driftwccds

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎eyes glued to rachel, she watches as the other woman does as she's instructed... and then just stands there. sade blinks a few times, waiting for the movement to follow. nothing does. " okay, it is like walking, once you get the hang of it, " she huffs under her breath, though it's perhaps a little less annoyed than it was five minutes ago. patience, sadie, patience. she keeps repeating the mantra. " if you keep telling yourself that you can't then you're never going to do it, obviously. " which is an unfair observation, because sade is prone to doubting herself frequently. it's why she's loud; it's a coping mechanism. believing in yourself is easier said than done. sade only has the advantage of confidence because she has more experience.

with another soft sigh, she skates closer, hands coming to rest delicately on rachel's shoulder blades. " i'll push you, okay ? on the count of three, i'll push you to get you going. all you have to do is keep your gravity centred and you won't fall over but you'll be moving. " sometimes, the best way to learn is throwing someone in the deep end── or at least, that's the justification sade will use. " okay, ready ? three... two... one... "

there is no doubt that rachel is some sort of an all-rounder. academic wise, surely, but for something that requires physical movement like roller skating? it depends on a case-by-case basis. she finds it easy to understand the concept ⸻ she listens to the instructions well and imagines doing them in her head, and yet when it comes to moving her own body, well, it’s easier said than done. someone like sade probably wouldn’t get it - not that it’s her fault! - seeing how effortless she has been doing with those wheels on. to say she’s a tad bit envious would be an exaggeration, but man, rachel wished she could be that good.

she takes a deep breath when sade comes around her again, mentally preparing herself to go over this thing one more time. “really? you think so?” the reassuring words from sade doesn’t make her feel better, but she appreciates it anyways. “okay, bend my knees,” rachel repeats as she does it. “elbows out for balance. lift from my hips and push,” and again, she’s stuck. c'mon, just push forward, she tells herself, and suddenly it all feels impossible again. “this is not- i know how to walk, sadie. this is not just like walking. like look at you, you’re…” what’s the word? “…gliding, and i am not. i can’t.” maybe this is a sign rachel should just give up.

[driftwccds]

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-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎he isn't sure if he should be surprised or not by the way she responds, light laughter on her lips at odds with the tension in his jaw and shoulder blades. sebastián doesn't feel like laughing, his brows furrowed together and his lips pressed in a thin line as he waits for an answer.

her note gave no indication of it, but sebastián's silly heart held onto the idea of her disappearance being due to emergency. maybe something happened, something she couldn't yet tell him, and that was the easiest way to cut him off. how else could he explain it ? to sebastián they had been soulmates. it was love at first sight, though he knew not to say it, and should have continued to be had the pesky universe not gotten in the way. her avoidance of the question, however, proves otherwise── there was no secret crisis that needed her attention. she just got bored. she just left.

sebastián, of course, fails to consider his own failings in their short tryst. he twisted the truth of their situation and sunk his claws deep into nevaeh; a few months should not have shaken him to his core as much as it has. his blame is incorrectly placed on her for his own desperation. he's too easily wound up in romance── or at the very least, he was. these days he doesn't feel like being so careless with his own heart.

did she expect him to be excited ? did it mean that little ? he frowns, letting out a small sigh that gets lost under the heavy bass but echoes through his shoulders. " sorry i guess, " he settles, arms folding over his chest defensively. " i didn't expect to see you here. i moved here to be with my siblings; i'm not following you. " he feels that it's necessary to clarify── because he might have followed her had he known nevaeh would be here. she didn't want to settle down. it should have been too difficult to track her. " it's a little more than that comparison but whatever. if you don't want to tell me why you're here, that's bueño. " he shrugs, trying to play off his irritation as though he also didn't care that she was here, " it's none of my business. do you do sets here a lot ? " that'll let him know whether or not to avoid them.

               it's   not   the   reaction   she   was   expecting.   there's   no   smile   on   his   face,   or   laugh   on   his   lips.   his   body   was   stiff   and   closed   off   from   her   which   was   a   shock   to   her   system  (   when   it   shouldn't   be   ).   when   he   led   her   away,   nevaeh   had   no   issue   with   it.   despite   the   body   heat   still   radiating   through   her   from   her   set,   the   places   his   hands   touched   left   her   skin   on   fire   making   the   rest   of   her   body   feel   cold   in   comparison.   when   he   apologizes,   she   doesn't   understand   why.   the   months   they   spent   together   in   vera   cruz   led   them   to   the   sort   of   relationship   where   physical   touch   was   to   be   expected.   while   nevaeh   didn't   anticipate   them   to   still   have   that   exact   same   closeness,   she   didn't   think   they'd   become   strangers.   when   she   left   him   the   note   she   thought   she   was   offering   a   kindness   that   wasn't   given   to   her.   the   consequences   of   that   '   kindness   '   weren't   feeling   too   great.                "   if   i   had   a   nickel   for   every   time   someone   i   kissed   as   me   why   i'm   here,   i'd   have   exactly   two   nickels   but   it's   weird   that   its   happened   twice   y'know.   "   nevaeh   spoke   with   a   nervous   laugh.   and   while   they'd   never   been   much   of   a   novel   reader,   she   did   read   a   lot   of   manga.   which   was   mostly   pictures   of   situations.   so   she   could   easily   read   that   this   situation   was   not   going   well.   after   clearing   her   throat   she   spoke   again.   "   ⸻   well,   what   am   i   doing   here   ?   it's   a   long   story.   starts   in   west   philedelphia,   born   and   raised.   i   got   in   one   little   fight   and   my   mom   got   scared   ⸻   "   she   forced   herself   to   stop.   never   knew   before   she   opened   her   mouth   that   it   wouldn't   be   funny,   but   she   was   floundering.   "   ⸻   i'm   sorry.   i   make   jokes   and   lie   when   i'm   nervous.   and   well,   i'm   sorry,   i'm   super   happy   to   see   you   but   you   don't   seem   all   that   happy   to   see   me.   the   vibe   i'm   getting   here   is   very   ronnie   and   sammi   after   ronnie   stayed   at   club   karma   and   sammi   went   home.   only   i'm   ronnie   and   that   is   so   not   a   good   feeling.   "

