cloyingblccd

[cloyingblccd]

“Very cute,” Soren insists while Friday coos over Ritu, tossing an arm over her shoulders while Friday brushes back her hair. The least they could do was provide Ritu with some sort of comfort after humiliating her so openly - which hadn’t been Soren’s goal, but sometimes it was just too easy. “I think you were very brave for the way you so openly defended the aesthetics of the penis. Mine is very flattered, if it makes you feel better,” he snorted, knowing for a fact Ritu would be horrified with said information. Already, he was tucking a cigarette behind his ear, hoping to usher them out of the auditorium - he had about 30 minutes before he had to admit he was going back to the lecture hall, pontificating over how he’d explain that one to them. Completely missing Friday’s excitement before she all but galloped in front of them, pleading at them with a perfected look that always turned Soren’s insides mushy. Which she knew, often abusing the fact to get what she wanted. “Stop - Friday, fucks sakes, look at this thing,” The wallet Soren tugged out of his back pocket was pathetic at best, so old it was held together with duct tape. The only cards in there were a debit card with -$13.86 on it and his student ID.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t know how to get cash if that’s what they really needed. And Friday seemed completely impassive to his sympathetic pleas, whereas hers were Soren’s kryptonite. Dropping his arm from around Ritu’s shoulders, eventually giving in with a heaved sigh, “Yeah, fine - give me a second.” Glancing around at the students gathering in the auditorium's common area, Soren kept an eye out for the easiest target. It came in the form of an old hook up that he still saw during class, their relationship amicable, gaze immediately honing in on the way her purse was left unzipped and vulnerable. “Be right back,” Said casually to Ritu and Friday, like he was heading for the washrooms instead of preparing to publicly commit a crime. It was about as easy as he expected it to be, knowing the poor girl to be a hugger. As soon as they locked eyes and he gave her a comfortable wave, she was smiling and pulling him in - slipping his hand into her purse and tugging out the wallet that sat near the surface amongst the other knick knacks in the bag. He forgot how much larger women’s wallets tended to be, struggling for only a moment to shove the bulk of it into the back pocket of his jeans before she was pulling back to momentarily gab his ear off.

“I gotta get back to my friends,” he insisted, pointing to Ritu and Friday over his shoulder with his thumb, “but yeah - I’ll text, promise.” For the duration of his return to the girls, Soren lumbered backwards - waiting for his classmate to take the hint, turn around and back to her own group, lest she see the hulking weight of her wallet tucked in his pocket. Finally, when she did, Soren huffed - shoulders relaxing, show over, as he snatched it forward, shuffling through the contents. “How much is it?” He asked Friday, holding out a £20 note towards her and mildly side eyeing Ritu, who Soren couldn’t imagine particularly approved of his methods. “I’ll give it back to her in class Monday. Can you hurry up, I wanna go out for a smoke.” @rhythmicals

* ❪   🍂     ❫    : 𝗶𝘁'𝘀   𝗻𝗼𝘁   𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻   𝘀𝗵𝗲   𝗴𝗲𝘁𝘀   𝗮   𝗸𝗶𝗰𝗸   𝗼𝘂𝘁   𝗼𝗳   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰   𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻   𝗼𝗳   𝗮  𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱,   but   the   smile   that   washes   over   her   face   undoubtedly   comes   from   her   roommate   digging   herself   into   a   hole   farther than   soren   could've   ever   done   for   her.   they're   cheesing   at   each   other   with   a   hundred   watt   grin,   pink   tooth   gems   glimmering   in   the   fluorescent   lighting   that   dulls   out   the   auditorium   in   a   hue   of   grey   and   white.   without   a   second   to   breathe   friday's   being   yanked   out   of   her   seat,   hand reaching   back   to   snatch   her   bag   that   is,   of   course,   suddenly   stuck   and   wrapped   around   the   metal   chair   that   only   screeches   as   she   drags   it   along   with   her.   finally   freeing   it   from   its steely   clutches she's   throwing   it   back   on   her   shoulder   with   a   cackling,     ❝ RITU !   WAIT ! ❞   the   crowd   giggles   along   with   the   antics   showcased   before   them.   certainly   a   lecture   to   remember.   friday   is   nuzzling   her   cheek   into   ritu's   shoulder   with   a   cooing   awwww,   fingers   reaching   out   to   brush   ritu's   hair   back   and   away   from   her   face   as   the   AC   blows with   their exit.     ❝ i   think   that   was   CUTE !   you were   right.   penises   can   be great.   i   just   wish   they   came   with better   hygiene more often.   now where's   that   lecture   at ?   see,   that   would've   been   a   good   one. ❞    the   smell   of   freshly   baked   goods   surrounds   them,  carts  lined  in   a   holy   row   of   blessed   desserts   wafting through  flared nostrils   like   a   hound   dog   during   a   spring   hunt.    ❝ there's   no   way   you're   getting   something   like   this   all   the   way   over   there —  or wait,    is   that   ignorant  ? ❞    who   cares.   her   senses   are   consumed   by   the   promise   of   pumpkin   bread and cherry jubilee.     ❝ oh   my   god,   is   that ?    IS   THAT ?   PLEASE   tell   me   one   of   you   has   cash.   i'll   give   you   everything   i   have once we get back. ❞    friday removes   herself   from their tandem,   gaze flitting   between   the   two as   fingers   clasp   together   in   plea. she's   utilizing   her   puppy   eye   tactic for evil,   shooting   it   at   the   man   that   should   be   spoiling   both   women.   a   war   that   she's   eighty   percent   sure   soren   will   give   into   and   lose.  ❝ pleaseeeee,   look   it's   a   small   business   too !   think   about   the   small   businesses   sorie . . . ❞ a   pout   for   good   measure,   delicate   features   softening;   a   theatrical   wetness   to   big   green   eyes. *&. @cloyingblccd !

[cloyingblccd]

Robin loves Blue dearly. Sometimes, when they speak, she forgets that. Not out of malice, per se - more out of a maternal need to shove them out of their nest and force them to flap their wings for the first time. Primal, but necessary. “Blue.” Snapping fingers in front of their face as they seem to enter an alternate reality - potentially one where they were toying with the miniature truck they were lamenting about - to grab their attention again. “What the fuck’re you going on about?” Foam clings to their upper lip after they suckled in nothing but frothed beer. Robin’s face pinched, incapable of stopping herself from reaching forward and swiping it off with a napkin behind the bar top. “How long ago did you take it? You seem fucked already.” Though that was just how Blue was - he flabbergasted her as much as he endeared her. Belatedly, she wondered if some of the paint they’d gotten into their eyes the other day seeped into their brain. “Makes sense why you’re hanging around with me instead of frolicking amongst all the bachelors.” She mumbled, silently pouring out a glass of water and pushing it towards him. “Do you even know where you are? What’d I say about giving me a heart attack?” Gesturing to her own yellow adornment, she then reached forward and looped a finger in Blue’s, giving it a gentle tug. “When I said a singles mixer I meant the speed dating. Not a fucking power tool or shaker - or whatever the fuck you were talking about. You’re meant to be mingling, Blue. This is, like, the perfect place for you to get out all your -,” Desperation felt mean. Robin had to remind herself to reel back often with her more sensitive friends, “yearning.”

"dunno  ...  saw  a,  uh  ...  yellow  mixer  once,  all  worn  and  rusted  ...  kinda  like  one  of  the  toy  trucks  y'see  at  um  ...  goodwill,  y'know?  thought  that  was  kinda,  like  ...  sad.  baby  shoes  never  worn  -  but,  like  ...  concrete  mixer  always  worn."  a  forlorn  stare  into  the  blank  space  behind  robin's  head,  as  if  blue  remembers  that  yellow  mixer  as  vividly  as  the  day  they  saw  it.  they  blink,  then  -  brows  furrowing.  "we're  mixing  singles?  is  that  why  they  gave  me  a,  uh  ..."  fingers  uselessly  tug  at  the  green  glowstick  circling  his  neck,  "  ...  thought  they  were  having,  a  uh  -  rave.  think  i  got  too  ...  excited  -  just  took  some,  uh  ...  fucking,  molly.  british  molly.  i'll  be  -  pipping  my  cheerio,  soon,  i  think."  blue  draws  the  drink  in,  head  dipping  to  sip  at  pure  foam  rather  than  lifting  it  to  his  lips.  freak.  "nah  ...  yeah.  i'm  entering  my,  uh  -  evil  arc."  they  don't  look  behind  him  -  just  draws  his  shoulders  together.  "wing  woman  to  hench  woman  -  kinda,  uh  ...  sexy.  platonically.  after  y'bring  the  shot  ...  i  should  come  in,  all  like,  um  -  hey!  you  gave  me  crabs!"  voice  goes  high  -  pitched  in  a  mimicry  of  their  own  voice,  "to  the,  uh  -  guy.  the  guy  she  likes  -  not,  uh  ...  reject  guy.  to  clarify."

