cr4shout

[cr4shout]

# INT. GAS STATION, PREGAMED & PUMPING GAS. @drftings

PRETTY LITTLE THING IS ALL LEGS, wrapped in something slinky⸺meant for a night different to this one. so she's ankle first out the door of her blacked out mercedes, towing toward the opposite of the pump she'd parked crooked at. lola was a creature of many rituals: brushed her hair in odd strokes, sent money home every friday, always answered when xile called. because they were spliced by time, bounded by more than repping the same crew. they were sisters of happenstance, not blood. so when xi called, lola was there. the wind laps the hem of her dress: silky, short & hardly there, hair mussed purposefully⸺makeup slept in but in tact. still more composed than not, " swear to god, i'm making you do this yourself next time. "

[cr4shout]

SHE'S BACK LAZED OVER THE ARM OF THE CHAIR LIKE A FELINE IN A WINDOWSILL. the light pulse dizzily, flushing them in color before swathing them in dark. her hair comes falling forward on her shoulder, shimmering tinsels coming with it⸺grazing the bare knob of her shoulder as she leaned in close enough for him to smell the passionfruit martini on her breath. then they're cheek to cheek, voice coming soft to warm the shell of his ear in something that is more insistence than suggestion: " buy me another? "

honey.  the  pet  name  sinks  on  his  shoulders,  falling  into  a  giddy  swirl  in  his  stomach.  there’s  a  conscious  effort  to  keep  a  flush  from  building  up  his  neck.  there  was  a  reputation  he  strived  to  maintain.  someone  mysterious,  evasive  wouldn’t  be  caught  dead  blushing  at  a  mere  nickname.  the  mention  of  driving  sets  him  back  on  even  ground.  sitting  behind  a  wheel  was  home  more  any  other  physical  location  in  the  world.  nothing  else  to  think  of  but  the  road  in  front  of  you,  “  define  good  ?  “  his  eyebrow  raising  in  challenge.  his  attention  has  turned  full  towards  lola,  the  other  dancers  and  patrons  around  them  fading  into  the  top  20s  club  beats.

[cr4shout]

HE LEANS TALL AGAINST THE LOWERED FRAME OF THE MAZDA, BOOTS CROSSED AT THE ANKLE. then there's sloane half bent over the still-warm engine. " couldn't say which woulda' been the bigger headache, " voice drawls, slow like a river in august, " the damn car, or you. " he peeks over the bridge of his lowered sunglasses, cap twisted backward on his blonded head. " don't go flatterin' yourself, " julian thrusts himself straight with his hip, leaning close enough for a better look. no further distinction as to what exactly he had come looking for, " if i wanted to see you, i woulda' come after y'closed up shop. "

@cr4shout [jules]

sloane plays favourites. it's subtle sometimes, when she doles out darlins for free, when the sign over her heart is always flipped to 'open'. other times, it gets pretty obvious. it's all too easy for her to ditch the work she's supposed to be doing when julian's the one asking. “car trouble?” she pops the hood of his car open, propping it up before bending over to take a look inside. “'n here i thought you just came to see me.”

[cr4shout]

THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS ITS FIRST IMMOVABLE OBJECT. julian stops his fidgeting, smiles wide as sunday morning when jisung mentions dying. because he'd known all the shades of it⸺the man 'round the way from his gran's house died twice, pa used to say. only came back once though. julian wondered, grotesquely that if they had been such good friends⸺would jisung come back if julian killed him? " shame, " gaze sloshes to the side and his grin tilts slow and lazy. " so what you're sayin' is if i don't tell you, you'll just roll over 'n die? " he feels awful for wanting to test the theory, crosses his arms over his sullied chest. " .. should i call an ambulance for you now, or did ya' wanna give it a few minutes? "

jisung   might've   just   straight   up   groaned   as   loud   as   he   could   -   that's   how   clearly   disbelief   was   scattered   across   his   features   .   a   perfectly   pitched   singular   brow   ,   left   corner   of   his   upper   lip   curled   in   a   way   that   was   unmistakably   him   .   .   .   with   a   look   in   his   eyes   that   tried   for   the   walls   of   steal   surrounding   julian   without   exhaustion   .   “   y'know   .   just   the   other   day   ,   I   read   somethin'   ‘bout   someone   dyin’   from   curiousity   .   like   ,   real   death   .   like   the   cat   an'   all   .   it   wasn't   like   a   hiker   that   aimed   too   close   to   the   sun   or   someone   that   played   with   fire   .   it   was   a   certain   someone   that   was   withheld   vital   information   about   a   situation   at   hand   .   a   someone   that   was   supposed   to   be   the   other   person's   close   friend   ,   an   accomplice   .   .   .   ”   one   arm   draped   over   his   eyes   now   ot   further   his   act   of   devastation   ,   with   a   voice   that   was   whiny   enough   to   underline   it   .   “   confidants   ,   if   ya'   will   .   straight   up   went   out   like   a   light   .   some   say   it   was   from   a    broken   heart   ” 

