path.  coming  back  to  the  five  to  see  what  was  scrawled  onto  the  slats  of  the  boathouse.  and  then:  teddy's  face  before  her,  silent,  eyes  accusatory.  every  time  she  tried  to  go  back  to  sleep,  the  sequence  looped  itself.  the  fifth  time  she  saw  his  gaze,  boring  into  her  as  if  digging  for  the  truth,  she  tossed  her  sheets  aside,  splashed  her  face  with  cold  water,  and  headed  outside.  now,  she  turns  away  from  the  coast to  face  the  house. in  a  moment  of  sudden  sobriety,  or  perhaps  in  a  moment  inebriated  by  her  insomnia,  she  had  brought  out  a  sponge  and  a  bucket  to  scrub  away  the  red  that  still  stained  the  five,  like  getting  rid  of  it  could rid  the  accusation (  the  truth  )  .  as  she  steps  away  from  the  water  and  walks  back  towards  the  house,  she  spots  a  figure  approaching.  “  what  are  you  doing  up  so  early  ?  ”  she  asks,  as  if  dark  circles  don't  lay  under  her  eyes  as  evidence  of  anything.  “  i  didn't  think  anyone  else  was  awake.  ”

[pineapple1ce]

this was supposed to be the summer he finally convinced mr. higgins to release a summer special called 'the sadie & tommy' -- a half-and-half sandwich. but that'll have to wait until next year. the silent demand comes on right on cue and, like always, he holds it out of her reach, just enough to make her stretch. only when she offers up a bite of her own does he press his half into her palm. a bite for a half; it wasn't the fairest of trades, but he knew better than to start losing battles. their easy rhythm falters when the photograph is passed over. mid-chew, his eyes land on teddy first, and he almost lets the memory play out. that same laugh, echoing against the pier. then, his gaze drifts, snagging on the figure in the background. “is that..?” he brings the polaroid up close, which bends under the press of his thumb. a swallow works its way down hard, visible in the line of his throat, as he studies kieran's expression. “yeah? ... yeah. like, what's the alternative?” he asks, looking up at sadie, wanting to share the weight of it. “i don't think they were close. maybe teddy told a bad joke or something.” but he doesn't believe it himself. “why, what're you thinking?”

for: tommy ( @pineapple1ce ) location: lethe harbor, on the pier time: 1:15 p.m.

spending their lunch breaks together had been their tradition since they were teenagers. sadie can still recall begging to switch shifts at saltbreak with one of her older brothers and the eye roll his teasing had earned when he questioned don't you two spend enough time together? nearly a decade later, the answer was still no, always a no when she knew too well how deceptively swift the summer was. in two months time they wouldn't have this; the ocean in front of them, the sandwiches they'll end up swapping because sadie always claims to like tommy's more. she motions for his other half, feet swinging as they dangle off the pier. the moment was almost too perfect to break. sadie wanted nothing more than to sit like this forever, the sun warming their faces, laughter warming her belly as he tells some ridiculously hilarious story about one of his whale watching tours. but the air is thick with more than salt this year and they both knew it. "so um, remember how i told you i found something at hana's party?" she brushes a hand against her napkin, fingers reaching into the pocket of her backpack and fishing the polaroid out to show him. "i don't really know what to do with it. i mean, i should probably talk to kieran first," she says before glancing up at him, craving the input of the person she knew best. "right?"

[pineapple1ce]

for some reason, he’d braced for something harsher, a clipped remark to keep him at arm’s length, but alena holds himself as he always does: steady as glass that refuses to crack, even when the room rattles. it leaves him strangely unmoored, the same way he’d felt the first summer he saw her again in lethe, unsure of where he fit in her world. “only if they played bye baby by nas,” he says, with a chuckle meant to fill the gap. “it fucks me up. i thought nas and kelis would be together forever.” the song had been the soundtrack to his first summer in lethe, playing on repeat in cheap headphones as he tried to drown out the weight of everything else. he remembers hearing it the day he first spotted sadie from the window, two discordant moments tangled together. when he speaks again, it’s slower, the grin softened into something almost cautious. “to be honest, i saw you walk out and just… followed. thought i’d check if you’re alright. i’m guessing you got the text, too?”

they’re  on  two  ends  of  the  spectrum,  two  opposing  corners  of  a  room.  a  room  that’s  beginning  to  feel  smaller  and  smaller  by  the  second,  the  two  corners  dragging  themselves  closer  and  closer  to  collide  in  the  middle.  or  maybe  that’s  just  tommy,  unrelenting  in  all  his  glory.  she  watches  him  skid  to  a  stop,  grin  directed  at  her  in  full  force.