[cloyingblccd]

Like most things in life, Frankie was oblivious to the onslaught of competitive team members surrounding them. They were trying too hard to coax the cactus they’d just purchased back to homeostasis - knocked right from their grip by a giggling passerby squealing that she’d figured out one of the provided clues. It crooked slightly to the left, some roots uplifted and poking dejectedly out of its previously smooth pot of soil. There was a small crack running down the porcelain - Frankie was distraught. Even if their face remained stoic. Like he could sense their distress from across the parking lot, Swann’s call to assistance felt like a fated siren song. Logistically, there was no one more suited to help Frankie in this moment than the florist who’d sold the small succulent to them - and if there was anything they were good at, it was getting someone else to solve their problems for them. “Hey.” Frankie called back, with far less volume. They weren’t even sure if Swann had heard them, shuffling closer with the cactus outstretched like it was some sort of olive branch, when in reality they were about to task him further when he was clearly on break. “There’s been a murder.” A resounding silence surrounded them and stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time before Frankie was clarifying, “Not - I mean. Outside of… whatever’s, uh… going on. Here.” There was a large banner across the front of Dogwood Blossoms that read out the event name. Frankie continued to ignore it. “Sorry - it’s just… remember Rudy?” Showing the plant Swann had sold to them a mere handful of minutes ago. “Do you, uh, have an extra… pot? For him maybe? These people are - rambunctious. And he was… collateral damage. See?” They mumbled, pointing to the crack threatening to chip further and further away every time Frankie hazardously jostled it. They enjoyed having an overwhelming amount of florals and succulents on their side of the dorm, though their ability to actually keep them alive and take care of them properly was lacking. “Unless - you’re on… break? I can wait. I’m, uh. Super patient, I think. Or - come back. Go somewhere completely different. It’s up to you. Whatever… works. For you. Sorry. Hi.”

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱       :   swann     &     utp     ( @langstonstarters ) !

𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁: stolen flower cart quest.

𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿:   12:16pm.

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:  parking lot, dogwood blossoms.

*          ❪             🔏     ❫            :  𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘀   𝗼𝗳   𝗮   𝘀𝗼𝗱𝗮   𝗰𝗮𝗻   𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝘀   𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗹𝗼𝘁   𝗮𝘀   𝗵𝗲   𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻𝘀   𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸,  finally   taking   the   time   to   rest   from   performing   in   front   of   a   crowd.   a metaphorical   actor   and   his   ensemble   of   those   asking   questions   like hired PI's,   answering   each   and   every   one   with   a   muddle  of  descriptions.  an   ever   racing   mind   pausing   momentarily   as   he   downs   a   red   bull   like   it's   the   world's   last   shot   of   vodka,   wind   blowing   through   tufts   in   an   animated   hunger.   it   isn't   until   he   spots   a   familiar    face   that   a   steady   heart   kickstarts   again;   a   hummingbird   launching   itself   against   cage   bars.   ok,   ok,   ok   he   repeats   inwardly,   right   palm   wiping   against   the   side   of   his   dickies.   it's   a   pavlovian   reaction:   heat   underneath   his   skin   lighting   a   path   to   his   chest,   ribcage   a   bonfire   for   the   flames   that   burst   until   his   cheeks   are   a   ruddy   crimson.   he   swallows,   flitting   through   an   array   of   ways   to   go   about   it.   there's   option   one   —   look   away.   at   something,   anything   that   can   serve   as   a   good   enough   excuse   to   not   have   seen   them   at   all.   option   two   —   a   curt   smile   and   nod   in   acknowledgement.   more   is   less,   right   ?   fuck.   option   three   —   take   the   risk   of   utter   and   complete   fucking   embarrassment,   one   swann   wasted   no   time   in   choosing   as   he   leans   forth,   blurting   out   a   far   too   loud,    ❝   hey.    ❞    calling   just   about   everyone   nearby   to   attention.   honey   hues   flutter   closed   as   he   basks   in   the   humiliation,   shoulders   taut   in   a   stressed   'T'   formation,   fingers   clenching   anxiously   around   the   can   in   a   biting   grip.   nailed   it. he   musters   on   with   a   wince, ❝   are . . . you   out, er,   looking   for   the   cart ?   or   do   you   need   help   with   . . .   are   you   looking   for  — i can help you with whatever.    ❞   relax.

[cloyingblccd]

It was always hard to tell where Maeve stood. She was dry, sarcastic, but genuine in a way that almost felt intense. Point blank and straight-forward in her intentions - at least as far as Robin could tell. Even the way she held herself left no room for questioning. Clearly, she was bored, hanging around at the front of bar with Robin because of her multitude of rancid speed-dates. Robin had been a witness - Maeve was too good for this, even when The Lamb and the Flag was at its best. “Mmm, yes,” She crooned, leaning her top half across the bar, merely so she could cozy up to Maeve. Elbow on the marbled surface, chin in the palm of her hand, pressing her shoulder against the others. Robin’s gaze didn’t betray her, still moseying across the couple in question, but she felt the tell-tale lub-dub of her heart giddy up into a full blown gallop. She liked flirting with Maeve - excessively so. She was dazzling, beautiful enough that it hurt, intelligent to the point where she could hold an interesting conversation. Most importantly, funny. Sometimes, she made Robin laugh so hard she had to physically grab her torso, throw her head back and give in to a full fit of raucous snorting. Robin was uncharacteristically smitten, bemused in her affections towards the other and willing to drink up any time Maeve was willing to give her way.

“A total romantic, if you couldn’t tell. I’m so romantic I’m not even going to be disgusted by the options you just presented me with.” She was - pulling a face and everything. “Which one’s the divorcee - divorcee in training. Did you have to sit and talk to him?” Finally, dropping her hand so that Robin could turn her face - trying to read Maeve’s face. Who was generally good at staying impassive, never gave too much away. Which Robin always appreciated. Except when she suddenly felt brackish, shuddering at the idea of Maeve fighting tooth and nail to grin and bear it amongst the most rancid dating pool of men plausible. Then all Robin wanted to know was Maeve’s innermost thinking. “She’s not my type. A bit too…” Lackadaisically, she waved a hand as if attempting to conjure the right word. “I don’t know. Homely. She looks maternal.” Finally straightening again, Robin grabbed a shot glass, fingers dancing amongst the options of liquors in front of her, “What’s the worst shot we could give her? Something that curdles, maybe - or just straight Everclear. She seems like the type to pass out if she even smells something over 30%.” 

Hands still hovering in front of her, Robin raised a brow. Pausing, a bit stunned that Maeve had brought up the bracelet she brandished. Not because it wasn’t obvious, that the other wasn’t observant - or colour blind. But, somehow, Robin felt a bit caught. Like she was wearing her heart on her sleeve despite attempting to do the exact opposite. “I promise nothing I do is out of cowardice.” A bit snarky, but without any real heat. Merely informing, because Maeve meant well. She’d always been a bit too perceptive for her own good. Robin appreciated it when it wasn’t aimed in her direction, though there was a comfortability between them that didn’t make her shy away. She knew she could be defensive, tried to steer clear of it when it wasn’t necessary, but there were times where she got ahead of herself. “Maybe optimism - in the hopes to get laid without strings attached. But I’m not really all that optimistic anymore. Look at our audience.” She sighed, gesturing around them again. “You’re wearing green. I wasn’t gonna say anything but if we’re laying it all out on the table - I’m surprised. You seem…” It was a compliment, to Robin, what she wanted to say, though she knew some might take it personally; “too independent. I don’t know. I’m just surprised you’re looking. Sorry it’s been such a disappointment but, y’know. Know the crowd, I guess.”

maeve  didn’t  laugh,  but  something  in  her  face  relaxed,  the  kind  of  shift  that  only  happened  around  robin.  the  buzz  of  the  pub,  the  clink  of  glasses  and  the  awkward  hum  of  speed  dating,  all  of  it  dulled  at  the  edges.  she’d   been   slouched   at   the   bar   with   her   elbow   hooked   over   the   back   of   the   stool,   turning   her   green   bracelet   inside   out   on   her   wrist   like   she   could   erase   it   if   she   tried   hard   enough.   she   hadn’t   taken   the   speed   dating   seriously;   she   hadn’t   taken   anything   seriously.   but   robin’s   voice   always   had   a   way   of   making   her   pause.   “you’re  such  a  romantic,”  she  said  dryly,  taking  the  drink  robin  slid  toward  her.  “nothing  says  ‘modern  love’  like  mutual  public  humiliation  and  color-coded  desperation.”  she  turned  toward  the  couple  robin  had  pointed  out  —  hands  brushing,  heads  tilted  close:  disgustingly  hopeful.  maeve  tilted  her  head,  studying  them.  “god,   yes.”   she   took   the   drink   robin   slid   her   and   raised   it   lazily.  

“we   should   absolutely   destroy   any   possibility   of   happiness   in   this   room   before   it   spreads..  bring   her   a   shot,”   maeve   echoed,   “say   it’s   from   the   guy   in   the   corduroy   blazer   who   cried   when   he   said   he   likes   feet   ‘in   a   respectful   way.’   or  it’s  from  the  guy  with  the  ‘it’s  complicated’  bracelet  and  an  unprocessed  divorce.  then   leave.   no   context.   let  them  implode  quietly.” she   tilted   her   head,   still   watching   robin   out   of   the   corner   of   her   eye.   “unless   you’d   rather   make   her   fall   in   love   with   you   first.   ruin   her   slowly.   burn   it   all   down   with   meaning.”   a   half   pause.   then,   half-distracted   as   she   swirled   the   drink   in   her   glass.  she  looked  back  to  robin,  eyes  catching  on  the  yellow  band  around  her  wrist,   “you   picked   yellow.”   she   gestured   towards   the   bracelet   on   robin’s   wrist.   not   accusing,   not   judging.   just..   noticing.   “is   that   optimism   or   cowardice?”