[cr4shout]

# INT. BAMBI'S CONDO, DINNER AMONG FRIENDS. @overdr1ves

AS MUCH AS LOLA ENJOYED HAVING A BEAUTIFUL MAN COOKING FOR HER, this had not been her usual tableu. all feigned domesticity, hinged on the peril of crossing a line that only existed outside of the bounds of her apartment. lola stood between two stools perched at the kitchen island, elbows to marble⸺thin-stemmed glass pinched by the base. all it takes is for her to careen her gaze over her shoulder to see the city lights blinking slow in the night; makes her remember why she'd gone through the trouble to pay such a high mortgage. she's not looking at him but, " i can't believe i let you talk me into this. " lola swirls whats left of her cabernet, tips back a small mouthful. " just know that if whatever you're cooking is disgusting, i'm throwing the dishes out instead of washing them. "

[cr4shout]

THEY LIVED AS CREATURES OF OPPOSITE LOCOMOTIVE: CONVERGING ON THE TRACK. calamity insisted upon itself when they were in each other's orbit, much less when they had most grievously chosen to live in the same apartment. " y'know there's a lady y'could talk to⸺about your hoardin'⸺heard she's gettin' her own show 'n all. " he returns the favor of an eye roll except he's found ease at the barside. he brings the balled up shirt to his nostrils, gives it a sniff or three before shrugging off her insinuation. " smells clean t'me. " lowers the wad of aged ( probably overpriced ) cotton, " yeah well, one of the rat pack got me pretty damn good. " however, julian is remiss to mention the fist-toting shakespearean tragedy by name. his free hand courses over the side of his jaw that had been still bandaged. " almost thought i was gonna need stitches or somethin'. "

there’s  a  laborious  roll  of  her  eyes  at  the  others  complaint.  reasons  for  the  ending  of  their  cohabitation  could  go  on  and  on,  all  boiling  down  to  one  fact.  the  pair  was  too  similar  in  too  many  ways.  neither  willing  to  fold  or  bend  on  dirty  dishes  in  the  sink  or  who’s  turn  it  was  to  clean  the  bathroom  (  was  their  bathroom  ever  even  cleaned  ?  ).  “  my  shit  may  be  all  over  the  floor  but  it’s  got  a  place  and  i  know  where  that  place  is,  “  words  biting  back,  scowl  coloring  her  features.  “  —  and  i  found  this  in  the  laundry  room  ?  like  is  it  even  clean  ?  do  i  need  to  wash  my  hands  ?  who  knows  where  it’s  fucking  been or who's bodily fluid are on it,  “  for  effect  she  pretends  to  sniff  her  fingers. “  vodka  soda,  heavy  on  the  vodka,  “  voice  calming  as  she  leans  her  elbow  onto  the bar.  “  ya  don’t  look  like  you  have  any  bruises,  “  eyes  scanning  the  edges  of  his  features,  “  how  did  you  of  all  people  manage  to  get  out  of  valentine’s  day  unscathed  ?  “

[cr4shout]

SHE'S ROPED HIM INTO HER WORLD AND HE'S ASKED HER TO HIS TABLE. they look away from eachother and another lit-up for comes prying open the velvet curtain of the stage. lola reclines, gives an unimpressed hum at the suggestion. " we can do that too. " concise, as if it hadn't crossed her mind as an option until eric had bothered to mention it. " tell you what, honey⸺ " she starts back up, crossing her heeled ankles. not caring if he was looking back to her, " i'll pick a place, and if you're good i'll let you drive. "

the  way  she  looks  at  him  (  studying  a  more  accurate  word  )  has  him  feeling  like  a  animal  being  tracked  by  their  prey.  the  location  was  enough  to  put  eric  on  edge,  the  careful  eyes  of  a  beautiful  woman  was  extra  jarring.  he  has  to  stop  himself  from  shrinking  further  in  his  chair  away  from  her  spellbinding  energy,  “  no.  “  the  answer  a  quick  huff,  head  jutting  away.  rest  in  peace  to  his  brooding,  mysterious  facade  …  easily  melted  away  by  bambi’s  presence.  “  —  just  figured  we  could  get  dinner  or  something.  “  his  shoulders  shrugging  as  he  studies  another  dancer  on  stage.  he  finishes  his  beer  with  a  long  sip,  setting  the  bottle  down  on  the  table  clothed  table  with  a  thud.