if  she  closes  her  eyes  and  pretends  the  thundering  beat  of  the  music  are  waves  crashing  against  the  rocks,  it’s  almost  like  they’re  down  by  the  shore.  he  throws  a  glance  behind  him,  where  the  party  is  still  in  full  swing  somewhere  inside.  he  snorts.  “what,  would  you  step  out  just  ‘cause  you  don’t  like  the  song?”  scratch  that.  if  anyone  would,  it’d  be  tommy.  wouldn’t  it  be  nice  to  live  like  that?  alena  blinks.  and  then,  with  a  shrug  of  faux  nonchalance,  “needed  air  —  stuffy  in  there  and  all.”  it  feels  so  .  .  .  distant.  clinical.  he  forces  himself  to  look  at  tommy’s  grin  again.  “why  are  you  out  here?  hana  too  much  of  a  host?”

[pineapple1ce]

features catch onto something sharper than the usual grin, a flash of disbelief that cuts into his expression like glass. teddy's rotting corpse, dropped carelessly in the air, makes tommy's back snap straighter, jaw locking with a quiet click. “dunno what you're talking about...” muttered lowly, but the hardened gaze tells a different story. then, as milos breaks into a tirade, tommy leans back on the barstool, elbows spreading wide, hands thrown up in mock surrender, as if to say: you got me. it buys him a second, though his eyes flick sharp, betraying the sting before he buries it again. “hold on a minute-- let me get this straight-- your big issue is … that i’m just … getting on with it?” he shoots back. “and not wallowing in self-pity, have i got that right? i’m not depressed enough for you?” an incredulous, humourless laugh, as he mutters under his breath, “the fuck.” in the heat of the moment, tommy hears what he wants to hears and ignores the real issue at hand. “maybe i should take a leaf out of your book and make my issues everyone else's problem.” there's a small thud as the soles of his shoes meet the laminated floor after he slides off the chair. his drink mostly remains untouched, but he cares little for it now. “by the way — case in point, mood killed.”

milos  knows  that  tommy  has  a  talent  of  infestation.  gets  under  his  skin  like  rot  in  the  walls  —  subtle  at  first,  until  it  spreads.  he  wishes  he  could  ignore  him,  but  self-restraint  has  never  been  milos's  strong  suit.  the  anger  blooms  fast.  crawling  up  his  skin,  like  wildfire  spreading  through  dry  brush.  it  sears  through  every  inch  of  his  frame.  a  blaze  barely  housed  in  six  feet  of  bone  and  muscle.  he  can't  help  but  snort.  “   i'm  the  one  killing  the  mood  ?  ”  milos  asserts,  disbelief  lacing  his  every  word.  he  leans  in  slightly,  his  hand  instinctively  clenching  into  a  fist.  “   because  it’s  not  the  nightmares  about  our  friend’s  rotting  corpse  keeping  us  up  at  night,  right  ?  ”  he  attempts  to  lower  his  voice,  but  fury  has  a  way  of  clawing  its  way  out,  even  when  buried.  “   maybe  pull  your  head  out  of  your  own  ass.  y’know,  the  one  apparently  made  of  sunshine  and  fucking  rainbows.  ”  his  lips  curl  into  something  that  isn't  quite  a  smile.  his  breath  hot.  unflinching  eyes  not  breaking  contact  with  tommy.  “  get  off  the  fucking  high  horse,  tommy.  at  least  I’m  not  pretending.  at  least  i’m  not  putting  on  some  act  like  you.  ”  each  word  lands  harder  than  the  last.  he’s  a  bear  poked  one  too  many  times.  and  now  the  teeth  are  showing.

[pineapple1ce]

the tension in his legs is leaks out all at once, stance unraveling, like a balloon let go and left to wheeze its way out of a room. the grin he'd worn doesn't hold. the look in his eyes has the same hollow shine a kid gets when someone snatches the toy straight from his hand. the backflip would've bought them some time, a little buffer before the conversation takes a dour turn. but rei doesn't let him stall, never has. his throat tightens, too aware of how the music thrums behind them, bass pressing into his ribs, but rei's bluntness cuts sharper than the noise. “you’re keeping our promise, right?” his voice tilts upward, softer than he meant it to be. he scratches at the back of his neck, eyes darting briefly to the crowd before finding rei again. “i’m not doubting you, it’s just—” a pause, the air pulls thin between them. “she seems pretty out of it tonight.”