[cloyingblccd]

One side of their face curled - lip rising, nose scrunching. They were having a silent conversation, Kasim clearly displeased, Frankie feeling guilty and somewhat awkward. They felt a bit like the gum on the bottom of Kas’ shoe when it came to their friendship - harmless, but constantly annoying. “Oh - sorry,” They mumbled, taking the hint as soon as Kasim was moving their hand off his mouth to snatch it back quickly. Everything they did lived amongst the field of being jerky, staccato, a puppet on strings. Instead, to keep their hands busy, Frankie began to wring them together - expression remaining stoic as they leaned in close, properly examined their roommates tongue. “Well - I don’t see any, uh… missing chunks. So far - so good.” Frankie was too busy with being thorough to notice a couple walking past them, doing a double take as they were eye level with Kasim’s stuck-out tongue. Which did have blood welling at the end, though it seemed to already staunch. “I, uh, I think… I think we avoided. A total disaster. I must have… sensed your presence. Knew I couldn’t - stand at full force. You’re welcome.” Their jokes always landed flat, considering the impassive delivery. “Your chin’s okay?” Ducking down further, Frankie couldn’t see any damage there either. A bit red from the sudden abrasion, but otherwise in tact. “I found a blender. On the sidewalk… the other day. It’s good for milkshakes. Wanna, uh, go back to our room? I’ll make you one. As a - y’know, sorry. They’re good because they’re made with love.”

kasim  had  just  wrapped  up  his  lecture  when  he  spotted  frankie  knelt  down  alone  in  the  courtyard,  fingers  busy  tying  up  their  shoelaces.  it  was  supposed  to  be  a  nice  thing,  a  roommate  /  friends  thing  to  pop  up  in  front  of  them  and  go  surprise,  except  kasim  finds  himself  on  the  receiving  end  of  pain  and  surprise  married  together  when  they  oh  -  so  -  suddenly  stand  up,  the  top  of  their  head  colliding  with  kasim's  chin  in  a  way  that  makes  him  see  stars.  and  the  universe.  and  at  one  point,  maybe  even  god.  his  lips  part  to  swear  so  colorfully  it  could've  been  an  elective  until  their  hand  covers  his  mouth.  brows  furrow together, eyes narrowed in a really? way  in  part  from  how  much  pain  he  is  in  and  in  part  from  disbelief.  despite  the  stinging  pain  in  his  mouth,  kasim  manages  to  choke out,  "  i  can't  fucking  tell  with  your  hand  over  my  mouth, " but  takes  the  ability  to  speak  (  again,  despite  the  pain  )  as  a  good  sign.  he  pulls  frankie's  hand  off  and  sticks  his  tongue  out.  "  is  it  bad  ?  "  he  asks.  it  sounds  more  like  ith  it  baf.  “  do  i  need  the  hospital  ?  ”

[cloyingblccd]

It was startled right out of her, when Junie let out a rather indecent bark of laughter at Jamie’s quip. She never grew bored of their conversations - it was refreshing, talking with someone that she regarded as having high intellect. And it wasn’t a mere observation. Her favourite thing about Jamie was that he had the wherewithal to prove her right in every corner of their lives. His grades and remarks were all she really needed as evidence. But then sometimes, he made her laugh, despite herself. It wasn’t that Junie didn’t have a sense of humour - that she didn’t laugh, or that she didn’t enjoy a teasing back and forth. She just regularly felt uncomfortable in doing so. With Jamie, it was almost inevitable.

“It’s all starting to make sense. I’m glad that she saw your talents and decided to capitalize on them as soon as possible.” During the moment of silence, Junie feels the need to break eye contact. A bit shy under his gaze, flustered by his grin. Instead, she spends the time shuffling her bag off her shoulder so that she can reach inside of it, eventually hand her copy to him in exchange. “You’ve got a bit of a following on Goodreads. Very impressive. But I want to see the real deal - what no one else gets to see. Have mine.” Being in his shoes, Junie suddenly felt uncharacteristically nervous. There was a pressure she hadn’t expected to feel - merely wanted to make Jamie comfortable. It was clicking now, that she’d given him just as much access to her brain as he’d done for her. It felt intimidatingly affectionate. “Take mine home, I’ll take yours. We can reconvene, just us.”

honestly,  it’s  a  little  stupid  how  skittish  the  situation  makes  him  feel.  it’s  not  like  he  has  any  reason  to  be,  and  he  knows  it.  the  sheer  stupidity  they  had  just  endured  together  is  probably  enough  to  make  him  seem  like  the  next  dr.  johnson  in  comparison  —  erudite,  wise,  and  most  importantly,  not  a  complete  idiot.  and  yet,  he  can't  help  it.  the  way  that  his  heart  skips  a  beat,  breath  hitching  in  his  chest  at  the  sight  of  her  soft  frown  of  concentration  as  she  looks  through  various  notes  and  scribbles.  jamie  prescott,  the  boy  who  once  spent  two  hours  arguing  with  a  teacher  over  her  uninspired  reading  of  the  life  of  pi,  is  now  reduced  to  nothing  but  a  bundle  of  nerves,  all  at  the  mere  prospect  of  junie  thinking  his  analysis  is  trivial  --  or  god  forbid,  derivative.

it  takes  him  a  few  seconds  to  register  the  joke  at  his  expense,  blank  expression  on  his  face  as  he  blinks  in  her  direction.  “how  did  you  know?  my  mother  put  me  in  a  freak  show.”  words  deadpan,  contrasting  severely  with  their  absurd  nature,  the  ensuing  silence  only  lasting  a  few  seconds  his  face  breaks  into  a  grin.  “i  guess  you’ll  just  have  to  wait  for  when  i  update  my  goodreads.  i  know  you  read  it,  i’ve  seen  your  likes.  very  flattering.”

[cloyingblccd]

Try as she might to keep her face impassive, Junie’s jaw clenches at Adrien’s teasing. A barely there twitch before she’s regaling him again, attempting a breezy look that she’s never pulled off a day in her life. It’s not that she’s not completely invested in his snark and can-do attitude when it comes to facing her own quips head on. Without fear, itching to challenge her back. It was the exact type she usually went for considering they never wanted to linger once they’d reached a mutual goal. But Adrien was a bit more than a mutual goal - their interactions felt like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Both keen and highly aware that what could be flirtations were an adjusting and seizing of power. Junie, because she was incapable of anything else - Adrien, because he unfortunately recognized this in her. It wasn’t something Junie ever tried to hide, but it was infuriating when it was thrown back in her face with as much ease as Adrien did, like he already knew everything about them. It was a shame, really. He was quite pretty. But Junie would never be the one to give in first - she had more pride than she knew what to do with. Instead, she could entice him into the best debates she’d had all week. Even if she ended up more incensed than coy with her own attempts at dalliance.

“Adrien,” She dragged his name out, eyes squeezing shut and opening again - wide and obviously a bit nettled. “Do you ever stop talking?” Their version of a light observation. He really was capable of taking something small and giving it weight until there was no option but to face it head on and forever. No beating around the bush. She would appreciate his tenacity if it wasn’t at her expense. “I don’t hold a grudge. If I held a grudge, I wouldn’t be here. I was expecting a bit more…” Pressing her lips together, Junie wondered how far she should push him. There was a part of her that wanted to tame him, render him malleable like more of her conquests. The other part of her hoped that he would never stop giving her grief. “Frankly, I was expecting a bit more excitement. I found you amongst the crowd, recognized your careless palette, despite almost everyone here having little to no taste. And you seemed rather beholden at the forum. Though I admire your enthusiasm. I don’t need the ego boost, but it’s lovely, nonetheless. I like being your exception.” She allowed that to linger between them, face giving away that she hadn’t meant to go on for so long - but it was fun. Junie was more refined than this. There was truth to her words as well as a playful element that proved she was merely trying to match him in stride without exerting herself - which she wasn’t. She almost wishes that she were. Everything about her appeal towards him would crumble in an instance if she had no idea how to meet his humour. 

Despite herself, Junie still snorted at his reaction to the drink - muted, but expressive. Clearly it would rot her teeth from the inside out within seconds. Though she still reached for it, blinking when Adrien tucked the cup behind him and away, apparently out of the picture. It made her brows crease, perturbed at the idea of him making such a choice for her. It didn’t help that he brought her height into it moments later. “Enough - I’m 5’1.” She wasn’t. Even when she stood on her tiptoes afterwards, still giving him a frustrated glance, she was more Grumpy Bear than intimidating. “You’re just freakishly tall. It’s unbecoming.” It was a bit mind-boggling, to be so pleased by the way he kept eyeing them whilst being so simultaneously irked with everything he said. “Are you under the impression you can just charm your way into everything?” She asked, fully giving up on poise - hands firmly planted on her hips and a brow raised. All Junie really wanted was a proper drink. Maybe a few shots - though Adrien finally was beginning to give her some promise, speaking of the secret hidden location of what was meant to be the better booze of the night. Belatedly, she glanced over her shoulder - still looking for her sister, though she’d been proven unsuccessful so far, and if Adrien could promise Junie something better than what’d been first gifted to her, she felt it foolish to deny him. Suddenly, she felt a bit antsy about being in such close quarters with him - it felt scandalous, when she wanted to get along with him. But Junie didn’t argue for arguments sake. Gnawing gently on her bottom lip, she eyed him up - there was a long beat that passed. Too long, most likely. Where she did nothing but continue to worry at her lip, stare at Adrien, and attempt to figure out what she wanted to do and what she was going to do. Apparently, they were one and the same.