[cr4shout]

IT'S ONE OF THEIR TRIPS, not quite tallahassee pretending but close enough whereas they can just be. two people from nowhere stumbling into a diner neither of them had been regulars of. he would have kept driving had he not urged him to stop. there's perpetual motion even when they are seated, making trinkets of the old sugar packets wedged into the cannister at the end of the table⸺julian making note to call their waitress by the five syllable name on her distressed tag. " oh yeahhh, beach woulda' been real nice. " he's got poor table manners: elbows perched on the syrup-slick top, leaning toward her as if he had a secret to tell. then there's that slow, lazy sarcasm: " ⸺sand in places it shouldn't be ... bitchin' about the salt in your hair on the way back. " all of which is to not say that he wouldn't take her. he wanted to, though julian all but says it. he's leaned back by the time she lowers her menu, his jaw still aching dully. how unfortunate that tylenol could not cure his ills. arms stretch along the cracking frame of the booth, something teasing creeps. " well, i was thinkin' steak & eggs [ ... ] why, d'ya want to tell the nice lady what i wanted? "

☆    closed   starter   for   @cr4shout,   julian   childes.

☆    located   in   the   corners   of   fort   lauderdale. ↪    day   after   valentines    —    no   longer   wearing   jackets   marked   with   crew   colors,   an   escape   from   miami   to   just   be.

forty   five   minute   drive   turned   an   hour   long   with   miami   traffic   spent   with   feet   resting   against   the   dashboard,   wind   blowing   against   her   hair,   music   never   finding   a   cohesive   shift   with   songs   shuffled   by   turn.   each   minute   that   passed   was   a   chip   at   rocky,   distance   coaxing   the   true   nature   of   the   girl   out.   bell   above   the   diner   door   signaling   their   arrival,   heat   from   the   body   not   far   behind   her   transferring   over   as   the   door   that   was   held   open   swings   behind   them,   notions   of   being   greeted   and   sat   pass   in   a   blink.   hand   against   back   sliding   her   into   the   seat.     “    don't   know   if   this   has   the   same   vibe   as   our   beach   plans,    ”       only   spoken   when   the   waitress   walks   away   with   their   drink   orders.   the   way   her   ass   was   planted   in   the   booth   seat,   tongue   poking   out   to   swipe   against   her   bottom   lip,   fingers   carefully   holding   onto   the   sticky   menu,   there's   no   real   reason   for   her   to   complain.   and   it's   not   a   true   protest,   can't   be   with   the   grin   she   sends   his   way.   still,     “    but,   i   guess,   it'll   do.    ”       menu   abandoned   on   the   table,   the   first   read   through   always   a   show,   the   type   to   always   get   the   same   thing   wherever   she   went.   legs   tangled   up   underneath   the   booth,     “    what're   ya   gettin'   cowboy?    ”

[cr4shout]

HE HAS COME TO LEARN THAT THE BETTER PARTS OF A PERSON CAN BE FOUND IN MORSELS: in the sock one knowingly loses the match to, in the mutual acknowledgement that cohabitation also meant a likeness. and for all that they were alike, for all they had come to know of each other, they had not been designed to reside in the same four corners. not for long anyhow, they could still play nice minus the implication of split rent & utilities. " th'fuck? i've been lookin' for this shirt for a year. " something only akin to incertitude knits between his brows, mouth scrunching at the corner. nabs the vintage metallica tee from its drape over his head, " maybe if you didn't keep your shit all over the floor, i woulda' been able to remember where i threw it. " because of course the young man was devoid of blame. still, he's already thumbing through his wallet for a twenty. " i'll bite, pick your poison. "

📍   heartbreaker  bar

⏰     week  or  so  after  valentine’s  day

🗝️   closed  starter  for  @cr4shout  (  julian  )

💛 —  “  i  found  this  dirty  shit  tucked in  the  back  of  the  laundry,  “  wrinkled,  tattered  t-shirt  leaving  her  hand  with  a  whip  and  landing  with  a  thump  on  the  other’s  head.  “  it’s  been  months  i  can’t  believe  i  keep  finding  your  shit  in  the  weirdest  places.  “  with  a  short  huff  she  slides  herself  into  a  near  bar  bar  stool.  “  you better buy  me  a  drink  in  return,  “  head  nodding  towards  the  bartender  across  the  room. 