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎she smears dirt over his jeans and he tries to brush it away, forgetting, of course, that his own hands are caked in the same soil. rohan makes it worse and, with an obnoxiously loud sigh, he only barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out in her direction. " i'll make a note to include in my will that you are not invited. " he shoots back, " if you lot can't respect my peace while i'm alive, then at the very least i'd like to have it in death. "

he follows poet to his feet, slower, brushing his hands off on his pants; they're covered in dirt anyway. rohan finds himself conveniently wishing he had an apron like the the other gardeners──‏‏‎ one equipped with pockets. wouldn't that be convenient ? it would've saved his poor jeans, anyway. " willy ? the whale from free willy ? " he straightens to look at poet, brows furrowed, " that's a shit excuse. he died five years after the movie came out. nobody is gonna believe that you're just learning about it now. " while he lectures, he picks up a nearby cloth, doing his best to rub the dirt off his hands. it's a futile effort, but he's determined.

" what happened to faking my death ? what was the point of the tears ? and another thing: when did this become a we ? " looking up from his hands and narrowing his eyes at poet, he scoffs. " you should finish out in apology to these poor people for the nuisance. "

"yes, the wilderness!" poet insists, despite the city surrounding them - the scene is already all laid out in her mind: rohan dashing out from the community garden and pass all of the buildings, homes and stores alike - perhaps he dodges a vendor's cart, or flips over a walker's dog, or perhaps he's being chased by the stern, older woman running the community garden. running and running until he's dashing across the road at flash - levels of speed, and up onto the mountains. it's really quite impressive, the fictional rohan that poet's created in her mind - quite dashing; her heart would've skipped a pretty beat if not for the fact that she's not into the emotionally unavailable. a trait that seems to follow rohan, fictionalized version or not. poor lad.

her sobs turn to banshee - level wails as rohan presses his dirt - covered hands to her dirt - covered cheeks, resulting in more dirt, all wet - caking her cheeks like she's several feet deep in the trenches. they're not genuine - the wails; her tears had stopped the moment she thought of rohan running, all muddied, throughout the city. but she's damn committed to the bit - committed to making rohan eat his words; she doesn't have much to lose, really, she's already banned from his boat.

"thank you!" with one last hiccup, thumb brushing up her cheek to push away the dirt gathered beneath her eye, the wails cease and poet's left grinning, in the most shit - eating of manners. "never call my tears ingenuine again, you sap - or else i'll be fecking clawing at yer' casket at yer' funeral and making a right scene." she reaches over and wipes her dirt - covered hands over rohan's knees - in the most childish of manners - before rising to her feet. "that's bollocks, i'll go tell her i've just found out that fecking - willy's died and that we need to host a memorial over the sea in his sweet memory - she's already giving me a nasty stare, anywho - don't think she'll be shedding any tears if we go."

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎rohan looks him over, head tilted. his lips part── he's about to say no, actually, noah does not look like he can swim── but before he can noah cuts him off. rohan fondly rolls his eyes. " what does that even mean ? " he huffs the familiar sentiment under his breath. at this point rohan has stopped trying to figure out what noah ( and astrid, and luna, and anyone else younger than thirty ) was trying to say.

leaning back, he glances over the railing, and then at noah, and then back over the railing── as though he's seriously considering throwing the other man into the water. he's not, but he finds the idea of it funny nonetheless. rohan crosses his arms. " i just want to make sure that you remember to behave. " his eyebrow quirks, and there are hints of a uncharacteristic grin somewhere in his expression, " i'm not getting stuck here if something happens, if we see a whale, because you're not brave enough to get in the water. "

"i'm going to pretend like that was the scurvy talking," noah answered, disregarding the content of rohan's reply as he settled into the seat next to him. rohan's moods never really bothered noah, partly because he couldn't really tell when rohan was being moody. even if he did catch wind of it, he never assumed it was in response to anything he did. it was just his personality. more often than not, noah actually found comfort in the presence of someone who always seemed to know what they were doing. someone who had the answers no matter how dumb the question seemed. someone who was reliable and grounded. sometimes, noah needed that. noah mirrored rohan's stretch, releasing a yawn in the process. he then rested his arms behind his head so that they cradled the nape of his neck. though relaxed, he couldn't help but furrow his brow at rohan's question. "of course i do, don't i look like it?" noah paused. "nevermind don't answer that. you're not preparing to throw me overboard or something right? because the popcorn thing was so fundamentally unserious. i was just in a silly mood."