“You’re so kind to me,” She mumbled sarcastically, but happily took his offer. A bit desperately, hands shaky as they grasped the warmed beer, but taking a few frenzied gulps all the same. Her hair that night did feature multiple small barrettes shaped as bows. Marijoy had placed them delicately after Junie had french braided it. She removed the one that clipped back a part of her bang that wanted to keep falling forward, finally doing so, as she reached up - and up, back onto her tiptoes - to place it into Adrien’s hair. A bit unruly. It was thick and curly, and Junie hadn’t been expecting the texture, pressing harder into the locks when she realized she needed to to have the bow stay in place. “There. Since you think I’m so cute.” This time, when she pressed her lips together, it was to hide how amused she was with his new decoration. Unfortunately, it was incredibly endearing. “I don’t want you to go easy on me. Can you stop acting like I’m some pathetic infant? I’m a grown woman, Adrien. If you’re going to make me a drink, I’d like a proper one.” Pausing, she considered her words, before heaving a deep sigh - like it physically hurt her to continue. “Please. Since you’re being so kind once again in doing so for me. I want something strong. I’m uncomfortable - way too sober for this. I’m finishing your beer, by the way.” She declared, raising it in a cheers, taking another sip of it. She hated beer when it was crisp - forcing down the luke-warm beverage made her physically cringe.

adrien leaned against the frame of the sliding glass door that opened to the party’s cluttered balcony, one foot crossed over the other, beer bottle slung loose between two fingers. he had lot his friends somewhere amongst the drink table. the dorm’s living room was already packed — shoulder-to-shoulder with undergrads reeking of cheap perfume and overconfidence, a bluetooth speaker struggling to survive the fifth remix of a 2010 club hit. someone had thrown glow sticks into the ceiling fan for ambiance, which had predictably turned into flying projectiles. he didn’t flinch when one smacked his shoulder: just blinked and grinned. he caught sight of her before she reached him — junie, moving through the crowd with that sharp-eyed, soldier-on-a-mission expression. her face carved from determination, chin tilted like she dared anyone to try and stop her. when she approached, his eyes dropped to the drink first, then rose slowly, deliberately, to her face. he tilted his head, feigning consideration as if she’d presented him with a fine wine and not what looked like liquified regret in a plastic cup. “well, well, well,” he drawled, shifting like he was about to be hand-fed grapes. “you really must be desperate.” he set his own beer down, gave her the full weight of his attention. something now shifted in him when she got close — his posture didn’t go stiff so much as engaged, like a cat stretching toward a dangling ribbon. always ready to tease, always ready to bite.

“you know,” he said as she held out the cup, “you bringing me mystery sludge at a party feels like a peace offering, but i doubt you’re being that generous tonight. and my refined palette?” adrien echoed, flicking his eyes toward her mouth and back up to her eyes with the barest glint of something wicked. “i only drink imported. french. occasionally flammable.” a barefaced lie, but a half truth. “you could’ve just asked to flirt, you know. didn’t need to resort to chemical warfare.” his voice lowered slightly — half flirtatious, leaning towards intimate. he didn’t move right away — just reached out two fingers, tapped the side of her cup, which fizzed ominously under the pop rocks like it was about to become sentient. he raised one brow. “i don’t usually take drinks from strange girls with grudges, junie,” he said her name, replacing the nickname sweetheart she had hated, like he owned it. “but for you, i’ll make an exception. if i die, i expect you to make a huge scene now.” he reached out, not for the cup at first — but to gently tap her wrist with two fingers, lazy and teasing. then, smoothly, he plucked the cup from her hands and studied it like it was an alien artifact. “i’ve put worse in my mouth,” he said, and without hesitation, took a long sip. he paused, blinked, then visibly grimaced: a face made like he’d just licked the bottom of a chemistry lab sink. “jesus christ.” he choked down a laugh. “it tastes like a melted candle and expired kool-aid. a 0.2 alcohol percentage away from straight fucking moonshine,” but he drank again, just to prove he could: always a little performative, watching her for a reaction.

he didn’t hand the cup back. instead, he took a step away and placed it firmly on the windowsill like it offended him. “you’re not drinking that. not the night you want to have.” then, casually, like it was just another passing comment in their back-and-forth, “don't torture yourself. pretty sure that kind of rubbing alcohol concoction doesn’t belong in someone who's hardly five feet tall’s body. not tall enough to ride the ride, and all.” he gauged her reaction and smirked, eyes flicking to really take her all in from head to toe. “want me to find you something better?” he asked, eyes scanning the crowd lazily. “could probably charm my way into something better. or just steal from the upperclassmen. you seem like you’ve got decent taste. i’m curious what you’d actually enjoy, though.” his gaze flicked back to her, sharp beneath the lazy grin. “and don’t say jungle juice. i’m not believing that the same girl that wears bows in her hair actually enjoys that shit.” he wasn’t looking for a reaction. already half-turned toward the kitchen, eyes scanning through the crowd like he had a mission. “i know where they’re hiding the good shit. back corner, under the sink. classy.” adrien reached behind him to grab a half-warm beer he’d left on the windowsill nursing earlier, offering it out to her in exchange in the meantime. “here, we can share,” he mused, trying not to sound too smug, watching her with a lopsided grin that hinted at trouble. “unless you’d rather play roulette and let me mix you something else. i’m very talented. three people have survived my bartending with full liver function.” his eyebrow lifted like a dare. “i’d go easy on you, anyways. you look good tonight. wouldn't want you to puke, it’d ruin the whole cute little outfit you’ve got going on.”

[cloyingblccd]

It wracks a shiver down Soren’s spine, hearing Dakota laugh in shock, abrupt and clasping at his abdomen in a way that was necessary. When a joke’s too good, something that makes you ache a bit. It leaves him a bit giddy, feeling like he already accomplished what he needed to. Soren knows he’s a tough nut to crack when it comes to breaking open even the softest outside shell of his personality, but one thing he could never properly hide was his abject need to please. At least right off the bat - for that first impression. If he vanished after that, at least that person always held him in a slightly high regard. It’d been the one way he could settle his dad when he was younger. Volatile and ranting about his mum, always angry with her for something. The dishes weren’t done. Dinner wasn’t ready at his convenience. She didn’t know he needed another beer - another scotch. When he slipped from beer to any hard liquor, that’s when Soren knew to bust out his best routine. Usually tossing himself under the bus, too - Can’t believe I tripped down the stairs at school today. It was totally humiliating. It made his dad laugh and laugh. Like the family’s indignity was the only thing that ever made his father happy. It was easy, after that, to continue with the trend. People laughed at small things like that - self-degradation, when it was impudent enough. Inconsequential. It was all he knew, and it seemed to land here, and all Soren could be in that moment was grateful. Embarrassingly so - he wanted to impress Kota. It must’ve been obvious with the way he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Something to worry about later, a bridge to cross if a rejection ever occurred.

Soren couldn’t help but snort at Dakota’s description of Canelo, shocked that after all this time he was being compared to a boxer, of all occupations. Realistically, he’d expected Kota to admit that it was some long forgotten muppet. Grasping at straws for the comparison - endeared at the way he toed the line, tried to get Soren to give up something about himself. It made him cough, his turn to laugh, wondering if Kota had been picturing him as a ginger up until this point. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Soren wheezed, scratching at his own temple. It was a bit alarming, to come to the realization that his own ignorance made him forget that Dakota had to go off - nothing, really, when it came to Soren’s looks. Clues, inappropriate jokes. It was impossible, to not pinch at his side again - Soren was beside himself with fondness. Like an insane person, he belatedly wondered if he could just telepathically transmit everything Kota needed to know about him, just to make things easier. And then he remembered that they’d known each other less than a month, this being their second time meeting, and he had to reel himself back, not before blurting a quick, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” No further explanation, before inhaling sharply and finally replying to Kota’s bait, “Super pale, yes. Glow in the dark, practically. Fuck - what a turn off. Not a ginger though - is that even worse? Are you totally about to, like, turn heel and run away? Do you have a kink for gingers? I can dye my hair - never done it before, but I’m not above it.” With a feigned ease, Soren watches Dakota’s face. Impassive, but seemingly creased along the edges, before taking his hand and guiding it to Lavender’s head. He doesn’t ask questions about it - doesn’t feel hurt or pushed aside, either. It’s not like he’s actively spitting in Soren’s face or hollering about needing space. Merely redirects the touch, and he’s already too distracted to think too much about it.

“I’m a blond.” Quick, impulsive - Soren wasn’t sure if he should give the tidbit past denying the original guess Dakota had. But it felt wrong that he knew so little about Soren at this point. For someone who was so used to wanting to give as little of himself as possible to anyone that mattered, it felt like a lump in his throat, that he knew Kota’s features, his name, and he knew nothing of Soren. Other than the fact that he was willing to embarrass himself to be up close with them like this. “Fuck - gimme a second, here.” The only warning he was capable of giving before dipping down, knees bent and settling onto the balls of his feet so that he could be at Lavender’s height. Soren wasn’t sure if she’d appreciate him suddenly getting on her level, but he was a bit too dumbstruck to care - he’d always wanted a pet. Tried to sneak a kitten into their tacky trailer back in Alabama. That’d ended so horribly he’s still unsure around other cats. Instead, he coos at Lavender, even though her tail’s not wagging. She’s also not biting him - he’ll take it. “Hey, good girl,” He whispers, going off on his own from Kota’s hand to scratch under her chin. “What breed is she? I love her. I’m stealing her and running away. Would you like that?” Switching back to a baby voice in his last sentence, turning his attention back to the unimpressed pup. “Stop flirting with me.” Soren has to duck his head then - despite the fact that there’s no perception to hide from. Even when Kota can’t outright see how bashful he feels, there’s a need to shudder from it. Tangled with the obvious desire to lay everything out on the table, confusing him, exciting him - it’s hard to remember the last time he’d been like this with someone. Wearing his heart on his sleeve is an intimidating idea, but all he wants to do now is feed it to Kota and see what occurs from it, the addition of Soren to their entire system. It’s not like he tries to shy from it - tripping over himself when he comes to a stand again, consumed with an urgency, matching Kota halfway so that when their foreheads pressed together, it could remain simple. Flirtatious but innocent. But where Soren stands, he could lean in further, a mere inch, and simply - turn it into something with heat, meaning. Instead, he trips over his tongue, to admit similar yearning. “You’re turning my brain to total fuckin’ mush, y’gotta relax for a second.” Begging, a bit. Almost incapable of keeping up at that point, while Kota lamented about his own wants and desires. Ones that matched Soren’s. “I am very trustworthy. I wouldn’t lie about something so serious - I think if this gets worse, you might even need to, like, give me 24/7 observation. It’d be the polite thing. I’m half convinced you did this on purpose, anyway. Did you? Be honest with me, I won't sue. I'd actually be pretty fuckin' flattered."

