2vain

[2vain]

hawk  exhales,  something  soft  and  near-silent,  a  breath  that  barely  qualifies  as  a  laugh.  it's  not  that  he  doubts  jihoon  —  he  wouldn't  be  here  if  he  did  —  but  there's  something  sharp  in  the  way  they  weigh  the  words,  in  the  way  their  gaze  lingers  on  the  car  like  it  can  somehow  answer  him  first.  ‘  has  my  work  ever  broken  your  heart?  ’  it’s  a  second  of  a  second,  the  roll  of  his  eyes,  and  the  lightness  that  seems  to  seep  through.  "  ‘course  not.  and  i  want  to  keep  it  that  way.  " patience.  jihoon  tells  him  to  be  patient,  and  hawk  knows  better  than  to  rush  something  worth  waiting  for,  but  the  thought  of  feeling  the  machine,  of  coaxing  every  ounce  of  speed  from  it,  makes  his  blood  hum.  maybe  jihoon  understands  that  —  the  way  driving  is  the  only  thing  that  drowns  out  everything  else,  the  only  thing  that  makes  the  weight  of  losing  feel  less  like  a  wound  and  more  like  a  reason  to  keep  pushing.

their  gaze  flicks  back  up,  something  unreadable  in  the  way  he  tilts  his  head.  "  nah.  "  he  says,  voice  even,  but  there's  something  underneath  it,  something  that  catches  like  the  edge  of  a  smile  before  smoothing  out.  "  i’ve  got  time.  "  they  step  closer,  slow  and  measured,  like  they're  already  picturing  the  road  stretched  out  ahead,  the  feel  of  the  wheel  under  his  hands.  a  test  drive,  jihoon  called  it.  hawk  thinks  maybe  it's  something  else  —  maybe  it’s  proof.  proof  that  losing  doesn’t  mean  stopping.  proof  that  there’s  still  more  to  chase. and you don't have to ask him twice to slam his foot down on the pedal.  "  my  only  plans  were  going  from  here  to  birds  eye.  and  then  home.  so  big  day  ahead  of  me.  "  a  semblance  of  a  pause  ensues  briefly.  "  you  stayin’  here  all  day?  "

"has my work ever broken your heart? now the doubt in your voice breaks mine." there's a shadow of an amused smile that curves up jihoon's lips, gone as fast as it appeared. he wouldn't be handing it over for testing if he wasn't sure of the end result he's aiming to achieve. and hawk's the perfect person for that. maybe speeding aimlessly would help them. the crew's loss had only pushed jihoon to work even harder than he already did on the racers' cars, experimenting more and more, like he got some burst of inspiration. it's how he copes with the loss, puts it into something meaningful and fruitful and productive. what he did was never merely a job for him, no, and at the end of the day, the competition and the thirst for winning is a push and a motivation, and at the core of what they do. he doesn't need to hop behind a steering wheel and directly engage in a race to feel like he's lost the race, too. and when the prowlers win a race, it means he's won. he does his part, the rest is in the racers' hands. "i think it'll impress you. it's almost done, if you're patient. you got somewhere to be?"

[2vain]

the  weight  of  her  foot  is  light,  a  ghost  of  pressure  against  their  leg,  but  it  might  as  well  be  a  brand.  not  enough  to  startle,  not  enough  to  shake  them  loose,  just  enough  to  remind  him  that  she's  still  here.  that  he's  still  here.  like  it’s  a  choice,  like  it’s  something  he  has  to  acknowledge.  their  gaze  doesn’t  drop  to  it,  doesn’t  track  the  way  her  ankle  rolls,  but  he  feels  it  anyway,  heat  seeping  through  denim  like  a  quiet  insistence.  it’s  grounding  and  unbearable  in  the  same  breath.  they  should  move.  they  don’t.  ‘  you’ve  ruined  my  appetite.  ’  words  land  somewhere  deep  in  his  chest,  heavier  than  they  should  be.  hawk  exhales  slow,  fingers  pressing  into  the  seam  of  their  jeans,  an  anchor  against  the  way  his  stomach  tightens.  it’s  not  an  accusation,  not  really,  but  it  settles  like  one.  their  mouth  pulls  into  something  unreadable,  a  sharp  exhale  through  his  nose  that  almost  sounds  like  a  laugh.  almost. " well,  don’t  do  that. "  it’s  automatic,  an  attempt  at  something  light,  something  easy,  but  it  comes  out  rougher  than  he  means  it  to.  regret  catches  at  the  back  of  their  throat  almost  immediately,  something  small  and  sharp,  because  he  knows  exactly  why  she  has.

knows  that  they’ve  been  impossible,  wound  too  tight,  a  storm  curling  in  on  itself.  they  should  apologize.  say  something.  but  the  words  are  tangled  up,  knotted  tight  in  the  space  between  his  ribs,  and  unraveling  them  feels  like  pulling  out  stitches  before  the  wound  has  closed.  they  drag  a  hand  over  his  face,  through  his  hair,  and  it  stays  there  a  beat  too  long,  fingertips  pressing  into  their  scalp  like  maybe,  if  he  presses  hard  enough,  he  can  shake  loose  whatever’s  clawing  at  his  insides.  it  doesn’t  work.  instead,  their  hand  drops  back  to  the  couch,  fingers  curling  into  the  fabric  like  they  might  hold  him  there. " it’s  not  you. "  the  words  slip  out  before  he  can  stop  them,  quiet,  almost  an  afterthought.  but  they  exist  now,  impossible  to  take  back,  suspended  in  the  lowlight  between  them.  a  confession  in  its  own  way.  not  enough  to  explain,  not  enough  to  invite  more  questions,  but  enough  to  say:  it's not you, i can't talk about things. it's not your fault.  enough  to  hope  she’ll  hear  the  things  they  don’t  know  how  to  say. " there's just... there's a lot goin' on right now. i don't mean to be mean about it. "