"  y'know  .  .  .  call  it  divine  intuition  or  whatever  the  fuck  ,  but  something's  tellin'  me  y'already  burstin'  at  the  seams  to  ask  .  .  .  "  slender  fingers  dug  through  the  unruly  mess  of  dark  locks  ,  admittedly  unsuccessful  in  pursuing  a  more  tamed  state  .  he  should've  brought  his  hair  tie  .  .  .  unfiltered  thoughts  drift  towards  the  loose  rubber  band  hidden  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  his  pants  .  though  ,  last  time  proved  this  method  to  be  rather  fruitless  .  he's  not  actively  looking  for  a  balding  spot  ,  after  all  .  instead  ,  arms  drop  back  down  to  rei's  side  ,  hair  pooling  over  both  his  shoulders  along  with  it  .  if  one  was  to  look  close  ,  they  would  surely  find  the  analogy  for  rei's  life  somewhere  between  the  lines  ."  so  ,  spit  it  out  .  no  need  to  tail  around  it  like  this  "  whilst  anxiety  crawled  up  his  throat  ,  picking  apart  all  the  ways  this  could  go  horribly  wrong  .  .  .  the  underlying  trust  he  had  for  thomas  trampled  down  the  flame  just  enough  for  eyes  to  meet  .  "  ask  "  confident  in  the  way  that  nobody  would  question  if  rei's  hands  were  shaking  .

[pineapple1ce]

a finger curls against the middle of his chest, tapping it once, as his brows lift at kieran expectantly and mouthing me? but a point remains to be made: “don’t be ashamed, i think it’s romantic.” he tips his head, grin held just long enough to press the point. he wouldn't blame kieran, if he'd returned to lethe with a plan. foolishly, he'll hang on to the hope that's the only reason. love, at least, he could stomach. “it'd be rude not to, hey?” the sting catches sharp, like salt in a wound, from his first sail of the season being one without romy. “but if you plan on making lethe a thing, you're gonna have to get used to it. the 'too long' bit, i mean.”

A  RECLUTANT  SMILE  tugs  on  his  lips,  and  kieran  has  to  drop  his  gaze  at  the  mention  of  his  ex.  there’s  no  version  of  the  universe  where  he  feels  ready  to  untangle  that  history  with  someone  who’s  known  her  far  longer  than  he  ever  did.  “what  gave  it  away?”  he  deflects.  “there's  only  one  whale-watcher  in  my  life.”  it's  only  then  he  notices  the  subtle  shift  in  his  posture,  his  shoulders  no  longer  tense.  it’s  the  effect  tommy  always  has  had,  and  this  time,  kieran's  smile  is  genuine.  “we  should  get  back  out  on  the  water together,”  he  says  quietly.  “it’s  been  too  long.”

[pineapple1ce]

it's written plainly in the curve of his smile, easy and familiar, before his voice follows after: “i’m here because i want to be.” rue might forget sometimes, but tommy will gladly remind her as often as it takes. he’s here because he chooses to be, and it doesn’t cost him a thing. all his wants, all his desires, they steer him through life like it’s a story with a guaranteed happy ending, no lesson attached. it works for him, he thinks, as he smiles back, a smile full enough for the both of them.

up close, his suspicions are confirmed, as her eyes are wide but distant. his heart sinks, but his smile grows softer as he busies himself with lifting the strap back up to her shoulder. good to see you tommy, she says. “yeah, i can tell! trying to get us all excited with a nip slip this early?”

fishing a strawberry peach flavoured vape from his jacket pocket, he takes a few puffs and expels some grey clouds of his own. “i really am glad you came, though. but if you do wanna make an irish exit, give us a shout. me and jules will go with you.”

rue stands just beyond the doorway like an afterthought, backlit by the vulgar, gold-stained glow of the party — its chandelier flickers like a dying star, casting shadows that move too fast to trust. the laughter inside is sharp, shrill, a chorus of people pretending they’re not circling the same drain. she doesn’t belong in there — never did — but tonight she doesn’t even want to try. she’s lit another cigarette she won’t finish. doesn’t look at him right away. just exhales smoke like it’s punctuation. ‘ didn’t have to come out here. ’ another drag. another pause.

and she shrugs then. could’ve been minutes. could’ve been hours. ‘ long enough to forget why i came. ’ a beat. a bitter half-smile. she turns her head, just slightly, and there’s a flicker of something — recognition or regret or maybe just the comedown. ‘ don't wait around next time. ’ soft. firm. final.

the silence settles back between them, thick and familiar. rue stubs the cigarette out against the stone and lets her hand drop to her side. she’s unraveling slow and quiet, like an old record bleeding through a wall. and still — tired and strung out — she says, almost gently : ‘ good to see you, tommy. ’ because some things still matter, even if they don’t fix anything.

