blackclothed - Tumblr blog

[blackclothed]

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*exfoliates and puts face mask on after a long day of being evil*

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AA boppin to a new siggy song this morning ❤️❤️

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I mean, what’s the point? Every time I do something, it just… gets undone. Long Shot (2019) dir. Jonathan Levine

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Siggy scrawling in his little notebook a bullet point list of ideas to seem as intimidating as possible

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wow u ever think about a girl trying desperately to kill everything tender inside him, everything in him that Needs, and he's done a pretty good job to his credit , he worked really hard to kill himself this much, but he is still human enough to flinch ? And it terrifies him and disgusts him and makes him want to tear his skin off but he can't get rid of it, or maybe he just cant bring Himself to get rid of it ! wow

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the apologies crawl under his skin like insects. there is ice in his stomach, but it aches like an old wound, nothing sharp or twisting. he wishes it were. he wishes he had a reason to be angry again.

his composure crumbles at the edges as he lifts an open palm. this hollow-boned thing with the bowed head and trembling hands is what makes him cry uncle. he walks, straight-spined through days with blurred ends and beginnings without sleeping for a second, and he does not flinch. he chooses a pair of pliers and he does not flinch. he butchers himself, years of his life and nerve endings, sawed off so he can live a day longer, and he does not flinch.

the mirror, the rabbit, the stupid dying kid makes him flinch.

“ stop, I— ”

siggy shuts his mouth, pointedly looking at anything but rhae. he forks his fingers through his hair again and rests the heel of his palm at the center of his forehead. the bath is waiting for him. embarrassment is misplaced, but shrill in his ears.

he sucks in a breath deciding on a renewed course of action. his voice returns to its unaffected monotone.

“ as a reminder, anything in the kitchen cabinets is yours if you were coming down here to eat. there’s an electric kettle, tea in the far-left drawer, or a coffee bar beside the dining table. you seem like you didn’t plan on sleeping. ”

without another word he leaves, returning to the guest bathroom, then quietly shuts the door behind him. he clicks the lock into place.

oh. oh, no no no no no. rhae could burst into tears. he could weep for hours, he could get on his knees and thank siggy over and over. he could swallow these harshly - intended words and they'd make the sweetest taste upon his tongue, and maybe siggy doesn't know it, but rhae will never forget them, so long as he's in this house, he'll remember, he'll remember he can sleep soundly and no one will touch him and he can walk to the kitchen and no one will shove him against a wall and he can breathe and no one will want his mouth for anything more. he's so glad that he forgets, for a wonderful moment, that siggy looks disgusted with his misstep. he forgets he'd made a mistake at all. things never go so well.

before siggy can begin to assume that rhae's beginning to cry for sad reasons, rhae nods, eagerly, earnestly, and says, his voice ever - small, " okay. yes, i ---- i won't ever again. i promise. " it's the easiest promise he has ever had to make : how often is free shelter offered with the exact opposite of the usual proposition that comes once he's settled in? holding the cigarettes to his chest, he nods again, and thinks he may look more unhinged than he had with his meek, unenthused offer.

but then he remembers that siggy is staring at rhae like he's a chewed piece of gum stuck on his thousand - dollar stiletto, and the world crushes down on him once again. he'd upset his host. his host, whose boss currently paid rhae's meager wage, who told him who to sleep with and when ---- who had a hand around his throat and every ability to squeeze until he couldn't breathe any more. and maybe he shouldn't be so glad that siggy doesn't want to fuck him. maybe he'd managed to poison himself in a new and horrible way by upsetting his best emissary to his master of the week.

he blinks, and steps out of siggy's way, and lowers his head. a genuine, weak display, the kind of thing that rhae is used to making, so the wolf might pity the lamb enough to kill it quickly. " and i'm ---- i'm really sorry for . . . i just didn't know if you were trying to . . . " it's utterly useless to explain. he stumbles helplessly over the words, and when he remembers that siggy is by nature impatient, gives up altogether. " i just mean to say sorry. and thank you. for the cigarettes, and . . . " the unspoken relief. " sorry. "

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DO I SEEM ANXIOUS TO YOU?