[cr4shout]

THEY INHABIT OPPOSITE CORNERS OF THE ROOM. the wolf and the prodder, an anonymity as to which is which; both considering whether this beast was worth the tame. julian barely lifted his sights as he towed himself in half-circles in the beaten roller chair he reclined in ⸺ only slight enough to catch jisung watching. even betwixt steel & changed oil julian knows that look: he wasn't just looking for something, he was wanting for it. julian will forgive himself at a later time for indulging the conversation, decidely giving the other something worth chewing on. " ain't much to see. had some drinks, got fuckin' slashed. checked in on a special someone ⸺ real normal wednesday if y'ask me. " he plays his part, rabbit too dumb to run. and because jisung had been keeping track: " and you ⸺ hear anythin' good? "

closed starter for @cr4shout , @ nariza auto

looks   alike   daggers   plunged   into   julian   from   where   jisung was   sitting   .   .   .   genuinely   observing   him   ,   like   he'd   never   seen   the   other   before   -   in   broad   daylight   and   all   .   one   might   argue   that   the   bafflement   at   hand   stemmed   from   the   matters   that   had   undoubtedly   reached   him   right   when   they   were   fresh   and   raw   .   “   sooo   .   .   .   ”   the   softest   melody   to   his   words   .   “   how   was   y'valentines ,   jules   ?   “   easily   a   pass   up   to   paddle   onto   further   ,   more   elaborate   ,   tracks   .   if   anything   ,   jisung   was   rarely   dumbfounded   .   smart   mouth   and   wits   that   ran   miles   ahead   of   him   assuring   his   success   rate   .   yet   ,   there   was   no   harm   in   playing   pretend   .   batting   eyelashes   ,   sitting   pretty   until   the   answer   presented   itself   on   a   silver   platter   .   ”   haven't   seen   you   'round   much   after   ,   mh   ?   " 

[cr4shout]

ERIC HAD A FORCE ABOUT HIM: ANIMAL RATTLING IT'S CAGE. they were alike in that way, observers shaking themselves loose. it's why she invited him. company that hadn't needed to talk back to be good, they could just enjoy the proximity of each other beneath this warm swathe of mink & watered down cocktails. bam gives her head a tilt, considers him. not quite built for the place⸺for women like her⸺but coming back all the same. that sure as hell counted for something. the lights above cut her into sharp edges when she leans over the arm of her chair toward him, sights pinning him like a fly tacked by its wings. " you got somewhere to else to be? "

📍  body

⏰   few  days  after  valentines  day

🗝️  closed  starter  for  @cr4shout  (  bambi  )

☁️ —  despite  being  a  miami  resident  for  close  to  a  year  now  and  a  prowler  for  more than a  few  months,  eric  had yet to find himself as a body regular.  not  due  to  any  ill  will  against  the  establishment,  more  so  his  mere  inability  to  function  correctly  around  extremely  hot  woman.  a  fact  he  was  fighting  to  get  past  as  he  sat  sprawled  in  one  of  the  small  chairs  on  the  club's  floor.  nursing  a  beer  bottle  between  his  fingers  his eyes  shyly  study  the  dancers  on  the  stage.  taking  a  long  sip  from  the  bottle  he  adjusts  in  his  seat,  "  how  much  longer  do  we  need  to  be  here  ?  "  averting  his  eyes  fully  he  turns  to  his  companion  next  to  him. 

[cr4shout]