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🎵 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎luna has a pension for knives; this won't be seba's first foray into the joys of throwing sharp objects, but he isn't going to correct her. aivryn's peppy enthusiasm is at odds with the actvity at hand. he finds it rather charming, accepting the safety gear she holds in his direction with an amused smile.

pulling his helmet on, and wiggling his hands into the gloves ( doing this at home requires less layers ), he's quick to follow after her to the table. " what's that supposed to mean ? " he questions, his indignation playful, but quickly seba turns his attention to the selections. he considers it, head tilting. " i don't know. what do you recommend ? you're the expert. "

status / open (@valpostart) location / destrozarlo mejor!

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡. ❝I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO TRY THIS! I CAME HERE LAST WEEK WITH MY THERAPIST, AND IT WAS SOOO FUN.❞ Aivryn bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes gleaming with excitement as she slipped on the coveralls provided by the Destrozarlo Mejor staff. ❝Honestly, this is one of the best things I've done in a while.❞

She wiggled her brows as she handed the other their protective gear. ❝I was thinking you might really enjoy it too. You know, just letting loose and smashing stuff. And I feel like you really need it.... No offense, of course.❞ Did Aiv think they look like they needed a release? Yes. Hence, why she took them to the rage room. She wore her safety goggles, gloves and helmet before moving to look at the array of hitting equipment laid out on a table. Aivryn pursed her lips as the thought about her weapon of choice for today. ❝Whatcha thinkin' of using, hm?❞

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🪐 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎she beams proudly as he confirms her moon landing opinion. one step closer to weird niche podcast stardom. score ! " it is, quite literally, rocket science. do you think you could put me in contact with moon landing guy ? sometimes i think it's fun to just, like, talk to crazy. " she chirps, before adding, " and exactly ! "

arms fly out in front of her, gesturing wildly as she speaks. one smacks into a nearby stack of books and almost sends them scattering to the floor. sade catches it last minute, throwing her arms over the pile in a rather clumsy performance. " i mean the universe is huuuuuge ! and there's no way we're the most advanced life form out there either. " she speaks once she's recovered, shaking off her embarrassment. ...one step forward and two steps back. " aliens are out there, and they definitely gotta know about us, which means we so totally at least have some idea about them ! i mean the government allocates funding specifically for trying to contact aliens. "

"i mean, with former pentagon officials coming out with information? this is the year to be an alien believer." zaid replies, not even acknowledging the articles, because, as sade said, of course he's read them. he pays no mind to the employees only sign, sade can't get in trouble, he's in charge here (kind of). "i did an episode on moon landing deniers a year or so ago and the guest i had on was a total crackpot. the anti-moon landing people have shaky arguments at best, completely delusional at their worst." he agrees, setting down a stack of books before turning his attention fully onto sade, "aliens are definitely real. i try to see the skeptic side of things, really," he insists, "but... government employees don't just say shit about that, they're not allowed to." though, he has a healthy distrust in the government, but still, most officials don't go around shouting about aliens, that shit is classified, "also for anyone to believe that we're alone in this vast space? that's just ridiculous! people who don't believe are crazier than the ones who do. and that's on the record. that's truth."

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎sade snorts. " cat distibution system. " she echoes, abandoning the tabby so she can lower herself to a seat on the floor beside salem. leaning into her palm, she reaches across the both of them pet the calico that sits in salem's lap. " does that have like, scientific backing ? now that i think about it, i've never heard of someone coming into possession of a cat through like, normal channels. " even sade's own childhood cats ── these days a couple of elderly monsters aptly named thing one and thing two ── were kittens that her dad brought home after hearing them meowing in the dumpster. slowly, her face breaks out into a grin. " you would still be young and hot if you were the seven cats lady, " she points out cheekily. " do we have to like sit out tests to see which cat wants to pick you ? or has this little guy already done it ? " she coos, mostly to the cat.

her gaze was focused on an older calico cat as sade spoke. the other's comment raised excitement in salem's plan for another fur child. "please don't tell me that...then i'll have to be inclined to take one home and explain to stevie why she suddenly has another sibling." as the cat climbed into her arms she smiled up at sade trying her best to be normal. "you're not really supposed to pick one per say. you have to let the cat come find you. it's what the cat distribution system is all about after all. stevie was a kitten on the streets of new orleans when i found her." she let out a small giggle as she stroked the cats fur completely in awe of the different color patterns on it's fur. "if i could take all these home with me i would but my apartment would look like this cafe. i'm too young and hot to be the seven cats lady yet. but one more won't hurt right?"