They’re so close - it genuinely feels a bit outrageous. And Soren doesn’t particularly ever feel as such, even with one night stands, people he’s comfortable with never seeing again. Baring himself in a way that’s scandalous and unseemly. This feels more like being lathed in a soothing balm, aloe over red-puckered skin. Everywhere Dakota grazes across makes goosebumps shudder to the surface, makes Soren audibly gulp. Multiple times, incapable of not doing so. Kota must’ve noticed at this point, that he was on edge in a way that was more delectable than nerve-wracking. Finally, quietly, he whispers, “Some nights, you were all I thought about.” Letting it hang between them for even more than a handful of seconds was already torture for Soren. It was so blatant, bold, a bit startling - everything he was when dalliance didn’t matter. It was like ripping a shredding claw down his voice box to admit it in that moment. It wasn’t like he had anything to lose - but for once, that was the terrorizing part. He didn’t know what to do with himself when this fast, this intensely, it’d be disappointing to lose Dakota from his life. More than disappointing - Soren burst into squawking, hysterical laughter, realizing how in deep he was. An outburst that didn’t fit in their conversation, but he continued on anyway, like he hadn’t just admitted where his heart lied, like it didn’t matter. Even if it did, even if he shook a bit with it. “It wouldn’t cause a scandal - a sex riot, maybe. Like in Glee. You’re hot, I’m hot. I mean fuck, maybe I’m just looking out for the general public! Which - y’know, to clarify, I don’t appreciate your insinuation. I totally heard the judgement in your voice. I’m not a giant slut or something!” He was. “Or - I mean, what if I was?” Slowly, Soren reaches a hand to scrub at his face. It was a bit dizzying, talking about being slutty with Dakota while his heart was hammering in his chest. “Yeah, obviously, you’re not like the other girls. That’s why -,” Whatever confession was about to flood out of Soren’s mouth ended with a sharp inhale. The way Dakota tucked him into a tight, miniscule hug left him ragged, always a bit pathetic when it came to his craving to just be touched, held. There’s an inch between them in height, but Soren takes advantage of it, pressing his face into the crook of Kota’s neck for that singular moment. He’s sure his hands shake a bit, where they dig into Dakota’s back. 

“A health presentation?” Soren’s hands still clutch at their shoulders - considering all their flirting, this was the hardest he’d blushed so far amidst their interactions. Still vibrating, somewhat, with how it felt to be wrapped in arms that could probably squeeze the air right out of him if Dakota tried. He never had the chance to pay attention to it, but Soren was properly scrawny compared to the other. The realization only made him swallow aggressively, shuffle where he stood, try as subtly as he could to adjust his jeans. “Don’t they know you smoke like a chimney?” They’d only shared a single cigarette together, but it felt like a safe area to joke about. “You had me at a seminar you’re presenting.” Exaggerated but truthful, still reeling but incapable of pulling back now, continuing to flirt with a lack of shame that could land him in trouble. Again, Soren leaned forward, pressed his forehead against Kota’s temple as he took in just how fucking nerdy the other could be when it came to their apparent position in student government. Which was to say, apparently being passionate was to be nerdy. Soren was sure he sounded the same when he went on about his composition assignments - it was so endearing, he had to start grinding his teeth together, lest he learn forward and simply chomp at Dakota’s shoulder with devotion. “I’ll be there. With tupperware to steal as much free food as I can. Really no ideas what it might be about? I could probably listen to you talk about how vasectomies are the new chic kink in town and I’d be like - well yeah! Sounds about right! Still bricked up and everything like my balls aren’t on the line.” Soren heard it - Kota’s promise outside of what was guaranteed at the lectures, seminars, etc. It was in those small moments that made him continue to press himself against their side, disgusting with it, clingy and promising a part of himself he wasn’t sure he could follow up on. It didn’t matter. He still nodded, lifted his arm so that when Dakota looped his hand through his bicep they could walk side by side together properly. “It’s cool - we can go out after for real drinks, if you want.” Taking the commitment to a next level and insinuating it’d be nice, to be together afterwards, no obligation necessary this time. Date didn’t feel like the right word, because that would make Soren physically recoil in shock - but it was. An intimate hang out between two people who were seemingly interested in each other. It couldn’t be anything else. And instead of flinching at the idea, it made him gulp - again, needing to take a deep breath multiple times in their conversation, openly lewd about it.

The entire time Kota trusted Lavender to guide them to a more shaded area, his gaze didn’t leave the other’s face. A bit gobsmacked - the way he’d been when they’d first met, and the initial panic had dissipated. He still hadn’t had the honour of glancing over all of Kota’s features, but it didn’t feel like he needed to. Wanted to, selfishly, of course - but Soren was happy to take in his side profile. Sharp jaw, sloped nose, even Kota’s forehead held strong. Every piece of him seemed to come together in a way that was undeniably stunning. Soren would never be sure of what to say, if Kota ever continuously sought out what he looked like. It didn’t seem like his angle - barely hinting at wondering what Soren’s hair colour was. Still, it made him worry. He was scrawny, and gangly - his nose was bulbous, and his ears stuck out. His teeth were so large they could open a can. He’d never been an insecure person, but he’d also never felt so deeply about someone who might eventually become curious about what made him him. Suddenly, he realized, he didn’t think too much of what the pieces of him were made up of. “Huh?” Stupidly, Soren realized he hadn’t been listening to anything Kota said. “Sorry, I was… I mean I was just kinda staring at you,” What was the point in hiding his intentions now? It wasn’t like he hadn’t been blunt this entire time. “Dude - fucks sakes. I know you’re tryna tarnish my business, but if you’re gonna pick up off someone else can you at least hide it from me?” He teased, jerking his arm slightly - incapable of actually tugging it out of Kota’s hold in disappointment, though he hardly yanked with enough pressure to do so. Clearly, pathetically, enjoying the touch, unwilling to separate from it. “Yeah, I’m not doing anything. Came here for you, anyway.” After a pause, Soren burst into shocked laughter - stomach flip-flopping at the mention of Dakota riding him there. His favourite thing about them was that Soren couldn’t tell if that was just how they talked or if Kota was purposely speaking in double entendres. He was clever, that much was clear, so Soren couldn’t completely take the latter out of account. “What is wrong with you?” He chuckled, scrubbing a hand over his face - again. “No, no - I’ll totally give you the ride of your life if that’s what you want.” An eye for an eye. Soren was seconds from busting out of his skin - with the hand that wasn’t attached to the arm Kota was still holding onto, he had to hold it up to his mouth, bite quickly at the knuckle of his index finger. Chomped, hard - for a spare second, just to clear his mind, bring him back to earth. Though it felt like he almost made it worse. “How much longer do we have here? I might need some water - like, now, kind of.” He probably sounded as desperate as he felt. “Do you still have that bottle on you? I burn like a motherfucker, y’know. It’s for my sanity. Like, what if I just passed out here? Fuck - actually that’d be more humiliating for me than anything. I’m not gonna, I just - I really need, like, something cold right now, I feel. It’s hot out.”

*          ❪             🎱            ❫            :  𝗮𝘀   𝗻𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘁   𝗮𝘀   𝗱𝗮𝗸𝗼𝘁𝗮   𝘄𝗮𝘀   𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱   𝘁𝗼   𝗯𝗲,   𝗵𝗲   𝘄𝗮𝘀   𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹   𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗻.   still   flesh   and   bone.   still   with   the   desires   of   a   man   who   took   praise   like   a   shot   of   vodka.   smooth   and   quick.   as   easy   as   ever.   a   man   he'd   barely   met   a   month   ago,   hitting   all   the   points   necessary   to   keep   his   interest.   the   transition   from   scandalous   heat   to   abrupt   surprise   hits   him   like   a   train,   going   silent   for   a   moment   so   that   his   brain   can   fully   process   what   was   said.   cracker,   a   descriptor   used   in   the   context   of   the   obnoxiously   privileged.   a   wheeze   leaves   his   chest,   a   smokers   cough   that   rattles   everything   within   and   nearly   has   him   doubling   over.   ❝ what   the   hell, ❞      a   statement   of   disbelief,   palm   leaving   soren's   body   to   lay   flat   over   the   sore   of   an   overexerting   abdomen.    ❝ fuck ok,   noted, ❞      he   adds,   taking   fact   that   soren   had   a   more   salt   and   pepper   culture,  versus spice and flavor,  as   it   were.   little   information   received   from   tracing   the   side   of   his   face   could   attest   to   this. dakota   hadn't   quite   felt   the full extent of his   features,   wondering   momentarily   if   soren   had   the   usual   button   nose   and   doll   eyes   his   fairer   partners   wore.   canelo   turned   out to be   the   perfect   nickname then.   he'd   chosen   it   specifically   for   soren's   knack   of   whacking   people   without   warning,   though   fate   always   had   her   own   form   of   humor.   fate.   coincidence.   were   they   the   same ?   the   cross   that   flattens   against   dakota's   chest   as   soren   grips   at   him   every   which   way,   moves   suddenly,   toward   the   forefront   of   his   mind.   teetering   on   faith   every   other   day. habitually   after learning  of the  newer ( sometimes older )  exhaustively terrible  things   that   were   happening   in   the   world.   if   a   god   truly   existed,   would   they   allow   things   like   that   to   happen ?    selfishly, rottenly — moments   like   these   forego   it all.   feeling   gooseflesh   rise   the   same   way   it   did   when   walking   through   church   doors,   delicate   fingers   dancing   over   splintered   pews.   if His plan existed, was   this   apart   of   it ?    a   voice,   deep   and   slurring   echoes   from   afar.   all   too   familiar   with   bile,   morphing   together   with   the   man   he'd   made   a   vow   to   never idolize: this   isn't   right.   this is wrong.   unnatural.  his father. His Creator.  most days the two were one in the same.  this   isn't   right.   this is wrong.   unnatural.   but   soren's   pawing   at   him   like   he's   never   felt   the   touch   of   another,   giving   taunts   as   good   as   he   throws   them,   using   his   own name   as   a   one   up,   flirting   with   him   publicly   without   regret,   and   desperate   for   the   approval   of   a   four   legged   animal   physically   incapable   of   uttering   a   single   word.   if   He   was   real,   he   adored   dakota entirely. 