DO I SEEM BACKED INTO A CORNER?

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they are Cancelling me for dealing with my grief as best i can . also for the vicious war Crimes

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god i love coming home and being at home and sitting inside my home and staying home

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whatever softness crawled wretched out of siggy’s hands trying, failing to recall gentleness, dies like glowing ashes ground underfoot. rhae gives the most predictable reaction possible. siggy wasn’t aware that he’d made the subconscious decision to hope throwing a pack of his cigarettes on the bed wouldn’t blow up in his face like being nice always does. he, of course, is the fool for thinking that it would be fine, and more the fool for failing to realize his error in behavior. it makes him sick, what rhae offers. it makes him want to scrub his skin raw. the sensation is too similar to fear, and so instead he doesn’t bother feigning subtlety. he scoffs, flinging a hand in a ‘see what I’m dealing with?’ gesture to nobody.

“ oh, for fucks sake— those were seventeen dollars! ”

the frustration carves deeper into his words than it should. he doesn’t want to reign it in ( he never does ), but he recognizes he is being unreasonable. he takes a deep breath through his nose and smooths back his hair with forked fingers. he punches a hand to his hip and casts his gaze away, manually leveling the visceral and disproportionate reaction. his emotions are hideous and ask him to uncover corpses rotting six feet under in his psyche. they ask him if he remembers. they ask him if he is being reasonable. he wants to bleed them empty.

it is not siggy’s problem whether rhae believes his intentions are snakelike waiting to poison him the moment he gets comfortable, and it is not siggy’s job to convince him they aren’t. however, he can be polite to an unwilling and unwanted guest. he can be polite to the guest he let live in his house who he doesn’t want anywhere near him.

he has a headache.

so the most efficient course of action is to be the asshole, he decides. he should nip this in the bud now before rhae starts getting too comfortable with the idea of payment, but especially with intimacy. rhae can believe whatever he chooses about siggy’s character, but the possibility rhae would misunderstand what is acceptable is dangerous.  

“ let me just get this out of the way. don’t touch me. don’t even think about touching me. don’t talk about the hypothetical of touching me. do not ever offer to fuck me again. understood, kid? ”  

he doesn’t need to tack on a threat. it’s distasteful, unnecessary, and duplicative.

siggy had left these for him. rhae's arm folds back into him, taking the pack with him, clutching it against his chest. he wishes siggy would've realized his mistake and snatched back the pack, and looked at him like a thief. he wish siggy would be cold and mean and accusatory. rhae can navigate a bad temper. he can handle an accusation. a gift is a horrific thing to receive.

of course, he receives gifts, or some semblance of them, all the time. an extra hundred dollars thrown onto his stomach for something he'd said he wouldn't do, offered the lift away his boundaries ; a piece of jewelry he wishes he could pawn, because it'd been worth more to him as cash than as a useless stone that he has to remember to wear for mr. so - and - so ; new clothes, offered to him but really meant for the gifter, to fulfil that fantasy they'd been thinking about from the very moment they'd first seen it in a porno thirty years ago. now, a pack of cigarettes that he's gonna have to smoke to be polite ( the flavor has never mattered. he'd always bought based on price alone, and always from places sketchy enough not to check his id ) and that hide some request that siggy just hasn't levelled at him yet.

rhae hadn't thought siggy the type ---- he hadn't thought himself the type for siggy, and so he'd been comfortable enough to sleep here, to pretend he could relax during his off hours before their boss called him with another favor. his stomach churns in reconsideration.