[driftwccds]

Ayo Edebiri as Sydney Adamu The Bear (2022-present) costume design by Courtney Wheeler

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎" well . . . nemo was a fish ? " he blinks at felix stupidly, " barracuda are still predatory. just not to humans. " fish mafia ? rohan pictures a crowd of barracuda, all wearing tiny bowler hats, smoking tiny underwater cigars with bubbles coming out the end. his nose twitches. " you come to me on the day of my daughter's wedding, and ask me to commit murder for money. " he mutters the quote under his breath, amused, before the ridiculousness of that thought-tangent settles in and the whole picture disappears; only to be replaced by the slightly more disturbing idea of a human instrument. " that's. . . actually kinda fucked up man. " his fingers come up to touch his jugular sympathetically, " i think i know someone who can hold a seance but──‏‏‎ i wouldn't call them a local weirdo. not to their face. "

rohan could walk the path out of the marina blindfolded. it's muscle memory as he turns down the main boardwalk, towards the gate that opens out onto the road. at least he doesn't sleep on the floor. it's not much to brag about, but rohan adds it to his back pocket for the next time someone makes fun of the boat and it's meagre luxuries. the cot can't be all that bad; imagine sleeping in the back office of plantas atlas. certainly felix was the one who needed to invest in more blankets. ( what a ridiculous comparison to be making──‏‏‎ clearly both of them should've been reconsidering their choices. ) " yeah, the white ruffle shirt would really improve your odds out in the wild. " he slows down, just a little, as felix hurries to catch up, hands finding their way to his coat pockets. rohan snickers but hides it by ducking his head, turning his attention on the ground in front of his feet as they walk in tandem. " is that an option ? do you sometimes wear it around like . . . a coat ? " it's a funny image: his friend waddling around with his signature sulk, cloaked in some big blanket like an oversized toddler. another short laugh escapes him, this one less timid. " actually, maybe you should start doing that, since it's all about your comfort or whatever. "

"okay," felix scoffs - once again, without any real malice behind it, just disbelief, "then why did one murder nemo's entire family, unprompted? it was like a fucking - fish hit. did marlin have unpaid debts? was he being chased by the fucking - fish mafia?" they're not real - but he poses the question like they are, like it's real to him. "oh, great. they're curious perverts." the thought of anything watching him when he's not expecting anyone to be gives him the heebie jeebies, and felix takes another pointed step away from the dock, glaring into the water and half - expecting to lock eyes with a barracuda. he thinks for a moment, like he's genuinely comparing the two. "is the neck hole not like, a tube in a way? i don't know - he croaked when i was like, fourteen. let me find the nearest local weirdo, maybe, and we can hold a séance!" sarcastic excitement that's soon dropped in favor for, "i don't know. the neck hole's fucked up but i can't help but admire the fucking, uh - technicalities for it. i'd play it like a flute, or some shit. human instrument." he's always been a shit singer, but maybe hope's not all lost.

he considers rohan's response; he's never been much of a camper, but he's not an entire hater of the outdoors. he just hasn't used the woods for... camping. parties, sure - drinking, yeah. sometimes, one must run through the woods while screaming on the top of his lungs and scaring - or attracting - all sorts of wildlife. 'tis is life. felix shrugs - a response to rohan's own, "i sleep at fucking - plantas, sometimes. easier than making the trek back home. and you know what - i like sleeping on the floor. i think it's underrated." however false the other man's reply is - is still enough to soothe felix' faux offense, a grin carrying over his features; that doesn't waver, even as he stumbles forth with the push against his shoulder. "hey! this is fucked," it takes him a moment to catch up, but when he does he bumps his shoulder against rohan's, "i detest that, actually. you've obviously never seen me in one of those fucking - ruffle shirts. all alexander hamilton. i'd even call myself dashing. i just can't help that i'm sensitive! not everyone's as sturdy as you, hardened by the fucking... rough winds, or whatever. i just have great faith and - comfort - in our modern advances, isn't that the entire point of having them? make life easier? and it's not like i'm dragging my heated blanket around with me - i'm coping!" though he does wish he had it.

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

for NAZLI @ el mercado, mid-dayish

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎rohan could’ve circled around to a different aisle. when he spotted nazli at el mercado, he could've ducked out and prayed that by the time he got back around to this stretch of vendors she moved on── but as much as that would’ve been his preferred option, he knows it also would’ve been hers, and, by that backwards knowledge, he can’t let her win. " huh. " approaching the stall she's standing at and stopping directly beside her, rohan peers over her shoulder, trying to see what she's poking at; not because he sincerely cares what she's doing, but because he thinks his nosiness will annoy her. " i thought you survived solely on sucking the energy out of everyone around you but here you are, shopping for vegetables like a real person. . . " he gestures to her, " . . . and it's either karma or very bad luck── for me, i mean. i'm sure you've been excited to speak to another living human again. i don't get the impression you do it much. " / ( @alkaliineee )

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎her luggage safely stowed in the back of the cab, rohan follows salem's lead and ducks into the truck. he tosses the book ( a collection of stories by phillip k dick── stupid nerd ) up onto the dashboard in front of him and sticks the keys into the ignition. " i know, but cut me some slack salem. you have a lot more material to work with than i do. let me have the money jokes. " lest he who cast the first stone be free of sin, or whatever. at least he can also poke fun at himself. the engine rumbles to life. “ don’t tell anyone i did this. and don’t call me bestie. “ rohan checks his mirrors. “ i’ve got a reputation as our resident broody protagonist to uphold and if anybody catches wind of me doing you favours the whole thing crumbles. “ he doesn't know how to accept her earnestness, so he deflects it; it's much easier to make a joke than admit that her thank you makes him feel a little bit lighter, the ghost of a smile creeping into his expression.