SHE WATCHES THE MILK SETTLE WHEN THEY MENTION IT, THIN & CLOUDY. cereal bloated with abandon and the neglect of unattendance, but she doesn't move to throw it away. just presses her palm flat against the tender of her thigh, grounded by the warmth of her own touch. they don't see each other for long, after a while she stopped bothering to look. she lets the quiet settle, tv bathing them like a bad signal; a gentle reminder that she too could exist without violence. she could just be. or at least try. it wasn't something lola was good at. she could almost reach for him⸺fingertips grazing his sleeve, testing the give⸺but she doesn't. they'd only flinch, stiffen like a thing cornered. so she stays still. watching, waiting. when she speaks at last, it's soft. no give to it, " mm, " a beat, flick of movement as her weight shifts again. upended from the ankles and misplaced, nudging the ball of her foot against his lap. it’s not an invitation, not exactly, but it isn’t nothing. the contact is careful, the weight of her resting against him as if testing the edges of a wound. lola lets her ankle roll, pressing lightly into his leg. not enough to push, just enough to remind them she’s here. that he’s here, whether he wants to be or not. " i'm not hungry, anymore. " elbow perches up atop of the back of the sofa, giving herself a reason to almost look at them again. she's softer now, almost. " you've ruined my appetite. "

[2vain]

CODY CHRISTIAN

[2vain]

hawk  moves  like  a  shadow,  footsteps  light  against  the  concrete.  jihoon  clocks  him  before  he  can  even  think  about  making  his  presence  unknown,  not  that  he  was  trying  to.  it’s  just  muscle  memory,  the  way  he  drifts  through  spaces  like  a  ghost.  jihoon’s  already  looking  up  when  hawk  meets  his  gaze,  head  tilted,  that  familiar  unreadable  expression  on  their  face.  they  stop  a  few  feet  away,  hands  shoved  deep  into  the  pockets  of  his  hoodie,  expression  even.  unreadable,  if  you  didn’t  know  him.  but  jihoon  does.  kinda.  they  snort,  quiet  but  there,  like  the  smallest  flicker  of  amusement.  he  doesn’t  answer  right  away.  instead,  gaze  flicks  to  the  car,  the  machine  under  the  other's  hands,  the  kind  of  thing  that  makes  their  blood  hum  despite  everything  else.  their  fingers  flex  in  his  pockets.  their  mind’s  already  halfway  into  the  driver’s  seat  before  he  exhales,  tilting  his  head  slightly.  “  yeah?  ”  he  drawls,  eyeing  the  car  with  something  like  consideration.  “  depends.  is  it  gonna  be  worth  my  time,  or  is  it  gonna  break  my  heart?  ”  it’s  a  joke,  mostly...  mostly.  but  there’s  an  edge  to  it,  something  sharp  behind  the  easy  lilt  of  their  words.  the  weight  of  the loss  still  sits  in  his  chest,  but  they’re  thankful  he  doesn’t  ask  about  the  race.  because  hawk  isn’t  in  the  mood  to  lie  about  it,  and  the  truth  is  an  open  wound.  jihoon  knows.  he  takes  a  step  closer,  eyes  still  on  the  car,  then  flicks  his  gaze  back  to  homme.�� “  guess  we'll have to wait and see.  ”

location: rodani wheels

featuring: hawk ( @2vain )

rodani wheels has always been his go-to place ever since he joined the prowlers six years ago, and one of two places to look for jihoon when he inevitably didn't answer his phone or text back. sure, the place tended to be busy more often than not, but the sounds of the cars and machines and tools always drowned out the voices of people. he's got his head deep under the hood of a car when he hears footsteps getting closer. he could probably easily guess who it is from how quiet they are, there's not a lot of prowlers who are like that, and it's definitely not a customer or they would've said something already. he looks up, spotting hawk, his guess landing correctly. his stands back up straight, leaning back against the car as he faces the other, a slight tilt of his head. "keeping me company today?" he found an ease and a comfort in hawk's quiet demeanor. he's not planning on asking him about the race. if he knows hawk at all, it's a question he doesn't want to answer. it's easy pretending that the prowlers losing the first race of the year didn't faze him. but it did. of course it did. keeping things locked away is what he does best, after all. and really, what can he really do about it besides put his all into doing his part for the crew? he gestures to the car. "i do need someone to eventually test out the speed of this car. been working on something."

[2vain]

the  air  in  the  room  thickens,  humming  with  something  just  shy  of  unbearable.  the  weight  of  it  presses  into  the  fabric  of  the  couch,  into  the  spaces  between  them.  they  exhale  slow,  measured,  but  it  does  nothing  to  smooth  out  the  static  crawling  under  his  skin.  she  says  their  name  like  it’s  something  fragile.  something  worth  holding.  something  she  won’t  let  him  outrun.  hawk’s  fingers  twitch  against  the  upholstery,  a  half-thought,  a  hesitation  that  never  makes  it  to  completion.  they  don't  look  at  her.  can’t.  not  when  she’s  saying  things  like  that,  not  when  she’s  peeling  him  apart  without  ever  lifting  a  blade.  eyes  stay  on  the  tv,  unfocused,  letting  the  shifting  glow  cut  across  his  face  like  a  mask,  a  barrier,  a  lifeline.