" oh. thank you, " rhae lifts his eyes, only for a moment, and almost meets siggy's. he gets too frightened somewhere around his mouth, though, and never quite makes contact.

if siggy had wanted to have him, he would've put the cigarettes into rhae's hand directly. he would've made his intentions clear, right? rhae is supposed to be good at reading these things, but there's a point when subtly gets lost on him. have they reached that point? was rhae supposed to see the gift and make the correct assumption and initiate his part of the bargain on his own? does siggy just want to wait until he's ready? or is it nothing at all ---- was rhae never supposed to know who these came from? he feels like a deer in headlights, frozen. how's he supposed to continue here without knowing siggy's intentions?

" i can ---- i can repay you. your boss is supposed to pay me soon, so i can . . . " he trails off, chews a bit on his lower lip, and looks down at the red and white packaging, bright against his black sweater. " unless you wanted something else, for me to pay you back? "

what's a pack of marlboros, fifteen dollars or so? it's a bit low, but he's given a handy for less.

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so there is a rabbit and a wolf and siggy is both of them. he is small, he trembles as a failing heartbeat drowning in irregular electrical impulses. he bares his teeth. he wears blood like it’s an armor, the redder the better.

the kid is just a rabbit. he’s feeble, colorless as a ghost, frightened. he’ll run when he gets the chance and siggy won’t chase him. he should run.

siggy has always had a complicated relationship with his reflection, and so seeing this stupid fucking pathetic kid with blood under his nails and in his head and nothing, nothing, nothing to live for except to appease the visceral instinct not to die, well… well, call it selfish then. the guilt got to him. but he has safety ( or a semblance of it ) and he can give it to that reflection as long as rhae takes it. and siggy won’t look at him anymore. it isn’t as if rhae is very interested in watching him either.

he's not sure why, but a nagging discomfort at someone being in his house convinced him to run a bath downstairs instead of on the same floor as his guest. he debated which would be more comforting background noise; falling in reverse, or an animal crossing playthough. he can just hear the incomprehensible blurb of animal crossing conversation against the cozy background music in new horizons when he nearly collides with the pale rabbit he blissfully nearly forgot is living in his house.

they are both equally surprised to see each other and rhae speaks in the time it takes for siggy to decide whether or not to be embarrassed that the audible animal crossing sounds from the open bathroom door are heavily undermining his intimidation factor.

he looks down at the unopened pack in rhae’s fist. oh.

he clears his throat, stepping mannerly backward down the steps to avoid blocking rhae.

“ those are yours. ” another awkward pause. fuck. it’s unlike him to be unable to figure out how to navigate a conversation. he casts rhae a sidelong glance. “ they’re just marlboros.  pall mall is disgusting. ”

it’s the only explanation he’ll give. rhae will not conclude that he was trying to be nice, and he doesn’t have to, just as long as he concludes it was not a dangerous gesture.

“ no reason to indulge a smoking habit if you can just taste the cancer. if you don’t like them, throw them out. ”

rhae's small hand is trembling as he holds out the cigarettes. he'd found them on the guest bed, where he'd recently been sleeping away his days, sitting in the center of the poorly - made sheets. they're a brand too expensive for rhae to afford ---- but he'd seen siggy smoking them before, and so that's where they must've come from. the find should trouble him : he doesn't know what his host might've wanted in the bedroom rhae left empty every night, and he doesn't want to know. in fact, he'd planned to put the cigarette package on the kitchen counter without siggy ever noticing, without any chance for questions to come up, but he'd nearly collided with the other on the stairs, and with the package in his hands, he hadn't seen any other choice but to give them to him now. best it not look like he's been stealing, or rummaging about in siggy's things. he doesn't know what the punishment would be for a misstep, but it would be more than rhae can take, tired and frail as he'd been before he'd been offered this gig.

" you . . . i found these in the guest bedroom, on the bed, " rhae explains, his eyes never rising higher than his outstretched palm. siggy isn't himself very scary, but his bodyguards are, and so rhae treats them all like sharp objects. " i think you must have left them there by accident. "

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the phone connects quickly, as it always does regardless of the hour. this is the service gummy is compensated in more than money for. money can only carve dedication so deeply into one’s life, but siggy is gummy’s life. feeding his affections is a small price to pay to keep it that way, and it is vaguely haunting that they both understand this.