IF YOU ARE READING THIS: YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT JULIAN CHILDES DOES NOT WANT TO WANT HER. not in the way he does currently, all teeth to flesh⸺to touch is to mangle. quite simply, this compulsion is a thing that kills him. a current set into motion since the last time they stood on the same side of the track. this thing, pulsing against his rattling frame beneath flesh and marrow. this loving. loving her, giving her the power to ruin him. it would kill him. as a matter of the fact, julian almost considering that right in this very moment he was dying. the signs were there: ford-f150 death rattle ( symptomatic of a failing suspension ), inability to make a fist⸺the only violences here are the subtle ones, remember? " lara croft, easy. think i might have a thing for brunettes. " worse, julian had a predisposed attraction for women who tended to hate him. maybe that were only the nature of things, drawn to his opposite. someone to temper the odds not topple them. he's got a keener eye out for traffic cameras than he does for the road but then she gets to prodding at him. forgive this man for what he may become beneath the slightest of touch, he was raised on depravity. he could not forget these roots that had been set into him, split him open and you could count the rings of his longing⸺trace it back to his forefathers and theirs too. " i'd be glad t'hold onto it for ya'. " she'd given him the money back knowing that it would eventually be returned to her. that biblical roundabout: all that you set out into the world would return to you. julian had given her something only to receive it again. he wonders if she knew he intended to return the favor: redeposited on the floor of her car the next time he was kind enough to let her drive him around for once⸺might just leave it on her nightstand the next time he sees it. anything could be a gift if it came from the right person. he'd learned that young, it was the very reason why the fridge was covered in macaroni necklaces and crayola chicken scratch up until his ripe old age of fifteen. you keep the smallest parts of the people you love out of premature nostalgia, teach yourself to value the invaluable. he could have gotten her chocolate, or flowers, sure. but julian preferred the everlasting. the flowers would have been dead long before he bought them. the chocolate would be eaten or regifted in a weeks time. a card, with his manish smudges of fanfare between its leafing could be perpetual if she let it. he wishes very selfishly that such enduring applied to the stop light they were sat at. because she wasn't just on him, they were intertwined⸺breathing the same beat. which is a funny thing because this man wouldn't have a taste for do right even if she'd spoon fed it to him. and still, there she was blocking his view. it's an invitation that he pries open barehanded & careful. touch ghosts along the faint exposure of her back where her top rides just high enough above the band of her skirt. palm hugs the lower of the small of her back, because the light had in fact changed and julian knew nothing but flooding the gas. his hand never left the wheel, and yet he is near enough to remark agaist her cheek, " y'might just make me reconsider. "

there's   an   ease   to   the   infiltration.   the   one   he's   made   into   her   life.   in   the   same   way   the   joint   passes   between   them,   taking   it   away   for   a   moment   just   to   give   it   back.   she's   accepted   it,   she's   encouraged   it.   if   she   was   foolish,   she'd   fall   completely   into   it.   but   he's   left   once,   or   twice.   so,   she's   matched   it.   and   that   is   where   she   stood   again,   ready   to   run,   for   no   other   reason   than   she   feared   it   was   rounding   the   time   where   he   would.     “    'm   more of   a   buttercup,    ”       eyes   slithered   into   a   squint,     “    but   you   tell   me   which   you're   into   more,   lara   croft   or   blossom?    ”       right   leg   stretched   out   to   meet   the   base   of   his   thigh,   foot   digging   into   it   as   she   retaliates   for   the   comment   against   the   prowlers.   but,   still,   at   the   order,   she   twists.   the   smart   thing   to   do   would   be   to   sit   up   right   and   rummage   through   the   glovebox   in   a   proper   form.   instead   body   remains   on   top   of   smooth   leather,   upper   half   leaning   out   the   seat   while   she   carelessly   sifted   through   the   area.   one   wrong   turn,   an   abrupt   stop,   and   she's   not   sure   what   would   become   of   her.   the   cheesy   manufactured   card   stands   out   in   the   darkness,   different   than   the   previous   year,   revealing   it   knowing   she'll   find   some   prewritten   message   and   a   couple   of   creased   bills.     “    don't   need   this,    ”       leaning   forward,   slipping   the   folded   cash   into   the   front   pocket   of   denim   jeans,     “    but,   thank   you,    ”       because   she   knows   it's   not   some   throw   away   action.   he   isn't   absolving   himself   of   having   to   pick   a   gift,   he   just   wants   to   provide   her   the   way   of   being   able   to   decide   for   herself.   understood,   but   unwelcome.   only   when   she   returns   to   read   the   authored   words,   another   act   she   does   because   she's   aware   he   picked   it   out   deliberately,   does   she   notice   the   written   ones   on   the   side.   a   glance   sideways,   wondering   if   his   attention   is   on   the   road   before   them   or   on   her.   hopes   its   the   latter,   orbs   tattooing   each   hand   written   word   behind   eyelids.   maybe   he   had   learned   something   from   the   last   year.   doesn't   allow   herself   to   question   whether   he   meant   any   of   the   words,   whether   they   were   added   with   intention   or   in   passing.   it's   enough   to   become   rooted.     “    yeah,   's   better   than   a   goat,    ”       another   red   light   and   she   finds   herself   straddling   his   lap,   treating   the   ride   and   his   body   like   a   playground.   danger   to   her   actions,   to   her   words   when   she   asks,     “    not   gonna   say   it   twice,   huh?    ”

[cr4shout]