‘  you’re  acting  like  you  lost  more  than  the  race.  ’  jaw  ticks.  the  words  catch  in  his  throat,  snag  on  something  sharp,  something  unspeakable.  she’s  not  wrong,  but  they  won’t  give  her  that.  won’t  let  her  see  the  places  where  the  edges  don’t  quite  meet,  where  the  seams  have  split  and  left  something  raw,  something  real.  it’s  a  millisecond  of  hope,  where  their  mouth  opens  and  there’s  a  half glaze  over  his  eyes  that  isn’t  quite  full  yet.  one  that  nearly  says:  here’s  the  truth.  but  the  glaze  finishes  and  his  resolve  strengthens.  “  i’ll  get  over  it.  ”  the  words  are  flat,  scraped  hollow.  a  shrug  follows,  practiced,  dismissive.  they  lean  further  into  the  couch,  the  space  between  them  stretching,  widening,  a  slow  retreat  wrapped  in  feigned  nonchalance.

but  she’s  still  there.  warm,  unmoving,  watching.  his  fingers  drag  through  his  hair,  a  restless  motion,  a  distraction,  before  dropping  back  to  their  lap.  the  ghost  of  her  touch  lingers,  faint  as  breath,  and  they  swallow  against  the  way  it  settles  under  his  skin.  “  you  should  finish  your  cereal.  ”  he  mutters,  like  it  matters,  like  it’s  enough  to  redirect,  to  shift  the  conversation  into  something  small,  something  harmless.  it  isn’t. their tongue runs over the inside of his cheek as they finally chance a glance at her. just for a second, just long enough to see the way she’s looking at them — soft, sure, like she sees through every flimsy wall they've put up between them. he hates it. he doesn’t.

THERE ARE THINGS YOU CANNOT OUTRUN. you can turn away from the light but you cannot hide from it. certain as death, it's one of the few assurances in life that comes for us all. a sun that will glint even the darkest corners of the world. it finds us all with forceful bask. all to say that you can turn away the sun but it will still warm you. the light will hold you as long as it can. the lukewarm porcelain is abandoned upon the endtable, the room is hushed enough to hear the night buzzing against the window. late night traffic flitting both ways, the buzzing streetlight someone should have reported to the city strobbing infrequently. bambi cannot exist in the quiet, she's discovered. his arm snakes along the back of the couch to bridge the gap between them, she's tracing circles on the back of their hand by the time he looks back at her. gaze softens at the edges but the snare is not unwound, they're still very much caught in it. she leans back against the weathered plush of the couch, legs pulled from beneath her weight. one moment she's watching him and the next he's watching her. now they're both caught in something. there's a facetious beat that flits across her visage, brows tweaking absently so he knows that when they finally see each other, she isn't just trying to pick them apart. she just wants to be made real. after all, bambi didn't exist if she wasn't being looked at ⸺ a performance was nothing without an onlooker. and that's not what this was: a production, places taken on this lowlit stage. but goodness, the regalia was there. " i didn't bet on you, hawk. " because she knew better than to put her money where her heart was. a beat, to assess & also study the manner in which the tv refracted sharp angles along the side of their profile. " and you don't have to talk about it but⸺ " he's the first to look away, which is a funny thing because bambi was used to being the leaver. it unsteadies the score so she retracts her touch back into her lap. an eye for a finger. " you're acting like you lost more than the race. "

[2vain]

#NEWPROMPT — describe how your racer's typically drive. do they have good starts and start to stagger towards the end? or maybe they purposefully stay towards the back only to make a surprise recovery? do they rely on luck or are they super technical?

you  and  the  car  are  not  separate  things.  the  moment  you  slide  into  the  driver’s  seat,  you  disappear.  it’s  not  metal  and  glass  beneath  you  —  it’s  sinew  and  bone,  an  extension  of  your  own  body.  the  hum  of  the  engine  becomes  your  pulse,  the  vibrations  through  the  steering  wheel  a  second  heartbeat.  every  shift  of  the  gears  is  a  twitch  of  your  fingers,  every  tilt  of  the  wheel  as  natural  as  the  turn  of  your  head.  it’s  symbiosis,  the  kind  of  connection  that  feels  sacred  in  its  intensity.

you  don’t  just  drive  the  car  —  you  are  the  car.  you  feel  the  seconds  stretch  and  contract,  the  tick  of  time  slowing  as  the  race  unfolds.  the  world  outside  the  windshield  fades,  and  all  that  remains  is  the  road  and  the  roar  of  engines  chasing  you  down.  you  can  sense  them  without  looking — the  way  the  guy  in  the  mustang  two  cars  back  is  going  to  veer  left,  trying  to  force  you  into  a  tighter  corner;  the  way  the  girl  in  the  evo  beside  you  hesitates  for  a  fraction  of  a  second  too  long.

you  know  it  before  they  do.  it’s  instinct,  sharp  and  unrelenting,  honed  by  every  mile  you’ve  ever  driven.  you  don’t  need  to  see  the  moves  —  they’re  telegraphed  in  the  vibrations  of  the  road,  in  the  split-second  flicker  of  brake  lights,  in  the  way  the  air  shifts  as  a  car  creeps  up  behind  you.  you  don’t  react  to  them;  you  anticipate  them,  moving  as  though  the  race  has  already  played  out  in  your  mind.

you  feel  the  drag  in  your  tires  when  you  take  a  corner  too  tight,  but  you  know  exactly  how  to  counter  it.  a  subtle  tilt  of  the  wheel,  a  feather-light  tap  on  the  brake,  and  you’re  gliding  through  the  curve  like  you  planned  it  that  way.  the  road  is  alive  beneath  you,  shifting  and  breathing,  and  you  know  how  to  ride  its  every  undulation.