“ gummy, I need you to meet me at the house. we’re going to search for a missing person and we need to talk details. ”

his bodyguard’s voice returns brushed with weariness, indicating siggy woke him up.

“ alright. an associate? ”

“ no, he’s not an associate, this is for personal interest. luke andersen, full name lucian rueben andersen was last seen with an individual named brad whom we have no surname or physical description for. someone is opening his texts who we do not believe to be luke. we don’t know that he’s in any danger, but regardless he needs to be located. you don’t have to write this down, we’ll talk at home. "

there are questions of the level of priority of an assignment of personal interest, as well if this is a wise use of resource allocation, the latter of which gummy will never ask, and the former siggy is still deciding.  

he shifts his gaze pointedly to charles, then returns to the dimly lit road.

“ ground rules: should you find that luke has been taken by someone, there is no need to keep them alive. obviously, if it proves feasible, I would like them alive, but this is just about returning luke to his very worried owner. charles will provide us with additional information on whoever luke knows in the city, any names of other friends or contacts, to the extent that he knows. ”

it is bad practice to allow confidential correspondence to be observed or overheard, but he isn’t afraid of charles and the circumstances are pressing. besides, it is a courtesy to his new red-haired friend to make sure they are on the same page as to the type of help he has enlisted.

“ understood. I’ll be at the house in twenty. ”

“ there’s no need to rush, I’m about two hours away. guest bed is yours in the meantime and anything in the kitchen. charles, you can hang up the call. ”

charles doesn't have time to be offended at the idea that he would go through all this to . . . what? do some terrible act to siggy? scare him? it doesn't warrant more thought, because charles couldn't care less ( and doesn't otherwise like ) luke's most secretive friend, who is also definitely doing crime as far as charles can tell, based on siggy's whole vibe. charles knows well enough to mind his own business. he wouldn't have texted had he not thought this a worthwhile escalation.

his own phone still sitting anxiously on this thigh, the volume turned on so he doesn't miss it if luke returns a text ( no luck : everything still sits on read ) charles doesn't take more than a second to scroll through siggy's contacts, eyes glazing over the names until he finds gummy. he presses the call button, and puts it on speaker, and in the few seconds before it connects and begins to ring, says :

" save your threats. i don't wanna be here either. anyhow, the messages i've sent luke have been read, but not answered. that boy is bad with his phone, but i don't think he's that bad with it. " especially given as charles' more casual check ins ( and a question about where betsy's halter was, so he could take her in to the small barn ---- he'd had to improvise with a length of rope ) had given way to more urgent questions about whether he was alright.

and if charles is panicking for now reason, and luke has somehow fucked up texting colossally bad . . . charles won't regret taking the precaution. whatever gets luke back to him, he'll do.

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Get your pussy up get your money up. You’re gorgeous btw

get my pussy up,,,,,,, get my money up,,,,,,,,,

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finally ironing out parts of siggy's story that i haven't decided on yet feels SO nice

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maybe the city lights will save him. maybe he is on a rooftop somewhere, and the air is crisp, and there is a sea of possibility. he had never been a hopeful one, but he had ambition and the capability to back it up. maybe he is anywhere but here.

or, maybe he’s buried alive. maybe he’s locked in an ornate coffin under six feet of grave dirt, and he’s running out of air. the grave is unmarked and nobody cares that he’s alive, just as nobody will care when he’s dead. except for…

oh. except for his mistake. his stupid, doomed mistake convinced he wants to rot, too. jameson does not bring flowers nor a shovel to the grave but sits with him and waits for nothing, and neither of them are alone. it is ugly and sick and cruel.

siggy feels as if he has forgotten to breathe. he draws in air consciously, stiffens at jameson’s gentle touch, but does not pull away.