 ❝ canelo, ❞    he   repeats,   far   off   and   low. not   yet   in   his   body.   thinking   and   stuck   in   the   thought   process   that   muddles   what's   being   said   next.   ❝ my   dad's   favorite   boxer   for   a   couple   years   now.   he   doesn't   usually   give   new   fighters   a   chance,   but   there   was   something   about   him   i   guess.   pale   dude.   super   super   ginger   from   what   i   hear.   sound   familiar ? ❞      which   was   as   good as   it   was   gonna   get.   dakota   was   straightforward   sure,   but   he'd never   ask   anyone   to   describe   what   they   looked   like.   felt   far   too intimate.   feeling   soren's   scar   nearly   sent   him already.   made   it   a   rule   long   ago   not   to   touch   people's   faces.   feel   them   for   who   they   were.   a   while   since   something   like   that   happened,   black   waves   twirling   in   his   finger   as   selena   laughed   out   a   joke   she'd   been   told   earlier   that   day,   feeling   the   smile   lines   at   the   edges   of   glossed   lips   that   accidentally   smeared   over   dakota's   fingers.   he   hadn't   been   blind   then.   took   her   for   everything   she   was. the act of tracing, memorizing,    felt   like   a   privilege   he   could   no   longer   afford.   deeply emotional attachments   an   issue   he   actively   worked   to   avoid,  romantic   elements   lost   on   him   long   ago   the   more   responsibilities   had   been   stacked   on   him.   until   his   back   curved   with   each   and   every   task   that   had   to   be   done,   collecting   them   in   the   coral   knobs   of   a   spine   that   only   strengthened   over   time,   forgetting   what   it   felt   like   to   stand   straight and loose.   maybe   this   is   what   it   felt   like.   he   begins   to   slowly   recall.   here,   with   soren's   fingers   above   his   face,   doing   exactly   what   he   refused   to   do   without   regret.   the   tables   turn,   soren   asking   him   if   everything   is   okay.   if   he   was   physically   pained.  concern  pushing   him   further   into   the   pool   of   anxiety   that   heightens.   he's   close   to   overstimulation,   body   reflexively   holding   onto   soren's   fingers   with   an outstretched    hand   that   moves   them toward   lavender's   head.   directing   him   to   the   fur   between   her   ears.   an   easy   distraction   for   just   about   anyone   who   loved   a   moving   one   hundred   pound   teddy   bear,   and   the   perfect   distraction   to   ease   growing   nerves.   her   warmth   transfers   into   dakota's   hands.   ❝ you   can   pet   her, ❞    while   already   petting   her   together,   ❝ it's   fine,   i'm   fine.   i   won't   die   if   you   love   on her   for   a   second, ❞      he   chuckles,   breathy   and   not   fully   relaxed   yet,  but   it's   certainly   a   start.   good   enough   for   now.   a   hint   he   hopes   soren   can   take   and   roll   with.    soren   has   got   her   attention   for   more   than   a   few   minutes,   lavender's   tail   remaining   stiff   from   the   inability to immediately   trust   men   that   surround   her handler.   she's   passively   allowing   the   interaction,   focused   mainly   on   the   man   that   arches   a   brow now,   ready   to   target   soren's   confidence   again,   ❝ maybe. ❞    

  absurd   considering   she   was   not   necessarily   used   as   a   medical   alert   dog.   dakota   didn't   have   any   chronic   ailments   that   needed   constant   medication.   he   was   more   than   capable   of   knowing   when   he   needed   to   take   his pain meds.  perhaps   a   reminder   every   now   and   then   to   take   them was needed,   but   never   enough   to   have   an   episode   that   fully   incapacitated   him.   at   best   she   performed   daily   tasks   that  made   life   easier:   act   as   a   barrier   when   others   are   far   too   close   for   comfort,   provide   the   service   of   pressure   therapy   on   particularly   harrowing   nights   when   he   feels   like   the   earth   is   caving   underneath   him.   weightless,   weak,   and   being   taken   away   from   the   safe   space   of   a   mattress   that   floats   with   him   on   it.   lavender's   capability   of   lowering   herself   on   him   was   one   he   cherished   greatly   these   days,   doing   his   best   to   avoid   a   stress   induced   nightmare   for   the   sake   of   his   roommate.   a   stranger   he   absolutely   did   not   want   poking   into   his   business.   not   that   he   assumed   they'd   care   to   ask.   if   anything   it   could   be   used   a   source   of   a   gossip,   which   was   usually   the   case.   people   were often   predictable.   he   didn't   have   the   time   to   get   to   know   them and confirm this theory,   though.   perhaps   he   should   offer   them   a   chance;   the   benefit   of   the   doubt.    ❝ not   that   fast ?    well   now   i'm   kind   of   upset, ❞    a   frown   to   rival   the   theatre   nerds    currently practicing   their   monologues,   spewing shakespearean scripture   atop   a   spurting   fountain.    ❝ i   guess   you   didn't   wanna   see   me   that   bad.   whereas   i   dreamt   of   you   nightly. ❞      not   a   whole   lie,   though   not   the   entire   truth   either.   dreams   were   on a   rare   occasion.   he   had   dreamt   that   night, however.   waking   up   in   a   cold   sweat,   the   nature   of   its   cause   not   due   to   the   horrors   of   a   burdened   childhood.   this   time,   with   the   long   fingers   of   a   man   he'd   met   for   less   than   sixty   minutes,   sliding   up   the   planes   of   his   back   and   squirming   underneath   until   there   was   no   inch   of   space   left.   odd,   and   unlike   him   to   latch   onto   someone   so   quick.   whatever.   he'd   used   it   to   get   himself   to   sleep   faster,   bones   heavy   and   brain   a   fog   of   pleasure.    ❝ you   could   be   lying about the bruises,   though.   i   guess   i'll   have   to   trust   your   word.   you   think   i   can   do   that ? ❞     leaning   in   close,   testing   the   waters   to   see   if   soren   would   oblige   willingly,   using   the   advantage   of   an additional inch.   the   cool   touch   of   soren's   skin   against   the   warmth   of   dakota's   is   a   thunderous   effect.   body   temperatures   on   overdrive.  a   sensory   overload   that   lingers   like   a   storm   cloud,   in lieu   of   a   hurricane   is   a   sunshower   of   giddy   nerves   rumbling   in his   stomach.   he   likes   it.   alot.

  ❝ reputation   this,   reputation   that.   are   you   a   superstar   around   here   or   what ?    you   think   being   seen   with   me   would   cause   a   scandal ? ❞   upping   the   ante   in   a   gambling   game   he's   played   plenty   of   times   before,   a   confident   smile   slipping   on   a   passive   face. that is,  until   soren   plays   his   cards   outright.   blunt   and   to   the   point   with   no   room   for   miscommunication.  ' i   got   excited   when   i   saw   you. ' that   was   cute. ' i   missed   you.  '  everything   after   that   is   muffled   in   dakota's   ears.   a   seashell   whooshing with   an   unexplored   world   inside of   it. a rush of   blood   that   breaks   the   sound   barrier.  soren   had   missed   him.    quickly   before   he   can   panic   he   recovers   with,    ❝ poised   and   hard   to   get —    are   you   sure ?    now   i'm   kinda   getting   the   hint   of   what   your   rep   is.   don't   you   know   i'm   not   like   other   girls, ❞    he   tuts,   despite   knowing   the   connotation   itself   would   make   him   frown   if   anyone   else   had   used   it.   truthfully if   he   was a girl,   he   definitely   would   be like any other. human, still. flesh and bone.   who   didn't   want   to   be   searched for ?    missed ?    dakota's   about   to overdo it, he knows.   irrevocably   overcome   by   the   will   to   display   his   appreciation   for   soren's   honesty.   without   a   second to think, soren's collected in his arms. forearms locked around a thin waist,   pressing   against one another tightly.   a   fleeting   moment   that   lasts   a   mere   second.   a blink   and   you'll   miss   it   thank   you.   an   abnormal   way   of   doing   so   with   an   acquaintance,   but   it's   a   moment   he   doesn't   take   for   granted.   something   to   calm   soren's   anxiety   down   for   confessing   something   that   clearly   puts   him   in verbal   overdrive.    ❝ i   have   a   seminar   i'm   hosting   next   week, ❞    he   interjects,   reaching   out   to   grab   lavender's   harness,   ready   to   move   away   from   the   sun   that   beats   down  on  his   back, fabric   clinging   to   his   shoulders   like   a   second   skin.   ❝ — oh,  for   student   gov   this   time. so no need to put the war paint on. we've    been trying   to   organize   a   few   concepts   that   would   entertain   different   kinda   groups.   some   for   socializing,   some   for learning, yada yada. . .   i   think   they   want   me   to   lead   a   health   presentation,  but  i'm   not   sure   what   that entails yet. should   be   getting   the   materials   sent   to   my   email   sometime this   evening.   you   can   bring   your   friends, if you'd like.  there's   also   free   food at each if i'm not wrong. ❞   and   if   that   doesn't   excite   him   enough,    ❝ free   drinks   too.   can't   promise   school's  gonna provide  the   fun   kind   though. ❞   an unspoken, but i will for you.  suggestive   and   naughty.   unlike   someone   who   promises   to   uphold   academic   values.   but, langston   was   his   school,   not   palladian.   right ?   loopholes.