the  start  is  all  about  control  —  dominating  the  chaos,  harnessing  the  raw  power  of  the  car.  you  know  this,  feel  it  deep  in  your  chest  when  the  light  turns  green  and  the  world  narrows  to  the  rumble  of  engines  and  the  split-second  choices  that  make  or  break  a  race.  you’re  fast  off  the  line,  always.  not  because  you’re  impatient,  but  because  you  understand  momentum,  how  to  harness  it  like  a  weapon.  it’s  not  about  getting  ahead  —  it’s  about  making  a  statement.  but  you  don’t  stay  there.  not  right  away.

but  the  middle?  that’s  where  you  thrive.  that’s  where  you  play.  you’ll  let  someone  pass,  just  to  see  what  they’ve  got.  you’ll  hang  back  for  a  second  longer  than  you  need  to,  feeling  the  tension  coil  in  your  chest,  waiting  for  the  perfect  moment  to  strike.  because  you  know  the  race  isn’t  about  being  first  —  it’s  about  being  better. but you strive for first nonetheless. if you're anything but first, you've failed.

and  when  the  moment  comes,  it’s  like  a  symphony  in  your  head.  every  move,  every  decision,  every  shift  of  the  gears  is  precise  and  perfect.  you  thread  the  needle  between  two  cars  with  millimeters  to  spare,  the  roar  of  their  engines  fading  as  you  surge  ahead.  you’re  not  reckless  —  you’re  ruthless.  there’s  a  difference.  it’s  instinct,  honed  by  years  of  pushing  yourself  to  the  edge  and  then  a  little  further,  just  to  see  if  you  could.  you  take  risks  others  wouldn’t  dare,  threading  through  gaps  that  seem  impossible,  cutting  corners  so  sharp  they  might  as  well  be  razors.

but  it’s  not  luck.  never  luck.

it’s  control.  control  over  the  road,  over  the  chaos,  over  the  millisecond  decisions  that  make  the  difference  between  glory  and  disaster.  you  don’t  drive  to  survive  —  you  drive  to  win,  and  that's  the  distinction.

the  finish  line  doesn’t  call  to  you;  it  taunts  you.  dares  you  to  push  harder,  faster,  to  take  risks  that  make  your  heart  pound  and  your  palms  sweat.  the  final  stretch  is  where  you  leave  everything  on  the  road  —  every  ounce  of  skill,  every  fragment  of  instinct,  every  shred  of  control.

and  when  you  cross  it,  it’s  not  relief  you  feel.  it’s  vindication.  it’s  the  undeniable  truth  that  you  and  the  car  are  one  and  the  same,  a  machine  made  for  speed,  for  the  unrelenting  pursuit  of  victory.  you  don’t  just  win  —  you  claim  the  road  as  yours,  a  fleeting  kingdom  where  you  reign  supreme.  because  the  road  may  owe  you  nothing,  but  you’ve  taken  everything  from  it  anyway.

[2vain]

hawk  hadn’t  come  to  birds  eye  for  company.  it  wasn’t  a  place  meant  for  conversation  —  not  for  him,  anyway.  it  was  where  the  hum  of  the  city  faded  just  enough  for  their  thoughts  to  get  louder,  a  quiet  corner  carved  out  for  those  who  knew  how  to  sit  with  themselves.  but  when  chrissy’s  voice  cut  through  the  stillness,  they  didn’t  bristle  the  way  he  might’ve  with  someone  else. they  stood  there,  hands  shoved  into  his  jacket  pockets,  gaze  skimming  over  her  like  they  were  trying  to  figure  out  how  she  kept  showing  up in front of him.  the  light  above  the  lot  cast  soft  shadows  on  her  face,  catching  on  the  shimmer  of  her  makeup,  and  for  a  second,  they  wondered  why  someone  like  her  wasn’t  somewhere  louder,  brighter  —  but  there  was  a  sort  of  softness  to  her  fit so perfectly in a place like this. so it made sense... not that he'd think too much about it.

“  no  one’s  usually around at this time. which is why i come.  ”  they  said  finally,  their  tone  dry  but  not  unkind.  the  words  came  slow,  like  he  was  tasting  them  before  letting  them  out.  eyes  flicked  to  her  ipod-less  hands,  a  faint  smirk  tugging  at  the  corner  of  their  mouth.  “  yeah, i  guess  i  should’ve  figured  silence  wouldn’t  be  your  thing.  ”  their  posture  was  easy,  casual,  but  there  was  a  weight  to  the  way  they  looked  at  her  —  like  he  saw  more  than  he  let  on. “  you  don’t  have  to  rush  off.  ”  was  added,  almost  as  an  afterthought,  their  gaze  dropping  to  the  pavement  for  a  moment  before  finding  her  again.  “  place  is  big  enough  for  two.  long  as  you  don’t  expect  me  to  play  dj  or  something.  ”  the  smirk  returned,  faint  but  steady,  though  there  was  something  softer  underneath  it  —  an  unspoken  understanding,  maybe.  birds  eye  wasn’t  for  everyone,  but  it  was  for  him,  and  they  couldn’t  quite  bring  themselves  to  send  her  away.