he takes a long moment to understand what jameson is asking of him, then longer to figure out what to say. he wants to be off his feet. he wants to rip the pain from his nerves and the grime from his skin and hope it alleviates the screaming, burning in his soul.

achingly slowly, he points gingerly at the top of the stairs. he doesn’t want to climb them, but he doesn’t want to be down here either.

jameson doesn't know where to go from here ---- he knows the general direction, but none of the specific instructions. last time siggy had been hurt bad, he'd fucked it up colossally ( not in his opinion, but in siggy's ) and he's not about to make this state worse. but . . . then what? a gentle bath, and some supper, and off to bed, as though they'd awaken the next morning as though two weeks had not passed between them?

jameson has done this before, this precarious, terrifying routine called care, and he's by no means a natural.

his hand raises to stroke siggy's unwashed hair, and to thumb his cheek, and the emptiness beneath his eye, where, with anyone else, jameson might've expected tears. he doesn't kiss, doesn't do anything more than the slowest and softest of movements. he feels like he'd handling an atomic bomb ---- but that only thing this explosive will destroy, if he triggers it, is itself. he'd have kneecaps for whoever fucked up, if he knew how to get them. he'd have a city on its knees, if his anger burned hot. it doesn't. jameson is cold fusion, all energy and calculation and sharpness. his hands don't even shake with rage. he doesn't even show it.

" okay, " jameson repeats. the taste of words in his mouth is better than the cottony emptiness of his breathing. he presses the side of his face against siggy's head, presses his lips to his hair " how about you show me what you need, okay? i'll help you. "

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perhaps he should hire contractors to install sufficient lighting in luke’s yard. he starts backing out in the makeshift driveway since there is nowhere convenient to turn around and begins executing a strict three-point turn. any more than three undermines his authority, and he is a good driver. it’s too dark not to hope he doesn’t run over any haphazardly planted flowers, but then he remembers he does not care.

immediately two possibilities come to mind upon hearing luke dropped off the face of the earth and did not return: a) his phone is in an unusable state or b) he has been kidnapped. the shattered screen of luke’s phone comes to mind, and luke is ditzy enough that dropping it in a sewer grate or leaving it behind in a coffee shop doesn’t seem unlikely but siggy doesn’t live with blood in his teeth to cling only to the more likely explanations. besides, anyone named brad is definitely a menace to society who should be swiftly executed. this fact skyrockets the possibility that luke is in real trouble.  

“ okay. you were right to call. I’d rather this be a waste of time than be wrong and have done nothing. we’ll proceed under the assumption that luke is in the utmost danger. ”

he slips his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it with muscle memory before handing it to charles.

“ by the way, if this is a ruse, I’ll eat you. call the contact ‘gummy’ and put him on speaker. ”

charles doesn't jump to crazy conclusions easily. he's street smart ( that's what they'd said in school, when he'd shown no proficiency in books ) and he's experienced, and he knows when unanswered texts move from mindless to scary. something is wrong here.

the moment he'd come to this conclusion, he'd texted siggy with the situation. luke missing & not answering phone. have you heard from him? there hadn't been many messages between that and siggy showing up in the driveway. even so, charles worries he's wasted too much time trying to imagine his own solutions, when he no longer has the resources or connections to search a city for his missing boyfriend.

he's pushing open the door when the car honks, having been waiting and ready, and takes only a moment to lock the place behind him ( a light on inside, a note on the table, in case luke comes home ) before striding across the gravel drive to the passenger side. he tosses his bag in, and then follows.

" he told me he went to meet a friend. brad. not someone i've met, but you know how luke is with friends. he still hasn't answered my texts or calls. " the car is already moving when charles pulls on his seatbelt, then checks his messages again. they've been read. still no answers.

" i don't think this is friendly meeting turned friendly sleepover. he didn't even ask me to do the animal chores before he left. "