  he   commands   lavender   to   move   forward,   following behind   as   she   does   so,   using   a   free   hand   to   link   it   through   soren's arm,   pulling   him   along   until   she   finds   a   more   shadowed   space.   remaining   close   to   the   crowd   that   begins   to   disperse   as   his   team   begins cleaning   up   whatever   mess  has  scattered   along   the   lawn.   erratic   weather   means   a   breeze   picks   it   up,   making   everyone's   life   much   harder.  a   grouchy   groan   comes   from   someone   who   watches   their ringleader   preen   for   someone   in   the   corner.   distracted. ❝ i   have   to   go   pick   something   up   after   this.   you   can   ...   come   with,   if   you   don't   have   anything   else. ❞   tone  hopeful, albeit   refusing   to   be   desperate   despite   the   way   he   hasn't   released   his   grip   on  the   blonde.   bicep   tightening   against   the   side   of   his   chest.   the   one   leading   instead   of   being   led.    ❝ kinda   boring   i   know   but   maybe   with   your   ostrich   speed   it'll   be   over   in   a   second.   i'll   just   hop   on   and   ride   ya   there. ❞ an   irony   that   he   enjoys   by   himself,   reaching   up   to   scratch   at   the   suddenly   itchy   piercing   along   his   left   ear.   a   nervous   tic   that   readies   him   for   the   possibility   of   rejection.

[cloyingblccd]

PSA ABOUT BRI @cloyingblccd

do NOT interact with this individual they have done many terrible things!!! below the read more is the list of many terrible things they have DONE!!!

be sexy

write sexy muses

a secret third thing ( it's being sexy again )

[cloyingblccd]

Like a cat draped in a warm pool of sunlight, Soren spread himself across her bed. More than before, like it was his own - turning so that he could rest his cheek in the palm of his hand, chuckling at Zahara’s deduction. “What a title. Patron Saint of well intentioned chaos kinda goes hard. Y’know I dressed as Dionysus for Halloween last year. That’s kinda the same thing, isn’t it?” Answering her question with a question felt like cheating. But Soren never knew how to answer anything about himself - anything past surface level observations. Zee knew him better than most. It was hard to escape her perception of him, and it both made him itch with discomfort while simultaneously feeling soothed that someone he thought so highly of knew him at an almost intrinsic level. Zee was in their own bubble in Soren’s mind - something untouchable and glossy with perfection, even if he knew that was never an achievable feat. But if anyone came even somewhat close, it was Zee.

“Yeah, right. Did you tell Luca I was coming? He hates my guts.” Anyone who wasn’t immediately charmed by Soren he assumed hated him. There was always a need there, to be liked, even if he constantly went about it the wrong way. Occasionally immature, aggressive with his intentions. It always made him more and more grateful to Zahara, that somehow she saw something worth sticking around for. Soren would have her in his life as long as she never clued into the fact that everything about him was a farce. They were opposites in that way - Zahara showed her cards without expecting anything in return. Soren took where he could and hid it away for safe keeping, made sure he knew how to worm his way into someone’s life for his own benefit. They were one of the first people he wanted to try for - saw that her worth was more than something he could benefit from, and more as something that felt so disgustingly pure. A gift. He tried with her - he showed his cards. “Fuckin’ hell,” he squawked, immediately jolting forward to pinch their face. Squeezing their cheeks between thumb and index so that their lips pooched out like a pouty fish. “Fucks sakes. You’re so god damn adorable. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Zee’s frustrated face was about as fear-striking as a kitten mewling for a bowl of milk. Endearing and placating to the audience in a way that made all of Soren’s rough edges melt, willing to give them whatever they wanted. “What, you think I’m so charming? Or I’m insufferable?” Humming under his breath, pleased at the offer of her snack, Soren leaned forward - chomping at the edge of it with his teeth instead of merely grasping at it like a civil person with his fingers. “You’re the best,” Sounded more like yer the befth with his lips still wrapped around the chocolate as he peeled it out of its casing. Finally sitting up in her bed and pawing at his guitar case, opening it while waving her off, “Please. Fuck’s sakes. You don’t have to practice, you’re not meant for anger. It looks - weird on you. You’re, like… warmth personified.” Placing the rest of the Reese’s into the now emptied guitar case, Soren plucked lazily at the strings. Playing out a soft tune he’d been toying with but wasn’t sure of yet, glancing at her through his lashes as he continued. “I totally have an ulterior motive here,” He admitted, handing her the sheet music he’d made so far, lyrics broken into two parts - the melody and then the harmony. The sheet he’d handed her had the melodic notes highlighted. “I wanted to work on this with you ‘cause I thought it’d be nice if we, like, performed it together. Your voice is killer. And I asked my prof, he doesn’t care if I bring someone else in for it as long as I show my work, that I did the writing process. And I am technically - but I want your opinion. And help with the lyrics. You’re better at that part. You in?”

the  door  swung  shut  with  the  dramatics  of  a  curtain  call,  and  zahara  didn’t  need  to  turn  around  to  know  who  had  walked  in  like  he  owned  the  place.  they  could  hear  it  in  the  cadence  of  his  voice:  too  bright,  too  proud,  some  boyish  alchemy  of  mischief  and  affection  that  always  wrapped  around  them  like  sun-warmed  linen.  “  and  where  did  you  acquire  these  gifts?  from  your  adoring  fans  i  assume?    ”  they  say  without  looking  up.  voice  was  low  and  amused,  almost  fond  enough  to  be  dangerous.  still,  she  shifted  on  her  comforter,  instinctively  making  room  for  him,  like  always.  an  unspoken  ritual.  they  caught  the  smell  before  they  caught  the  sight.  salt  and  peanut  butter,  chocolate  and  something  like  shampoo  clinging  to  him  from  his  mad  dash  down  the  hall.  he  dumped  himself  and  his  entire  snack  pilfering  bounty  onto  their  bed  like  a  cat  gifting  dead  birds,  looking  entirely  too  pleased  with  himself  as  he  collapsed  in  an  unceremonious  sprawl  beside  them.  a  pop-tart  packet  hit  their  hip;  a  bag  of  something  gummy  settled  in  the  crook  of  their  knee  like  it  belonged  there.  “  you,  ”  zee  said,  slowly,  as  if  coming  to  a  conclusion  that  had  haunted  philosophers.  “  are  the  patron  saint  of  well  intentioned  chaos.  a  walking,  talking  serotonin  disruption.  do  you  know  that?  ”  he  didn’t.  or  he  did  and  didn’t  care  —  more  likely.  soren  thrived  in  the  sacred  act  of  being  too  much.  “  no  oz  tonight,  ”  she  confirmed,  brushing  a  granola  bar  off  her  thigh  with  regal  disinterest.  “  he’s  in  his  room,  communing  with  the  spirits  of  miles  davis  and  virginia  woolf.  ”  which  was  a  kinder  way  of  saying  their  roommate  had  an  english  paper  due.  she  turned  to  him  then,  folding  her  legs  beneath  her  and  eyeing  him  like  one  might  eye  a  hurricane  that  had  been  invited  indoors.  he  looked  at  home.  lounging  like  he  was  auditioning  to  be  part  of  the  furniture,  guitar  case  yawning  beside  him  like  an  exhausted  companion.  and  then,  the  kicker.  he  called  her  bluff,  like  he  always  did.  where’s  my  angry  face,  zee?  he  asked,  too  delighted  for  someone  supposedly  seeking  punishment.  she  huffed.  rolling  her  eyes  like  she’d  been  personally  slighted  by  the  request.  and  then  with  all  the  conviction  of  a  soap  opera  villain  and  none  of  the  venom,  zahara  drew  herself  up,  back  straight,  eyes  narrowed  to  slits,  lips  pursed  like  a  teacher  catching  a  kid  in  the  act. 

“  soren  thomposn,  ”  she  intoned,  voice  rich  with  mock  judgment.  “  you  have  trespassed  upon  sacred  ground  armed  with  contraband  sugar  and  the  audacity  of  a  man  who  thinks  he’s  charming  enough  to  get  away  with  it.  which…irritatingly…you  might  be.  ”  their  composure  cracked  a  moment  later,  laughter  bubbling  up,  warm  and  helpless,  like  a  champagne  cork  popping.  “  you’re  insufferable,  ”  they  added,  reaching  across  him  to  grab  the  sleeve  of  reese’s  cups  with  an  air  of  tragic  resignation.  “  and  clearly  too  powerful.  i’m  going  to  have  to  smudge  the  room  after  you  leave.  cleanse  the  energy.  realign  my  chakras.  light  seventeen  candles.  ”  and  yet  zee  was  smiling,  sun-drenched  and  soft  despite  themself.  she  tore  open  the  packet  and  offered  him  one  like  a  communion  wafer.  “  you  didn’t  give  me  enough  time  to  practice.  ”  she  said,  quiet,  like  a  secret.  “ now quit blinding me under the spotlight of your smug attention, you're the one whose supposed to be in the hotseat. where's the song? ”

[cloyingblccd]

for: leona remington-carr ( @collegiatesins ) where: the ruins ( secret "beltane" celebration & bonfire )

On the come-up of a rather barbaric high - they almost exuded willpower for a moment, almost denied the 'gift' upon their entrance to the bonfire - Frankie began to realize their mistake. Psychedelics weren’t all that kind to them, the world already morphing around them in ways they couldn’t keep up with as it was. Their only salvation came in recognizing Leona from the other side of the raging fire - they’d shared a few Linguistics classes together, been paired up for an assignment. They grew attached as easily as moss growing life across an unsuspecting rock face, and Leona had been nice. It’d been all Frankie had needed, really, to quickly become fond, though they’d never mustered up the courage to text her outside of class, ask if they could spend time together just them, without an agenda. Better late than never. “Hello, Leo,” They greeted - somewhat startling, at her side in a flash and looming over her a bit ominously. They were in turmoil and had no concept of what was socially acceptable the best of times. “I have a. Uh, very classified mission for you. It seems I’ve… overdone it. In the shrooms department. Maybe. I don’t know. I could just be… being Miley. Y’know - how everyone does. Okay - okay, so. If it’s not… too much to ask for. I think I’ll, uh. Stay right here. With you. If you’re not… busy. With anything else.”