♪ closed starter ; @2vain ♪ featuring ; butterfly & hawk . ♪ location ; birds eye

★          ꒰            🦋            ꒱       the   silence   that   encompassed   the   vacant   area   somehow   felt   so   loud   and   bothersome.   she   wasn't   great   with   silence,   she   hadn't   been   since   losing   her   parents.   there   weren't   any   races   that   day,   nothing   remotely   exciting   had   taken   place,   really.   she   didn't   have   a   shift   at   body,   she   had   only   gone   earlier   in   the   day   to   get   a   little   bit   of   time   outside   of   her   apartment,   but   her   ipod   had   died   and   she   was   left   with   nothing   to   do   but   sit   there.   she   didn't   mind   it   when   she   had   the   music   to   drown   out   all   the   silence,   but   when   she   was   forced   to   sit   in   it,   that's   when   things   hit   her   the   hardest.   she   didn't   want   to   think   about   her   parents,   so   she   decided   it   was   time   to   leave.   if   she   started   thinking   about   them,   she'd   start   crying   and   ruin   her   makeup.   chrissy   sighed   as   she   rose   to   her   feet,   prepared   for   her   walk   home.   she   knew   she   could've   called   a   friend   for   a   ride   home,   but   she   didn't   want   to   bother   anyone.   what   she   hadn't   been   prepared   for,   was   running   into   hawk   on   her   way   out.   she   blinked   in   surprise,   staring   at   them   with   a   perplexed   look. 

she   didn't   think   anyone   would   show   up   there   on   a   random   weekday   when   nothing   was   going   on.   “   i   was   just   heading   out,   ”   she   stated,   though   the   information   didn't   feel   necessary   to   share   with   them.   “   nobody's   around   today   and   my   ipod   died   so   i   don't   really   wanna   be   here.   ”   there   she   went   again,   sharing   more   inessential   details.   “   anyways,   uh   …   i   won't   be   in   your   way   or   whatever.   ”

[2vain]

CODY CHRISTIAN

[2vain]

there  was  a  flicker  in  his  chest,  faint  but  insistent,  like  a  loose  wire  sparking  behind  the  walls.  her  voice  cut  through  the  static,  soft  and  deliberate,  the  kind  of  quiet  that  demanded  attention  without  ever  raising  itself.  hawk  didn’t  look  at  her  right  away.  their  eyes  stayed  fixed  on  the  screen,  the  glow  painting  sharp  lines  across  his  face,  but  the  image  didn’t  register.  they  knew  this  would  happen.  not  the  race  —  hell,  not  even  the  loss  —  but  this.  her.  perched  on  their  couch  like  she  belonged  there,  legs  tucked  beneath  her  and  gaze  drilling  into  him  like  she  could  see  past  the  layers  he  kept  throwing  up.  she’d  already  taken  the  remote,  her  bowl  of  cereal,  and  the  damn  spot  on  their  couch.  now  she  was  coming  for  the  rest.

his  jaw  worked,  a  small  tic  in  the  muscle  as  he  bit  back  the  immediate  instinct  to  spit venom,  to  draw  the  curtains  shut  and  leave  her  staring  at  a  blank  wall.  but  she  was  right  —  she  always  was  —  and  the  weight  of  it  pressed  down  harder  than  they  wanted  to  admit.  it  wasn’t  the  race.  it  wasn’t  even  about  coming  in  third. it  was  the  way  they  let  himself  slip,  the  way  she’d  crept  in  like  exhaust  through  a  cracked  window,  unnoticed  until  it  was  too  late  to  breathe  anything  else.  hawk  wasn’t  built  for  this,  for  her  steady  gaze  and  the  way  she  carved  out  space  in  their  life  without  asking.

“  long  night.  ”  their  voice  finally  broke  the  silence,  low  and  frayed  at  the  edges,  rough  like  gravel  under  tires.  he  leaned  back  into  the  couch,  arm  draped  lazily  along  the  top,  a  performance  of  ease  that  didn’t  match  the  tension  coiled  tight  in  their  chest.  their  gaze  stayed  locked  on  the  tv,  a  lifeline  he  refused  to  cut.  but  her  eyes  were  relentless,  and  he  could  feel  them  pulling  at  him,  picking  apart  the  threads  of  their  composure.  she  wasn’t  going  to  let  this  go. “  don’t  worry  about  it.  ”  he  echoed shortly after,  the  words  a  bitter  laugh,  hollow  in  the  quiet,  a  silent  challenge  filling  the  room.  their  hand  lifted,  brushing  through  his  hair  in  a  restless  motion  before  dropping  back  to  their  lap.  they  finally  looked  at  her,  and  the  way  her  eyes  caught  his  made  him  wish  he  hadn’t.

‘  it’s  not  just  the  race,  is  it?  ’  sat  in  their  ears,  a  pounding  against  his  head  as  if  hammers  were  being  struck  down.  “  what  do  you  want  me  to  say?  ”  the  words  came  out  before  they  could  stop  them,  slipping  through  a  sliver of vulnerability  he  hadn’t  seen  coming; tone was tight, sharp. their  gaze  dropped,  fingers  tracing  absent  patterns  against  the  couch  cushion  as  he  fought  the  urge  to  look  at  her  again.  “  just  a  really  bad race.  ”  but  even  he  didn’t  believe  it.  not  when  the  weight  of  her  presence  made  it  impossible  to  ignore  what  was  clawing  at  him.  “  hope you didn't bet on me and lose your fortune.  ”  they  added,  softer  this  time, attempting a semblance at normalcy. he was never very good at that.