" obnoxious how ? " settling back into his seat, he spares her a brief glance, " like ugly ? because if it's ugly, i will display it somewhere really prominent on the boat, but then every single time someone says something about it being ugly, because all of you always have fucking opinions on everything── " as he talks, his free hand gestures in the space between them, " ──i'm going to tell them that it was from you and ' not to say anything about it to salem ' because ' i think she actually really actually liked it and it would be mean to insult her taste. ' "

she pouted briefly after realizing she'd have to wait a little longer to be reunited with her child but seeing boat cat was an added bonus. the orange creature had become like a second child to her. "luna was right with doing that you know. i mean the only reason why we're besties is because you're a negligent cat parent towards boat cat." salem knew referring to the two as besties would make rohan shudder and she couldn't help that she found amusement in getting on his nerves ( it was pretty simple after all ) and she had to admit she did enjoy their back and forth. as he toted the luggage into the car she rolled her eyes at his comment. "i don't need luggage that expensive no, but i can't help that i have nice things." climbing into the passenger seat in an attempt to get out of the cold she continued on. "i was just talking shit really, you know i'm not one to really flex my wealth but it obviously annoyed you and that's enough for me." a laugh falling from her lips. salem knew she should have probably thanked him first before getting on his nerves but it wasn't in her nature to be nice to rohan immediately. she looked over at him as he got into the drivers seat and gave him a small smile. "thanks by the way. i appreciate you offering to bring me home. i got you a really obnoxious gift for the boat also."

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

for DELILAH JANE @ her house, late evening/early morning

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎rohan twists the keys in the ignition and the truck radio fizzles out, plunging them into quiet, still semi-darkness. instead of acknowledging delilah jane in the passenger seat, his gaze fixes pointedly on the quaint, familiar farmhouse and his hands tap restlessly against the steering wheel. sure, when it comes to their strange agreement, rohan always feels slightly out of his element, but he thinks there’s currently something weirder than his bad energy sitting between them. for the umpteenth time that tense drive back, he replays the evening in his head: he'd place his hand on her shoulder, her leg, the back of her chair; she would move away; rinse, repeat, until her message was clear and he stopped trying. why is she mad ? what did he do to earn the sharp edge underlying her testy smiles and polite, borderline impersonal answers ? rohan risks a glance in delilah’s direction, looking for the explanation in her pretty face── features he’s grown a little bit fond of, illuminated pleasingly by the porch light casting them both in a soft yellow glow── and coming up blank.

fidgeting anxiously, he falls back into the seat and returns to staring at the house. he smooths his sweaty palms over the creases in his stiff, black pants until they stop at his knees, uncertain of what to do next. " i don't. . . " he breaks their silence with an uneasy huff, " . . . i don't really know what i’m supposed to say right now, if i'm being honest. goodnight ? thanks for the invitation and the awkward silence on the way back ? " / ( @divinctions )

[driftwccds]

tw : death, death of a loved one, drowning mentions, depictions of intrusive thoughts, depictions of anxiety & a whole lot of needless melodrama.

the evidence of the ocean’s affair with the cliff is obvious: sea foam speckles the sharp gray stones, which are crusted with seaweed and creatures that brace themselves as the waves crash over them. rohan can feel the cool mist spray in his face as water meets bluff and he crouches at the edge; the vertigo isn’t much better the second time, and the mid-morning drizzle soaks through the thin material of his sweater.

he plants his palm against the slick grass below him, steadying himself against the wind.

there are other options. he could take up running; or one of those crafty hobbies that require the use of fine motor skills, like model ships. there is therapy, or calling a friend. surely someone in his life would’ve understood the anxiety that’s bubbling under his skin before he dug his nails in to tear it out himself.

but rohan wants to be alone right now. the people who surround him are part of the problem. keeping up with them has exhausted his well of emotional energy. for years he’s lived separate from the rest of the world rather than risk coming face to face with his grief, one small boat in the wide ocean. chile has cloaked him with a second chance for companionship. one that he didn’t ask for. one that rohan thinks he doesn’t want. 

he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ don’t they know he doesn’t know what he’s doing ? 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ … will he forget the sound of their voices, too ? 

he’s not a social person. he’s tired. he’s overwhelmed. he feels guilty, and he’s full of unreasonable fears and expectations that he put there himself. he insists he’s fine and he’s not lonely even though it isn’t true; he’s been surrounded by people most of his life, and only recently found himself placed in the self-inflicted isolation that’s been gnawing at his already fragile mental state. 