[pineapple1ce]

at first, he just watches her — head tilted, a lopsided smile slowly spreading across his face. his laugh comes easy at first. “ha ha, very funny.” he decides she must be more shaken than she lets on if this was the angle for her jokes. at the end of the day, humour was humour. but freya isn't looking at him, she's looking past him, her hand trembling in the space between them. he recalls, in that moment, he's only ever heard her voice falter like this once before. "alright, quit it, you're freaking me out now—" he turns in protest, almost quick enough to try and prove her wrong. then, he sees it: someone at the edge of the lot, standing far too still, like they've been here the whole time. tommy's spine straightens like he's been yanked up by a string. his blazer slides off his shoulder, dropping to the ground. he stumbles half a step back, foot dragging gravel with it, as his free hand flings out behind him, catching freya's wrist, not tightly, but just enough to say: don't go anywhere. "oh, what the fuck..." he whispers, heart tripping over itself. "what the fuck, freya." the figure doesn't flinch, doesn't even look like it so much as breathes. this rattles tommy — and suddenly, he takes a small step forward, shouting across the lot in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own. "what’re you staring at?!" the flickering streetlamp above stutters again as a huff of wind threads through the lot, kicking up dust and wrappers. his chest rises fast, her pulse twitching beneath his fingers. "see something you like?!" then, it happens all at once: a passing car. headlights wash over the asphalt. a flash of something sharp. a blink, then gone.

setting: walking towards lethe club lot, with @seabled

were they being haunted or hunted? which one shows more mercy? and were they about to find out? the questions trail past them, caught in the wind like loose thread, as freya and tommy walk side by side. it's a relief to find that the night air bites more softly. it washes over him desperately, peeling off the last of the tension still clinging to his collar. he'd almost enjoy this pocket of silence, if it wasn't for the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, taunting him with whispers that something was wrong. suddenly, he spins on the heels of his foot, standing beneath a flickering streetlamp with the parking lot stretching behind him, blazer slung over one shoulder and hands on his hips, he makes a proposal: “how about this -- you come back to the five, we can order pizza, we can finish off the booze, and just forget about whatever the fuck that was?”

[pineapple1ce]

[pineapple1ce]

tommy props his elbow atop the bar and drops his cheek against his palm, like bored child stuck in detention, as he respond with a lacklustre roll of the eyes. “oh no, whatever will i do, i'm so distraught...” the bartender is quickly forgotten, now that milos has taken up space besides him. it's hard to ignore him, even though he tried to, with more effort than he'd like to admit, as he returns his focus to the bottles lined up behind the bar. “cool brag!” he says with mock enthusiasm, sticking both his thumbs up at milos, the first hint of agitation underlining his voice. “coexist?” this makes tommy swing back around in his seat to face milos again, finally finding a reason to misplace his outrage. “do us both a favour, will you, and ignore me for the rest of the summer. it's off to a shit start, and i can't be bothered with you killing the mood every time you walk into the room.”

being  on  edge  isn't  a  rarity  for  milos.  it  lives  under  his  skin  like  splinters.  but  tonight,  he  is  doing  his  best  to  play  nice.  he  knows  this  friend  group  —  knows  the  heaviness  of  the  night  that  weighs  on  all  of  them.  the  ghosts  clinging  to  their  backs,  trying  to  drag  them  down.  but  then  the  voice  of  tommy  strikes  him,  sharp  and  smug.  milos  doesn't  turn  right  away.  just  feels  the  tick  tick  tick  of  his  patience  wearing  down  like  the  sea  eroding  the  coast.  "  you  know,  they  say  distance  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder,  "  milos  starts,  voice  low.  molars  grinding  down,  forming  ash.  "  but  nearly  a  year  away  from  you  and  that  still  wasn't  enough.  "  his  mouth  twists  up  into  something  between  a  snarl  and  a  smirk.  "  besides,  if  i  was  going  to  swing,  i  wouldn't  warn  you  first.  "  milos  drums  his  fingers  against  the  bar.  not  to  get  the  attention  of  the  bartender.  simply  claiming  space.  "  but  i  can  coexist  for  tonight.  "  more  of  a  hope  than  a  promise.  "  i  ignore  you.  you  pretend  you're  funny  —  the  world  keeps  turning.  " 