# INT. TOO LATE. TRACKING CONFETTI & MISCOMMUNICATION AROUND THE APARTMENT. @2vain

THERE IS EASE IN RITUAL: KNOWING THAT YOU COULD RETURN TO SOMETHING ⸺ SOMEONE AGAIN, AND AGAIN. that they would not turn you away, not immediately. it's a terrible thing to be kept like that: in rotation. because again, this was not a constant. they were ships in the night, this was merely the procedure of a tide raise. pushing them closer & higher, further from dry land. even so, this tableu is one of all the trappings of domesticity, though they each remain suspended within this frame, ever off-kilter yet wanting so desperately to fit together. too comfortable, they exist in their most organic state: in the dark ⸺ front-lit by the soft violence of a magnum p.i. rerun on the television screen. bambi sat in the spot she'd made so usual that a slight dip had worn into the cushion, cross-legged & half dressed, cereal bowl balanced in a palm while the other held a spoon tracing slow deliberate circles in the milk. she wasn't hungry. and she wasn't watching tv either ⸺ no matter how short tom selleck's shorts were this episode. she was watching hawk. " you're quiet. " because feeling her watching him had not been enough. it was an observation: he was not only being watched but they were seen. " it's not the race ⸺ is it? "

[2vain]

Donna Tartt, from The Goldfinch (2013)

[2vain]

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, from “Carmilla”

[2vain]

[2vain]

hawk’s  jaw  ticked,  the  muscle  flexing  just  slightly  as  her  words  settled  in  the  space  between  them,  a  loaded  pause  he  wasn’t  quick  to  fill.  it  wasn’t  the  first  time  someone  had  tried  to  pin  him  down  with  something  real,  but  it  was  the  first  time  in  a  while  that  they  hadn’t  brushed  it  off  with  a  snide  remark  or  a  deflection  sharp  enough  to  cut  through  the  tension.  no,  with  her,  it  felt  different.  the  air  between  them  wasn’t  just  heavy  —  it  was  charged,  a  live  wire  stretched  taut  and  waiting  for  the  inevitable  snap.  their  eyes,  sharp  and  restless,  tracked  her  movements  as  she  sprawled  herself  across  the  chaise  like  it  was  a  throne,  daring  him  to  approach  her  kingdom.  she  always  carried  herself  like  that,  like  the  room  bent  to  her  will  and  she  was  kind  enough  to  let  everyone  else  linger  in  her  orbit.  maybe  it  did.  hell,  maybe  he  didn’t  mind.

" you’re  real  good  at  putting  words  in  my  mouth. "  they  said  finally,  voice  low  and  edged  with  a  dry  humor  that  didn’t  quite  mask  the  unspoken  truth  beneath  it.  the  smirk  that  tugged  at  the  corner  of  their  mouth  was  faint,  fleeting  —  more  reflex  than  anything  —  but  it  didn’t  reach  his  eyes.  those  stayed  locked  on  her,  studying,  weighing,  like  she  was  a  puzzle  he  wasn’t  sure  he  could ever  solve.  they  could  feel  the  weight  of  her  invitation  hanging  in  the  air,  the  soft  pat  of  her  hand  against  the  chaise  like  a  beckon  and  a  challenge  all  at  once.  for  a  moment,  they  hesitated,  his  hands  finding  the  comfort  of  his  pockets  as  if  grounding  himself  in  the  familiar.  this  wasn’t  their  terrain,  not  the  raw  vulnerability  that  lingered  in  her  gaze,  nor  the  ease  with  which  she  commanded  the  space  around  her.  he  was  a  racer,  built  for  speed  and  chaos,  not  this.  whatever  this  was.

with  a  slow,  deliberate  motion,  they  crossed  the  space  between  them,  sinking  onto  the  chaise  with  a  practiced  casualness  that  didn’t  quite  match  the  subtle  tension  in  their  frame.  he  leaned  back,  one  arm  draped  lazily  over  the  edge,  but  his  body  angled  just  slightly  toward  her,  like  they  couldn’t  help  but  be  drawn  in  despite  himself.  " are  you  always...  like  this? "  they  inquired,  his  voice  low,  rough-edged  but  not  unkind.  the  question  was  more  observation  than  challenge,  the  kind  of  thing  someone  says  when  they’re  trying  to  make  sense  of  what’s  in  front  of  them.  his  gaze  flicked  to  her,  catching  the  faint  glint  of  amusement  in  her  eyes,  and  his  lips  tugged  into  a  smirk  that  didn’t  quite  hide  the  softer  edge  underneath.  " i  mean,  like... "

the  words  hung  in  the  air,  he  didn’t  know  what  he  wanted  to  say.  their  words  caught  in  his  throat  and  what  was  only  a  few  seconds,  a  weighted  silence,  felt  like  an  eternity  stretched  out  in  front  of  them.  his  eyes  lingered  on  her,  pointed  but  thoughtful,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  pick  apart  the  layers  she  so  effortlessly  presented.  " you  make  it  easy  to  do  what  you  say. "  they  added  after  a  beat,  the  smirk  tugging  a  little  wider,  tone  easy  but  not  dismissive.  " and  you  know  i  hate  listening  to  people. "  the  words  were  easy,  nonchalant,  but  there  was  a  tension  in  the  way  his  hand  brushed  his  knee,  restless  energy  they  couldn’t  quite  shake.  for  all  his  bravado,  all  the  armor  they  wore  so  effortlessly,  she  had  a  way  of  slipping  through  the  cracks,  and  maybe  that’s  what  made  it  so  hard  to  look  away.