but he’s not ready to accept his grief yet. if he accepts it then it’s real. every bad thought he’s had is true. he doesn’t want to answer anymore questions. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ and then there’s his dad.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ it shouldn’t matter, it’s his dad.

a little warning would’ve been nice. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ a little warning would’ve made no difference. 

he’s struggling with the odysseus and the winter weather that’s wreaking havoc on her old bones, marooning her to shore for as long as it takes him to fix it. and the big red circle marring the august page of his calendar, and all the feelings he never unpacked about the accident── which seem to be closer to the surface this year than they have over the last half-decade, about his dead sister, about his living one, about the state of their family

he’s been trapped in storms, on land, with people and no escape for over a month. yes, he wants to do this alone. he thinks that will make things better. rohan feels claustrophobic, and it’s making his head spin. it’s making him stupid. it’s making him impulsive.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏anything to turn it off.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏

he takes a deep breath as he stands up, exhaling shakily. his hands comb back through his hair and it sticks against his forehead, the back of his neck, wet and icy and dripping down his spine. he reassures his nerves: last time they made it out unscathed. last time he had javi to worry about, too── those excruciating few seconds between when his friend jumped and when he hit the water, when rohan’s anxious heart stopped beating entirely. it’s proof of what he thinks about his independence. he will be fine because there’s nobody else here to fret over. there’s also nobody else here to care if something goes wrong.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏they’re going to die too. all of them. then what ? 

can’t survive that again── can’t mourn everybody── can’t even properly mourn people he’s already lost. gotta find a way around it. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏“ why won’t you come home ? “ 

vicious thoughts and voices rattle around inside his head like an orchestra that’s out of tune, and none of the musicians will stop for air. he can’t focus. he’s irritable. he feels like he hasn’t slept in days. he wants them quiet and he knows he can drown them, even if just for a minute. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏“ ──so tired of begging you to come to us. “ 

he’s a bad son. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏he’s a bad person. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ��‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎maybe he’s doing it on purpose.

he should have known after five years the half-assed excuses and last minute cancellations would catch up with him. he didn’t think it would be now. he isn’t ready. the mistakes he’s made still dangle in front of him while he’s fixed in place. over and over, in emotional purgatory, he watches the replay. he can’t change the past, and yet it haunts him all the same.

the worst part is he can’t shut it off. normally he shuts it off. it’s not working this time.  

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏

he doesn’t want him here. not yet. not now. not ever.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏“ i should get to be a part of the new life you’ve built. “

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏. . .please don’t say it like that──

it’s his dad, who still remembers to call every sunday even though rohan rarely remembers to pick up. his dad, who always leaves a voicemail asking him to call him back. his dad who, in the most recent picture he’s seen, has more grey hair and wrinkles than when rohan saw him last.

rohan misses him. he wants to see him again. he wants to see his sister, too, though he thinks that metaphorical ship has sailed. 

they’re still going to die. 

it’s inevitable──

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏──and then what ? 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏then what, rohan ?

can’t do it, not again. . .

he drags his palms across his damp face, blinking condensation from his eyelashes. the harsh wind tears at his skin and clothes despite the relative calmness of the water below. he’s desperate for that serenity. once he breaks the surface and disappears under the still, dark water, everything will be silent. right now it’s unbearably loud. he can’t think. he needs to think.

. . . but what if he’s wasting valuable time ? 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏── . . . what if he’s wasted the last five years ? 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏what if he didn’t have to be so lonely ?

with shaky hands, he drags his sweater over his head. rohan discards it, and wherever it ends up, he’s not present enough to pay attention. jumping into the water won’t stop his father from boarding a plane in a few weeks, but that doesn’t matter. all rohan wants is for everything to be quiet, just for a second, just so he can relax, because he can never relax, not when everything is pressing in on him on all sides. 

his dad’s old. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏they only have so much time, and maybe he’s wasted it 

for nothing

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏

because he’s immature. he’s selfish. he couldn’t step away from his own pain

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‏──leave it. 

he shuffles backwards. the ground is soaked through, much like him, and he prays he doesn’t slip. he’ll deal with everything afterwards. once he can think clearly again, it will be easier.

before he can reconsider, rohan throws his scrawny figure with as much force as he can over the edge, plummeting towards the tranquil ocean.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

the fall feels longer this time. it happens in slow motion, his heart in his throat. he’s suspended in mid-air‎‏── is this it ? is everything over ?‎‏── and then he crashes into the water.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

he can’t move. his arms and legs won’t listen. his body needs a moment to recover from the fall. he floats motionlessly, heart pounding, eyes screwed shut, lungs screaming.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

time works different down here. all he knows is numb and dark, and the ocean is vast and unfeeling and it wraps him in a familiar comfort. it seeps into his bones, and the bitter, winter cold makes him feel lethargic. something gently tries to pull him under, yanking at his heavy clothes, it’s siren song encouraging him not to resist it‎‏. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

he likes the feeling of brushing up right next to it, likes that it brings him closer to the peace he craves so badly, but rohan doesn’t want to die. drowning terrifies him. it’s the end of the story, and he’s been running from his fear of the reaper since he first came into contact with it almost six years ago. the tide pushes him, and the opportunity presents itself to let go, but no matter how tempting it is to sink to the bottom and let the scavengers have their way with what’s left of him, he fights it without thought.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

when he regains control of his arms, rohan claws his way to the surface, and inhales air and salt water with a sputtering cough when he breaks the waves. the cold has drained him entirely; his teeth chatter and limbs tremble with each movement, but it worked. 