TANIA IS A SILHOUTTE IN THE PALE FLUORESCENCE. arms crossed, waiting, like they’ve got the patience to outlast him. they don’t. neither does julian. but he’s better at pretending. " isn't there a tailpipe y'should be huffin' fumes from right now? " It lands like he means it to, striking flint. julian is a keen observer as they shift their weight, jaw locked. still pretending they’re indifferent. like the sunglasses make them unreadable. mouth furls into a cheshire, bottom lip catching on teeth. " and i do have somewhere to be actually⸺ " cocks his head to cross-reference the clock embedded on the dash, neglects to mention that he had been waiting on someone, and furthermore: who. " in just about ten minutes, which is exactly why me and my truck are gonna' continue sittin' here. " the pad of his index is readied on the window switch, " y'can ask me a third time for all i care, " then he rolls the driver side window back up. phantom's reflection rises to meet them. before the glass seals shut, julian sardonically mouths the words, deliberate enough for them to read them: " i ain't movin'. "

the  sound  of  their  name  from  his  mouth  is  like  fan  to  the  fire.  one  minute  the  irritation  is  but  a  small  spark,  the  next  it’s  a  blaze  that  simmers  underneath  their  skin.  don’t  say  my  name  like  that,  they  want  to  growl,  it  doesn’t  belong  on  your  tongue.  it  sounds  all  kinds  of  wrong.  he  doesn’t  deserve  to  say  it.  that’s  phantom  to  you,  julian,  tania  imagines  snarling  back,  but  it  sounds  a  little  like  a  defeat.  the  anger  is  plainly  written  across  their  features  for  him  to  read  and  pick  on  anyway.  they  root  their  feet  right  where  they  are,  arms  folded  across  their  chest  as  they  drawl,  “test  me  some  other  night,  rearview.  got  nowhere  else  to  be?  some  fight  to  pick  with  someone  your  size?  don’t  tell  me  you’re  afraid  to  lose  that  one.”  there’s  a  pair  of  sunglasses  sitting  inside  their  jacket  pocket.  tania  fishes  them  out,  fitting  them  over  the  bridge  of  their  nose.  doesn’t  matter  if  the  only  light  comes  from  that  nasty  fluorescent  white  street  lamp.  “don’t  make  me  ask  twice.  move  your  fucking  truck.”

[cr4shout]

THEY WERE STILL HERE, AFTER ALL OF IT. he watches her the way you touch a wound, testing if it still hurts when pressed. she looks at him the same way. they perform a recurrent alchemy. if she looked for him, julian never made it hard to be found. the kind of ending that never really ended. a body without a death certificate. she calls it torture⸺being without her. a sharp snort scrapes his throat. the same old game, the same old rules. she sets the pace, he follows, like always. " dunno' if that's the word for it. " she takes the cigarette from his hand like she’s entitled to it, like she’s entitled to him, and maybe she is. " nick carter? really? " julian scoffs, but there’s no fight in it. she’s warm, electric, and he’s cold everywhere but where she touches. his knuckles are split open, fresh and ugly, but she doesn’t flinch when her fingertips skim the bruises. " yeah, yeah. whatever you want, baby. " blond accepts her open palmed truce, hooking a pinky around hers like it was nothing, like it was easy. like they were just two people who wanted to hold onto something. " just keep your fuckin' keys in your pocket, alright? i'm not catchin' any more charges for destruction of property. "

★ a continuation of events with @cr4shout julian . ★ some time @ feb 14th , 11:30PM outside of 12welve after his clash with rome .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsuah doesn't know what to make of the disheveled body standing opposite nor with all its familiarity filling up the space in between . ultimately chooses to continue as always , an animal of habits ⸺ a lack of picking , an abundance of instincts , allowing life to continue its course & embracing it as it is . she isn't one to ponder much on the choices she makes and she doesn't regret ; you made your bed , savour the aftermath . one to take action as it is felt in that first milisecond , for its ephemerality before brain & logic step in only reinforces rawness , what you first feel is true above all else .

baby reels in the anger simmering at such sight , all bruises and crimson on the frame of someone femme cares about , swallows it whole , lets it nestle itself in a corner of her core until its time arrives . the comfort , despite all , drags a snort straight from her chest , smirk playing on the corner of her tint stained lips . 🙶 must be torture to live without me . 🙷 she removes the cigarette from his hand , takes a long drag herself with big brown eyes never moving away from his own . 🙶 it's just part of our game , nick carter , don't take it so to heart . 🙷 slightly buzzed , nicotine heightening poison in system , one hand is reaching forward , an invitation to be held . is it treaty time yet ? 🙶 let's get you patched up , we can't have you pullin' up to the meet looking dogwalked . then you'll tell me who's car i gotta key . 🙷 ' i will continue to care . '