[pineapple1ce]

the low throb of music gets quieter as they walk towards the main doors, only to be replaced by the uneven drumming of his heart. it beats wildly, not in the way it usually does when beside her, like the time when she laughed loud enough for the stars to hear or when the night was unkind and their fingertips almost touched. it's not a soft mocking ache, no. this is different: sharp, harsh, familiar in a way he doesn't want it to be. last summer, that night, convincing her of what he'd seen at the bottom of tidepoint. “i don't know, sades...” the look in her eyes guts him, hits him right in the chest, feeling all too hopeless that he couldn't make this go away with a click of his fingers. but that's not the kind of magic he's ever had. “no one would be that cruel, i don't think.” he meets her gaze with a similar desperation, carrying a deep, unspoken fear that whatever little peace they carved out for the summer might be over. but lethe was more than just a season to sadie, which meant it was more to tommy, too. “happy to blame it on milos though, if that's what you're suggesting,” he says meekly, not quite a performance to earn a laugh but a punchline born from nerves.

it was like the world tilted off its axis. teddy's name across her screen was enough to make the phone slip right from her hand, the thud muffled by the rowdy buzz of a crowd who hadn't just received a message from beyond the grave. someone places it back into her shaking fingers, but sadie doesn't say thank you, doesn't say anything, not even as doe eyes meet the gaze of her best friend across the room. but he understands anyway, of course he does, the hand on her shoulder her tether back into reality. she nods, squeezes his hand yes, body angled into his like when they were kids and she was still scared of his grandfather. tommy had shielded her then, too, no judgement or hesitation, not even after she'd discovered her fear had been nothing more than one brought on by an old town wise tale. it's only when they're outside that sadie untangles herself, but she doesn't stray far. when she finally speaks, her voice is small. "it's a joke, right?" only jokes were meant to be funny, like the ones that roll off his tongue with no effort at all. her dark eyes are rounded, pleading, like she could bend the universe itself to her will, or perhaps just coax the validation she's desperate for from tommy's lips. "it has to be."

[pineapple1ce]

they call him darling and he knows he's in trouble. not the kind of trouble you run from, but the kind you find yourself running back to, like splashing around in a puddle of rain, if it means getting special treatment. “but--” he scratches the back of his neck. suna has never been wrong, really. and he knows they only have their best interests at heart, but the thought of being able to boast about bagging jessica alba overcomes all reason. “i asked her to prove it. look ... send me a pic of you doing a peace sign,” he reads off the screen, then clicks on the photo. “see! and i can't give up on online dating. how else am i gonna meet someone?”

being  in  lethe  was  already  a  headache.    worse  still  to  be  hit  in  the  face  with  jessica  alba  circa  into  the  blue  telling  tommy  sweet  nothings.  “  darling.  ”  they  start,  in  the  tone  they  reserve  only  for  him,  the  same  kind  of  lilt  one  would  give  a  puppy  with  a  bee  sting  on  its  paw.  their  hand  comes  to  rest  on  his  arm.  this  was  a  matter  that  needed  gentle  coaxing,  even  if  their  first  instinct  was  to  smash  his  phone  against  the  ground  for  having  the  audacity  to  fall  for  something  like  that  and  then  have  the  double  audacity  to  bring  it  up  to  them.  they  take  a  deep  breath,  repeating  to  themselves  :  peace,  calm,  patience.  “  i  think  you  should  give  up  on  online  dating.  and  perhaps  try  calling  your  bank  and  telling  them  that  was  a  false  charge.  ”

[pineapple1ce]

“...” a scrunch of his nose in disagreement, along with the discomfort in not being able to ask siri what a tourist word is. he resists the urge to glare over at zak standing by the sink. “so, you don't say good morning? or good night?” realising how that might sound, he promptly tacks on, “or good luck?”

“ good  is  a  tourist  word, ”   he  says,   flushes,   zips,  doesn’t  wait.  just  turns  to  the  sink  and  lets  the  water  run,  scrubbing last summer   off  his  hands.   “ lethe's got those  for sale  on  postcards. right next to the  shell-necklaces  and  guilt-free  souvenirs. ”