moving on autopilot, he works with the ebb of the current to carry his wiry frame back to shore.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ it’s quiet.

his head feels clearer as he presses a towel against his face. his heart pounds violently inside his ribcage and his muscles ache from the cold and the impact from the water and none of it feels good, but the physical sensations are a welcome interruption from his catastrophizing.

he scans over his thoughts like one might pick through the wreckage of a burnt building: he looks for salvageable pieces of the mess, ideas that make sense. rohan takes inventory of what’s left as the panic starts to subside. 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏. . .

it's easier now to stamp out things he doesn't want to think about. when an anxious thought starts to pop up, he focuses instead about the cool air that singes his throat with each uneven inhale, and the material of his shirt freezing to his skin. the distraction of discomfort is a relief, and he uses it to seal off his well of emotions instead of looking at what's left rotting there, untouched for years.

his movements are robotic and hurried as he pulls on dry, warm clothes; muttering about how it’s fucking cold and that really fucking hurt and who’s fucking idea was that anyway ? oh yeah, yours, dumbass. when finally, he’s able to get a deep breath, tension melts from his shoulders. rohan does it again, and again, savouring the momentary control he has over his own thoughts── an occurrence so rare, he doesn’t want to give it up.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎afterwards. he’ll deal with everything afterwards.

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🐚 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎he  is  actually  kind  of expecting  yeli  to  know  where  charlie  is.  he  stumbles  upon  them  together  more  often  than  he'd  expect,  which  is  confusing  to  him  because  she  is  way  better  conversation── which is to say in the handful of times they've spoken rohan finds her better conversation, even if she does always seem a little on edge for reasons he hasn't figured out. just her personality, perhaps ? whatever. it's not his business. letting  out  a  soft  '  hmmph  '  rohan  looks  around  the  hallway──  but  she  keeps  talking,  and  he  doesn't  want  to  be  rude,  so  he  looks  back  towards  her.

"  i  don't  want  to  keep  you  from  wherever  you  were  going.  "  he  gestures  in  the  direction  she'd  been  heading  before  their  collision.  it's  really  not  urgent.  in  fact,  it's  probably  the  furthest  thing  from  urgent.  rohan  just  has  a  spare  afternoon  with  nothing  better  to  do  than  be  difficult.  he  doesn't  want  to  drag  yeli  into  that.  "  it's  not  that  important.  i'll  go  check  the  library.  he's  pretentious  enough  to  hang  out  there.  "  a  pause,  and  he  adds,  "  which  isn't  a  no.  you  can  come  if  you  want  to──  i  just  assume  most people  have  better  things  to  do  then  look  for  charlie.  "  he's  not  really  the  best  at  carrying  conversation  either.  not  when  he's  trying to  be  polite.  "  i  could  tell  you  a  little  bit  about  that  contract  ?  with  the  aquarium  ?  that  i  texted  you  about  ?  then  at  least  it's  not  a  total  waste  of  time  if  we  don't  find  him.  " 

⠀⠀⠀⠀ it was no secret that anayeli thought something about rohan was dreamy , but she'd rather die than have him know that . there was disinterest there that she wasn't oblivious to ; but maybe that's what made her so nervous : she doesn't want to look like an idiot in front of him , in front of anyone . she scolds herself in her head , telling her to get a grip and interact with him like an adult .

she snaps back as he asks her if she'd seen their mutual . . . at the very least — acquaintance , responding with a simple shake of her head . ❝ not since this morning , in passing . sorry . ❞ she is . she wishes she could offer an answer , in some way being a help to the other . she pauses . ❝ isn't he in a few clubs ? he might be at his writing one , or the reading one . i don't remember what days those are held on , though . ❞ she hopes it's worth the mention . ❝ i know bookclub's at inherited escapes . ❞ she pauses again , briefly , and nods her head toward rohan . ❝ is finding him a case of urgency ? or were you just dropping by ? ❞ she doesn't know why that came out — she could see that rohan was trying to find his friend , not hold a conversation in the middle of these claustrophobic hallways — but it was like she just lost control of her voice . ❝ i can help you look for him ! ❞

[driftwccds]