[cloyingblccd]

for: friday markov ( @ex3rtion ) where: rabbithole ( battle of the bands )

The band currently wailing on stage had Frankie’s brows residing somewhere in their hairline for the better part of a half hour now. The most expressive they’d been in a while - they were all for artistic expression, but would probably never understand the appeal of music when it’s nothing but outright screaming. Flinching at a particularly gruesome shriek, Frankie blindly reached across the bar top for their drink, reacting to the first gulp with the poise of a fish out of water. Holding the liquid in their mouth before glancing at the glass with stark betrayal, eventually swallowing audibly before rasping a horrified, “Fucks sakes.” It only took a handful of seconds to realize they’d obviously grabbed the wrong drink, making eye contact with a gobsmacked Friday whose hand was held halfway towards what was meant to be her glass. “Oh - m’sorry,” Sheepishly, Frankie pushed what was left towards Friday, still obnoxiously smacking their lips. “Think I - accidentally drank your… battery acid. What is that? It’s, uh. Pretty awful. Unless you like it, then. Sure, yeah, I like it too. But, uh… it really is. Shit.”

[cloyingblccd]

for: juniper ridley liao ( @distortedblurs ) where: the courtyard ( meteor shower viewing & party )

Pupils were blown as wide as blackholes when they noticed June shuffling amongst the few students that'd already gathered. Their reaction was immediate - a quick inhale and a suddenly more poised posture, even though June slouched, had a signature furrow of her brows. Frankie had always tried too hard with her, and never thought to do otherwise, because for some reason, she kept tolerating their company. "Juniper." It was meant to be uttered lowly, an attempt to call to June and June only, but Frankie's whisper yell was more of mangled hiss. Less than conspicuous, causing a few people to glance in their direction, a bit startled. In all fairness, it sounded like Gollum had suddenly possessed them in their desperation to get her attention. Waiting until she finally took the hint, approached after they continuously coaxed her to with an exaggerated wave of their hand, they finally gifted her a rare, genuine smile. Still a bit watered down, probably looking a bit forced to anyone that didn't know them, but it reached their eyes. "So. The molly here is... strong. I'm - slightly convinced. That I did just... straight meth. I thought with -," Gesturing to the sky above them, still waiting for the crux of the shower to begin, though a few meteors had passed by already, "Thought it'd. Be... pretty. I might've fucked up. Want some?" They'd never make it as a salesperson. "Also. Hello. Can we lie down?" Frankie toed at the grassy terrain beside them. "My knees hurt."

[cloyingblccd]

for: romy kovach ( @tintedswindows ) location: franklin & brown antiques ( weekend oddities pop-up )

There was an ache that wracked at Frankie’s chest, deep and cloying. They missed home, desperately. More than they thought they would - though it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise, transferring to Palladian for the semester being the first time they not only left the country but the state. Frankie had never done well being away from home for long as it was, but the pop-up gave them some comfort. Despite it’s more morbid theme. There was something about the ghoulish that felt like a reprieve from how gruesome reality could be. “Hello.” A long pause, where Romy didn’t glance in their direction - which was fair enough. Frankie spoke like they were afraid of anyone hearing them. “Hello - hi.” Waiting for Romy to glance in their direction before giving a sheepish wave, raising the knitted doll in hand up and towards Romy’s face, nodding as they investigated the similarities. “This is you.” Speaking like they knew each other forever. The reality being Frankie had noticed her the moment they entered the vicinity of the stands - she held herself in a way that exuded grace. She was refined, and poised, and was amidst cursed and haunted items, and Frankie was enthralled. “I hope… you, uh. Haven’t pissed anyone off lately. Pinch it’s leg or something - see if you feel it. If it’s a voodoo doll we’ll, uh… obviously have to take. Very good care of it.”

[cloyingblccd]

for: @moonbleachd location: the courtyard

“Bunny ears - loop. Cross. Tug.” Speaking to themself wasn’t out of the ordinary - and Frankie didn’t experience embarrassment to the full capacity of the human emotional spectrum. It was generally muddled, perturbed by some things that were completely normal and sane, while finding it reasonable to talk out loud - audibly - because it was one of the only ways they remembered how to tie their shoelaces. Satisfied and mostly relieved when the itch of having their shoelace untethered was no longer an issue, Frankie stood - quick, too quickly, already gangly and unwelcome in their body. Enough that when they came to a clamber, the top of their head knocked against the bottom of Kasim’s chin. Frankie could hear when his teeth clacked together. “Shit.” Like it would help anything, they clasped a hand over Kasim’s mouth, “Don’t - say anything. I heard it. Is your tongue intact. Kas - that sounded. Uh, bad. I need to know… if your tongue is. Still there. It’s imperative. No one will, uh… talk my fuckin’ ear off. Like you do.”

[cloyingblccd]

for: everyone! @langstonstarters where: the lamb and the flag ( traffic-light party and speed dating )

“This is the most tragic singles mixer I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.” Watching people bumble in and around The Lamb and Flag, Robin couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose. She’d purposely picked up a shift that night so that she couldn’t be bullied into participating in the nights events by her coworkers - still, they wrestled her into her own coloured bracelet. An ugly yellow, because she was single, and she was looking - but she also was far from willing to step into the world of commitment. “I’m off in like 15 minutes,” she announced, pushing the other’s drink towards them across the bar top, “you don’t have any other plans, do you? Wanna ruin that couple’s lives with me?” Pointing to a duo, seemingly the only ones that’d actually properly gotten along since the speed dating started. “I kinda wanna bring her a shot and say it’s from the guy who keeps getting rejected.”

[cloyingblccd]

“Oh.” Visibly, Soren deflates as soon as his offer is rejected - a cautious hand floating up to his throat as well, blinking a bit startled. Not that he can render himself completely surprised, Shepherd had threatened him with bodily violence within the first five minutes of their last conversation, too. But now that the idea’s in Soren’s mind, he’s twitchy - it was happy birthday. It was customary to be embarrassed by the celebratory tune at least once. “I could sing it in German - I know the whole thing. Then no one would know.” Everyone would know - it was the same tune in German that it was in English. It wasn’t like humming Twinkle, Twinkle and having someone potentially confuse it with Baa Baa Black Sheep or the alphabet.

Pausing mid-applause - it felt like the right thing to do, after Sawyer tossed his burnt birthday sash to the side - Soren’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Brother? There’s two of you?! Jesus Christ. I hope it ends at two. You’re both total assholes - were you both in the same womb, or more like a government project gone wrong?” It probably was a bit rude, to tell the birthday boy he was an asshole, upon first meeting him. Especially while Soren was still holding him hostage, still working his magic into letting Sawyer serenade him in butchered German. “No offense. You both basically wanted me dead. Fast. Usually people can at least last a few minutes.” Maybe he was losing his touch. “It’s my name for him. I don’t know - I never actually got it. He looks like a Barnabus, don’t you think? You don’t, though. Y’gotta tell me his name, I want to send him into a psychotic episode when I see him on campus again. Oh -,” Lighting his new smoke quickly, Soren held his hand out for Sawyer to shake, grinning pleasantly, “yours too. I’m not an asshole.” He was. “Soren. That’s me - duh.”

sawyer  doesn't  really  get  what's  going  on,  nor  does  he  care  enough  to  ask.  there's  a  sour  expression  on  his  face  as  he  watches  soren  loudly  declare  his  —  no,  barney’s,  whoever  the  fuck  that’s  supposed  to  be  —  birthday  to  a  group  of  strangers.  thankfully,  they  all  seem  to  be  preoccupied  with  whatever  shady  business  had  been  unfolding  in  the  alleyway  before  sawyer  walked  in.  "if  you  start  singing  happy  birthday,  i'm  going  to  punch  you  in  the  throat."  it's  not  exactly  a  threat  —  more  a  statement  of  fact,  voice  deadpan  yet  sharp  enough  to  slice  through  the  thick,  smoky  air.  still,  he  accepts  the  lighter  anyways,  flicking  it  open  and  shut.  his  disdain  for  birthday  nonsense  outweighs  his  disdain  for  soren  —  for  now,  at  least.

it's  only  when  the  sash  is  on  fire,  tossed  to  the  side  to  burn  to  ashes  in  a  forgetten  corner,  that  realization  hits  —  lips  curling  upwards  into  a  rare,  amused  smile,  the  first  of  the  night,  as  he  registers  who  "barney"  is  supposed  to  be.  "you're  talking  about  my  brother,  i  think."  a  staunch  refusal  to  refer  to  the  cunt  by  name  —  he  doesn't  deserve  it.  "about  ye  tall  --"  hand  stops  short  about  an  inch  from  the  top  of  his  head,  "blonde.  total  fucking  asshole."  a  pause.  "where  the  hell  does  barney  come  from?"