SHE'S VELVET PETALS IN A CLOSED FIST, FRAGRANT AND PERPETUALLY CREASED WITH A CERTAIN FERITY. its a reminder that she can't go long without flashing the points of her teeth, just to maintain the notion that she still had her bite. because after all, a girl can take herself out the street but you can never truly pry her from the asphalt. " staying is where all the conflict is, " it's all cannon fodder, volleying these mouthfuls of nothing at each other. poking little holes in the other's facade like pulling your hands through a beaded curtain ⸺ everything you've done unfurls the moment someone lets go. you didn't have to come. but oh, hadn't she? bambi had been deprived in the past, but this year would be one of nourishing herself until she no longer had the need to. " you can say it you know, " mind trapaises distantly into the lamp-lit cavern of her oceanside condo, she'd left the balcony door agape when she went out into the night ⸺ wonders if he'd preferred her to have stayed there ⸺ a pretty thing lit up by the shorelight, waves lapping hard enough to forget herself. it poses that she should have been anywhere but here, as if to protect herself from the calamity that incurred whenever they found orbit of one another. as if she did not ache for collision. and then, all too pleased: " that you're glad i came. that you wanted me to come. " she is not sorry for the space she takes while they remain before her, makes herself comfortable. women were always meant to be sorry for things. bambi could not simply bend to that expectation: the apologetic woman. no apology for the way she drapes herself across the lounger enough to meld into it, absolutely radiant with a debauched sort of elegance & only slightly tipsy. rather, she contorts enough to allow them further into her velvet dominion ⸺ should he dare. " come sit with me, " svelte legs cast back over the ledge of the chaise, manicured digits patting where space had just then been alleviated for them to join her. " i'm even better up close. "

[2vain]

         their eyes narrowed slightly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it was more reaction than intention. xile's smirk & that little edge to her words — like she’d welcome the chaos — was amusing, if nothing else.  ❛  you’d be the type to sit back & enjoy the show, huh ?  ❜

         their voice was low, threaded with the kind of dry humor that made it hard to tell if they were teasing or just making an observation. leaning further into the wall, their shoulder barely brushed hers — an unintentional gesture that lingered just enough to acknowledge her presence.  ❛  not stressed, just... prepared. you know how it goes. give it long enough, & someone’ll say the wrong thing, step the wrong way, & then it’s a shitshow.    ❜

         their glass tilted in their hand, watching the last traces of liquid swirl before it disappeared with a quick sip.  ❛  not that i’m in the mood to throw punches tonight. or watch anyone else do it. but hey, if you’re itching for some action, maybe you should head back in. see what happens.  ❜

         there was a glint of something playful in his eyes, but his tone remained steady, neutral enough to keep her guessing.  ❛  or don’t. i’m not complaining about the peace.  ❜  it was an almost offhand comment, but it carried a note of sincerity — soft, subtle, & deliberately left open for interpretation.

smile   curving   into   a   full   blown   smirk,   feet   pulling   her   to   stand   at   their   side   on   the   wall.   the   smell   that   coated   them   both,   that   would   seep   into   the   faux   leather   set,   did   little   to   deter   her   from   the   spot.   hawk   was   best   like   this,   alone   and   relaxed.   sharp   claws   retracted   enough   that   the   touch   didn't   nip   at   skin,   third   eye   -   lid   that   closed   as   if   recognizing   there   was   no   need   to   hunt   in   the   moment.   feels   the   heat   of   his   gaze   on   the   side   of   her   face,   head   turning   to   catch   their   eye.   she   holds   the   eye   contact   for   a   moment   before   it   flickers   away.

“    nah,   ‘s   been   quiet,    ”       as   much   as   it   could   be   with   the   two   crews   in   the   same   space   for   an   elongated   time,   and   either   way,       “    the   night   is   young   though.   plenty   time   for   elbow   throwing   or   a   fight,   or   two.    ”       the   way   she   says   it   almost   makes   it   sound   as   if   she   wants   to   see   a   fight   explode,   the   night   too   calm   to   feel   alive,       “    don't   worry,   it   won't   be   who   goes   around   starting   the   fight.    wouldn't   want   you   stressing,    ”       palms   tapping   against   the   wall   behind   them,   a   soft   tune   to   mimic   that   which   would   filter   out   each   time   another   body   left   the   club. 

[2vain]

         the collision of words & weight — a shoulder brushing his — wasn’t unexpected. predictable, even. the kind of move that screamed look at me, like julian was holding court instead of just another glass. hawk’s drink hovered halfway to their lips, a pause stretched long enough to let the silence sting before he set it back down, slow & deliberate, like every second was a statement.  ❛  funny, 'cause ruffling’s really all that you’re good at, ain’t it ?  ❜  his voice was low, a blade wrapped in velvet, cutting but casual. they didn’t bother to look at julian at first, letting the words land on their own before finally turning, an eyebrow ticked up briefly like they'd just been asked to watch a parlor trick.

         the nickname didn’t hit a nerve, not immediately, at least. hawk had been called worse, & the fact that julian thought it was clever only underscored how he shouldn't react to it. ( shouldn't being the operative word. ) still, there was an itch under his skin, something raw & restless that wanted to dig deeper than the surface. they resisted.  ❛  guess i shouldn’t be surprised you’d go for a copycat order. not like originality’s your thing.  ❜  their mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more a dare. hawk leaned back against the bar, arms crossing in a lazy kind of defiance. the tension hung there, thick as the bass thrumming through the club, & for a moment, he let it.

HERE, IN THE WARBLING LIGHT A LESSON IS MADE. heed: it is made not learned, a precedent in exactly how not to proceed with caution. let's be clear, this is an intrusion & julian does not care to be slick about his grievances in the dark. man built of god, guilt and greed. julian could not be faulted for seeing hawk as a challenge he could move through fist first. he's laughing about something when he happens upon the barside, brushing through a throng of shoulders just to check hawk's. " just havin' a drink s'all. " proceeds to order one of whatever they were having from the bartender, only then does julian cant his gaze over to the other. " not tryna' ruffle your feathers or nothin' birdie. "

[2vain]

         he flicked the lighter open & closed again, the rhythm steady, like it was grounding them while she talked. he didn’t interrupt, letting her speak as much as she wanted. at least she wasn’t one of those people who talked to fill the air but never said anything.  ❛  listening without needing something in return... that’s rare.  ❜  the words came out low, almost like an afterthought. they weren’t mocking her, though; it sounded more like they didn’t quite believe it was true, or maybe didn’t know what to do with it if it was. genuineness. what a concept.

         her apology pulled his gaze back to her, sharp & quick, like he was surprised she thought she needed to say it. they studied her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed a little too tense, her voice a little too tight.  ❛  you don’t have to apologize.  ❜  the words were simple, but there was a weight to them, like they actually meant what they said. he shifted his stance ( something they do often without realizing ) their gaze fixed somewhere past her.