5x16 | 5x18 | 7x08

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎ ‎🪐 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎"  alright,  suit  yourself  !  don't  say  that  i  didn't  warn  'ya  !  "  she  has  no  plans  on  actually  making  him  drink  anything  too  terrible──  she's  going  to  take  one  with  him,  because  she  will spend her whole night  listening  to  more  shitty  comedians  like  that  guy,  and  she  doesn't  want  to  get  stuck  drinking  something  too  disgusting.  it'll  just  be  cheap  !  "  oh  fuck  yeah,  dude.  "  sade  loves  going  to  every  season.  it  reminds  her  of  visiting  coney  island  as  a  kid──  she  has  a  fondness  for  ferris  wheels,  for  looking  down  at  all  the  carnival  goers  and  seeing  how  teeny  tiny  they  look.  even  if  she  doesn't  attend  all  week,  she's  making  sure  she's  going  at  least  once  for  that.  "  i  wouldn't  miss  it.  it's  one  of  the  coolest  things  happening  right now.  i  mean  what  else  is  there  to  do  ?  book  club  ?  go  diving  in  the  freezing  cold  ocean  ?  no  way  !  "  sade  shakes  her  head,  selecting  a  bottle  off  the  shelf  and  turning  to  pour  two  shot  glasses.  "  are  you  going  to  be  there  ?  it  seems  like  you  asked  me  that  question  for  a  reason.  "     

leon chuckles at sade's words. it's like she's talking a hundred words per minute and it amuses him. "it's fine. i'll take the risk," he grins as he briefly glances at his phone. he doesn't really know what to do with his hands. the comedian walks out of the stage and there's scattered applause in the room. "oof, i'd hate to be that guy," the blond says as he looks at the defeated man who goes backstage. "are you going to the carnaval de invierno?" he asks. it was such a headache to get a slot. but he got the 4 pm one and he's getting paid so that's good. but he hasn't played live in a while and he hasn't gotten a chance to rehearse with his band a lot. the carnival is tomorrow and he knows he shouldn't be getting shitfaced, but he's nervous and anxious and maybe a shot will ease all of that.

[driftwccds]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏────────────────────

-ˋˏ ‏‏‎ ‎꒰ ‏‏‎🎵 ‏‏‎ ‎꒱‏‏‎ ‎ ──‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎they're  likely  doomed.  sebastián  is  great  with  sounds,  instruments,  but  anything  outside  of  that  very  niche  subject  area  is  outside  of  his  expertise.  he's  used  to  other  people  around  him  knowing  what  to  do,  and  following  their  lead  (  typical  middle  child  )  that  he  really  has  barely  thought  about  it.  not  that  he  hasn't  tried.  .  .  but  staring  at  the  wall  with  a  pen  in  his  hand  for  two  hours  doesn't  feel  as  productive  when  he's  face-to-face  with  misty  with  no  ideas.  "  you  know  i  had  a  couple  of  thoughts,  or  whatever,  "  he  says──  despite  the  fact  he's  probably  never  had  a  thought  before,  ever.  "  but  they  aren't  done  yet.  they  um,  they  also  need  to  be  mulled  over.  "  whatever that means. plucking  the  drink  menu  from  it's  spot  in  the  tray  on  the  table,  he  looks  it  over,  flipping  it  to  the  other  side.  "  that's  not  true  at  all,  actually.  i  haven't  had  any  thoughts.  i  wrote  down  podcast──  question  mark  ?──  on  a  piece  of  paper  two  days  ago  but  then  scratched  it  out  because  it's  a  terrible  idea. i'm already on the radio.  "  casually  dropping  the  laminated  menu  down  onto  the  table,  sebastian  lets  out  a  sigh.  "  i'm  sorry──  i  tried.  i  really  tried.  but  there's  nothing  up  there.  "  a  pause,  before  he  adds,  "  i  guess  i  probably  owe  you  two  drinks ?  " 

                 ⋆.˚ there’s  an  unconscious  jolt  from  the  contact  that  pulls  misty  from  her  thoughts,  had  she  even  been  having  any  she  would’ve  been  at  the  least  mildly  irritated  but  her  mind  was  blank.  she  hated  it,  why  was  this  so  hard  ?  she  hadn’t  even  noticed  sebastian  had  been  running  late,  she  was  royally  fucked  —  god  maybe  this  had  all  been  a  horrible  idea.  still,  she  knows  her  doubts  shouldn’t  be  apparent  to  any  but  her,  she  sends  him  a  small  almost  curt  smile  (  that’s  not  playing  it  cool  ).  ❝  i  mean  i’ve  just  been  scribbling  some  random  things  down  but  i  don’t  know  about  them  yet.  they  need  to  be…  mulled  over.  ❞  she  gathers  the  papers  strewn  about  the  table  towards  her,  haphazardly  stacking  them  aside.  ❝  i  mean  you  don’t  really  have  to  do  that,  ❞  the  words  leave  her  lips  but  her  eyes  scan  the  menu,  her  order  ready  to  be  spoken.  ❝  so,  what  about  you  ?  have  you  been…  cooking  ?  anything  up  —  ❞  there’s  more  to  be  said,  words  resting  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  but  instead,  she  draws  an  already  chewed  straw  back  to  her  mouth  acting  as  if  she’s  in  need  of  a  sip  of  water.  she  takes  said  sip  before  returning  to  idly  chewing  on  the  straw,  her  eyes  locked  onto  sebastian  almost  expectantly  —  praying  he’d  open  his  mouth  and  gold  would  spring  forth.   ─ ✶⋆.˚