[cr4shout]

THE FIRST PUNCH LANDS & THE WORLD STUTTERS, ROOM GOES SIDEWAYS. for a moment, julian is entirely unsure if he's still standing. then there's the blood⸺his own, foul & coppery in his mouth, pouring an absent wetness down his chin. mind shudders but body moves on instinct, leaning fully into the heat of the commotion. the room blurs, narrows, then sharpens again, everything humming⸺his pulse, the neon lights, the heat radiating off rome’s body like something rabid, something let off its chain. there’s no time to consider, no space for reason. just the static hum of instinct. the pain is distant, drowned in the rush of something uglier, something clawing up from the pit of his stomach. rome is still on him, still burning, his breath hot, his voice serrated and spitting, but julian doesn’t let him have it—it’s just part of the ritual. there is nothing soft in this. because julian lets rome hit him, saw it soon enough to give himself the foresight of bracing. this suffering does not make him formidable, or clear minded. it made him empty, and isn't that worse? julian learned to wage little wars early, taught that the only honor among boys⸺no less, men⸺was not winning, but what you could take from someone else. for every throat there was a set of hands made for snuffing, for every chest a dagger. in this case, there was a table.

his hands find rome’s jacket, twisting it in his fists, leather creasing, resisting, before he wrenches him forward and then⸺down. hard. the table doesn’t hold. it shatters beneath the weight of them both, wood splintering, shards of glass scattering. they fall together, but julian is on him pressing down on the wreckage. and then rome is most dutifully given a taste of what he had been asking after, julian's bitch mouth as he had called it. primes his split lips to speak, then leans close enough to rome as if to dare him to do what he promised. go on, shatter me. he's smiling with teeth⸺brazen & bloody, devoid from the nose up. then he spits, a hot, thick blot congealed with his own blood dripping down the pale of rome's face. " thought i'd give you a taste 'fore you ruined it for everybody else. " then there's another pair of hands on him, yanking him backward hard enough to set him straight, hauling julian away from the mess of limbs beneath him & toward the nearest sidedoor.

ROME  DIDN'T  HESITATE.   fury   ignited   faster   than   reason,   and   before   the   last   syllable   even   left   the   blond's   mouth,   his   fist   was   already   flying.   bone   met   bone   with   a   sickening   crunch,   julian's   head   snapping   to   the   side   under   the   sheer   force   of   the   punch.   blood   smeared   across   his   split   lip,   glistening   under   the   club's   dim   neon   glow.   the   glass   tumbler   slipped   from   his   hand,   shattering   into   a   thousand   jagged   pieces,   but   rome   barely   registered   it—just   white-hot   static   roaring   in   his   skull.   

he  didn't  give  julian  a  chance  to  recover.  didn't  fucking  care.   rome   lunged,   seizing   the   front   of   ken doll's   shirt,   twisting   the   expensive   fabric   in   his   grip   as   he   yanked   him   forward  then   drove   his   fist   straight   into   his   gut.   a   sharp,   breathless   grunt   tore   from   julian's   throat   as   he   doubled   over,   but  rome  wasn't  done.  not  even  close.   not   after   harvey.   not   after   what   went   down   minutes   ago.   had the fight not broken off,   he'd   still   be   out   there,   fists   raw   and   bloodied   from   breaking   the   other   nariza   lapdog   in   half.   but   no,   he's   here.   and so is fucking julian. just right   in   front   of   him.   a  goddamn  gift-wrapped  target.

rome's   knuckles   burned,   split   from   impact,   from   the   residual   fire   of   his   earlier   fight,   but   he   didn't   give   a   damn.   the   rage   burning   inside   him   since   the   alleyway   now   spills   over,   unchecked,   unrelenting—and   this   blue-eyed   bastard,   looking   like   a   corn-fed   country   club   reject,   is   the   one   who   has   to   take   it.   

❝ fix  my  muzzle ? ❞   rome   seethes,   voice   like   a   blade   pressed   to   a   throat.   ❝ how  'bout  i  fucking  shatter  your  goddamn  jaw,  see  if  you  can  still  run  that  bitch  mouth  after ? ❞

[cr4shout]