          ❛  loss like that... it doesn’t just stay in its lane. comes out when it wants to, not when you want it to.  ❜  they exhaled slowly, almost like the thought alone was heavy enough to press on his chest.  ❛  not like there’s a rulebook for handling it.  ❜  he didn’t meet her eyes after that, didn’t push or pry. instead, his tone slid back into something more neutral, the tension easing slightly.  ❛  & yeah, tolerable’s about as high as my compliments go. don’t get used to it.  ❜  there was the ghost of a smirk, like they were trying to pull the conversation back to safer ground, away from the cracks that had started to show.

★         ꒰         🦋         ꒱                     “   maybe   most   people   feel   that   way,   ”   chrissy   surmised,   nodding   slightly   to   acknowledge   their   words.   “   but   it’s   not   like   that   for   me,   ”   she   said,   shrugging.   “   i’m   interested   in   hearing   about   what   a   lot   of   people   have   to   say.   i   like   listening   and   learning   about   people.   i   don’t   care   if   there’s   anything   in   a   conversation   for   me.   ”   she   was   just   a   curious   person   and   had   been   her   entire   life.   chrissy   never   bothered   trying   to   hide   that,   either.   she   wanted   to   know   about   the   people   she   spoke   to,   but   she’d   never   push   for   more   details.   she   would   respect   it   if   people   didn’t   want   to   share   details   with   her,   it   was   okay.         

at   least   they   didn’t   seem   too   bothered   by   her   rambling   tendencies.   she   knew   other   people   might’ve   felt   otherwise,   but   that   was   just   something   she   was   prepared   to   deal   with.   chrissy   pursed   her   lips,   nodding   at   hawk’s   words.   “   yeah,   it’s   a   little   weird   when   people   don’t   say   anything   at   all,   ”   she   stated.   she   preferred   being   around   people   who   enjoyed   having   conversations,   even   if   they   weren’t   deep   or   meaningful.   chrissy   loved   being   around   people   in   general.         

she   hadn’t   meant   to   say   those   words   out   loud,   knew   that   they   could   bring   the   mood   down.   it   just   slipped   out,   because   it   was   the   only   explanation   she   truly   had   to   offer   them.   chrissy   still   felt   that   loss   every   day,   silently   carried   that   burden   with   her   everywhere   she   went.   femme   didn’t   enjoy   speaking   about   her   parents,   not   when   that   loss   was   still   so   fresh   despite   years   passing.   she   swallowed   thickly,   a   slight   nod   following   as   she   tried   to   center   herself.   she   took   a   shaky   breath,   blinking   back   tears   she’d   never   wanted   to   invite   in.   teeth   sank   into   her   lower   lip,   desperate   to   try   and   regain   control   of   her   composure.        

        “   sorry,   ”   she   said,   shaking   her   head   as   she   gained   some   semblance   of   self   control.  “   i   didn’t   mean   to   bring   that   up   .   .   .   it   just   sorta   came   out.   ”   it   wasn’t   like   she’d   intended   to   dump   her   troubles   onto   them.   hawk   asked,   and   she   answered.   she   furrowed   her   brows,   head   shaking   in   confusion.   “   i   don’t   really   know   what   that   means,   but   i   guess   i’ll   take   it   as   a   compliment,   ”   she   told   him.   tolerable   was   better   than   insufferable,   she   supposed.  

[2vain]

         his laugh was low & humorless, more an exhale than a sound. they flicked ash from their cigarette, his posture loose but somehow still coiled — like they could snap to life at any second if the wrong button got pushed.  ❛  twisted ?  ❜  he echoed, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.  ❛  just didn’t think i’d have company out here. guess the party’s that bad, huh ?  ❜  gaze flicked to the flame of others lighter, the glow catching for a moment in hawk’s eyes before they drifted to the alleyway again. it wasn’t an escape, not really.

          ❛  nah, not running from anything.  ❜  they rolled the cigarette between their fingers, like he was considering something, then shrugged it off.  ❛  besides, you’re one to talk. looks like you’ve been dodging that dance floor all night. someone chasing you, or are you just allergic to a good time ?  ❜  words were edged but not sharp, like they didn’t mean for it to come off in any way other than a question. ( maybe he was making fun, but only a little. )

☁️ — "  don't  get  all twisted.  "  a  reciprocal  edge  in  eric's  voice  as  the  12elve  door  thuds  shut  shut  behind  the  pair.  it's  the  umpteenth  time  he's  sought  solance  from  the  party,  he's  now  lost  track  of  how  many  '  cigarette  breaks  '  he's  taken  at  this  point  in  the  night.  what  he  hadn't  expected  was  the  presence  already  in  his  refuge.  they'd  just  have  to  fucking  share.  hawk's  chilly  greeting  doesn't  deter  him  ...  rather  it  fuels  the  bitterness  already  burning  in  his  stomach.  "  piss  off  ,  "  voice  short, eyes annoyed,  "  you're  not  the  only  one  who  can  have  a  smoke  break  ...  "  a  flick  of  his  lighter  illuminating  his  own  cigarette. a  tinge  of  amusement  flashes  in  his  eyes watching the other eye the alleyway,  "  what  looking  for  somewhere  to  runaway  to  ?  "