FINGERS SLACK ATOP OF THE RIDGE OF THE WHEEL, THEY'RE ALREADY HALFWAY TO THE STREET CORNER. the truck hums low, engine a living thing, something with breath and bones, old enough to remember all the hands that have gripped this same wheel, pressed this same pedal. the night seeps in through the cracked window, something spanish humming on the radio. the joint smolders between them, plucked from her absently with a hushed ' gimme that '. at least he let her christen it before helping himself. passes it back, chances another look at her with a clouded exhale. " and who are you s'pose to be⸺blossom? " mouth quirks in half amusement, gaze still measuring the depth of her as she lengthened against the seat. grin goes sharp in sly contemplation, " i thought about it y'know ... gettin' you something. like one of those fuckin' mini turtles they're always sellin' at the flea market, or a goat. figured you could use some civilized company among all them prowlers. " red light washes them aglow, mouth pulls at the words, tasting them, finding them lacking. nods the direction all lazily: " check the glovebox, " he's watching now, a pause. just for a second. then, the quiet click of the latch. the sound of fingers moving through crumpled receipts, old cigarette packs, a pocketknife that’s seen more blood than it should. and then she finds it. "well?" his voice is low, knowing. julian licks his lips expectantly, tastes the salt of his own skin. " better than a fuckin’ goat, right? "

she   wishes   she   can   pinpoint   the   moment   when   it   turned   from   attraction   to   attachment.   a   whispered   just   once   becoming   years.   maybe   it   didn't   matter,   nothing   to   show   for   it   all   besides   a   greed.   boomerangs.   thrown   away,   just   to   find   their   way   back.     “    why?   tin   man   likes   the   name,    ”       it's   another   game.   a   way   to   crawl   under   skin,   a   reminder   that   she's   been   there   when   he   peels   back   skin.   feeling   that   trickled   in   at   the   beginning   of   the   year,   uncertainty.    at   every   corner,   dissecting   every   word.   doesn't   ask   what   friend.   a   slippery   slope,   one   that   would   lead   to   nastier   cuts   than   the   ones   she   sported.   she   was   smarter   than   that.   learned   to   be   from   the   first   reveal   of   his   stepping   out,   outing   his   own   indiscretions   under   the   guise   of   this   is   something   casual.     “    right,   well,   cupid's   a   played   out   costume.    ”       juvenile   in   her   way   of   being.   line   drawn   in   the   sand   of   what   she'll   allow   herself   to   expose,   to   be   truthful   about.   there   wasn't   much.   an   attempt   to   keep   it   safe,   to   be   able   to   walk   away   without   a   dent.   even   if   imprints   of   his   touch   from   weeks   ago   remained   a   ghost   on   her   skin.   following   the   order,   window   resting   in   the   middle,   the   ride   begins.   doesn’t   bother   to   put   up   a   fight,   to   question   what   would   make   him   think   she'd   want   to   be   passenger   on   this   joyride.   for   one   night   she   can   give   them   this.   the   slide   is   easy,   legs   slithering   from   their   original   placement   to   press   against   leather.     “    so,   what'd   ya   get   me?   i   don't   see   any   flowers,   no   chocolates,   nothing   ‘round   here.   or   is   the   joint   ‘posed   to   be   my   gift?   guess   beggars   can't   be   choosers,    ”     

[cr4shout]

THEY'RE A CHERUB SPLIT JAGGED DOWN THE MIDDLE, HE GOT THE WINGS & SHE GOT EVERYTHING ELSE WORTH HAVING. an uneven trade, used to drawing the shorter stick in his knowing of sloane. attempts to feign something else over his amusement when she spins in lieu, a tornado of linen & motor oil. " oh they'd take'ya, alright. dunno' what the hell for though .. " courses a hand over budding stubble, pretends to think very hard about it before flicking one of her sprung hearts⸺watches it bob. " might go far modelling headbands or somethin'. " so long as folks like her were still around to buy up all the ugly ones, it wasn't bad business. " on valentines day? yeah, abso-fuckin'-lutely. " it was like waiting till christmas eve to be good, some orders were simply too late on the ticket. julian was just a cupid afterall, not an optimist. " not an old one, naw. just an uncatchable one. bet there's someone out there that wouldn't mind the chase though .. matterfact, i oughta' know a guy. "

“i'd mind the boredom. but...” she takes a couple steps back, then does a quick spin on her heel, her dress fluttering out around her before she strikes a pose. she's got no car to drape herself on top of so she leans over the bar counter instead. “how's that? think they'd take me?” not that she'd ever actually consider changing positions. though she does still wonder on occasion if she'd look good behind the wheel, driving like she doesn't give a damn about anything else.

it's stupid, maybe, but sloane hasn't given up on miami yet. with all these people around surely one of them'll know what to do with her heart. “someone worth a damn. that too much to ask for?” she pouts a little, mostly because she already knows how the night is gonna end for her. “oh cupid, tell me, am i gonna end up an old maid?”