likehells

[likehells]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧.

it’s a gift, maybe. or a scar dressed up as grace. you move through the world like a balm — warm hands, a soft voice that wraps itself around grief like gauze. you offer steadiness like it costs nothing, like it didn’t take years to stitch yourself into something that wouldn’t unravel the moment someone leaned too hard. because you know how that feels, don’t you? to reach, and then be left holding only the ghost of something once promised.

your father left before you even learned how to ride a bike. you can’t remember his voice, not really — just the echo of absence, the outline of him in family photos, the way your mother stopped saying his name like it was something bitter on her tongue. he left, and no one taught you how to stop expecting others to follow.

so now, you love people the way you learned to — from a distance that feels safe but not cold. you give and give and give, like maybe if your presence is soft enough, needed enough, they’ll stay. maybe if you’re the one with the answers, the calm in the storm, the tea on the stove and the porch light always on, no one will notice the space inside you that stays locked tight. maybe they’ll never ask for the part of you that still flinches when someone gets too close.

and god, you want closeness. of course you do. you want to be understood the way you understand others. you want someone to sit beside you and know when you’re lying with a smile, to see the way your fingers twitch when you’re holding something back. but want has never been the same as trust, and trust — well. trust has sharp teeth and a long shadow. you’ve built yourself a life of service, of steadiness, of being the one they come to. not because you don’t want to be held, but because it’s easier to cradle others than to admit that sometimes, you’re the one unraveling.

so when someone reaches back — when they see you, not just the warm silhouette of you, but the marrow-deep, haunted, holy truth of who you are — you freeze. you smile. you deflect with practiced ease. you tell them you’re fine, that you’re used to being alone, that there’s beauty in solitude. and maybe there is. but there’s fear there too. because closeness means risk. it means surrender. it means letting someone see the places still shaped by loss, the questions you still ask yourself in the quiet: what did i do wrong? why wasn’t i enough to stay for?

but beneath the fear, there’s a flicker. a small, stubborn ember. maybe, just maybe, you are enough to be chosen. maybe you always were. and maybe — when the time is right, when the porch light is still on and the night is thick with trust — you’ll let someone all the way in. just a little. just enough. just once.

[likehells]

Adria Arjona as Sarah BLINK TWICE (2024) dir. Zoë Kravitz

[likehells]

[likehells]

[likehells]

"no pressure." she echoed, like she was testing the weight of the words with her tongue, turning them slow and deliberate. they felt true enough, but even then, there was something in her that always clocked the shape of things unseen — the unspoken, the almosts. "mhm. well, if i hate it, i’ll lie. really convincingly." a small shrug accompanied it, deadpan but fond. "wouldn’t want to wound your pride." the teasing barely curled at the edge of her voice, gentler than sharp, the way you toss a pillow instead of a stone. she didn’t meet his gaze when he smiled — not because she didn’t notice, but because she did. because it was quiet and rare and real, and sometimes it felt like holding eye contact too long might make things tip too earnest. and she wasn’t quite ready for earnest. not yet. instead, she looked at her lap, then the slope of the hill where the grass grew wild in tufts, where the world felt like it belonged more to birds and breeze than to people.

"a party in your secret spot?" she clicked her tongue, feigned scandal curling across her features. "what kind of monster do you take me for?" her smile was small but easy, and then he called her the medical professional and she huffed once, soft and amused. "yeah, and that means i know just how easy it is to sprain something dumb. step wrong, sneeze weird. you’re not immune either, just fyi. and if i do carry a grudge, it’ll be small. decorative. only brought out on holidays." the pause that followed wasn’t awkward, just quiet. like the space between breaths. like maybe she was giving the question its proper moment. "i should probably play responsible adult." she started, squinting into the sun like maybe the answer could be changed if she squinted hard enough. "but i’m real tempted to go rogue." and that was the truth of it — not a promise, not a no. just something on the edge of maybe. "so i think i will. what's the worst that could happen?" famous last words, cabral.

"Not if there's no pressure to begin with?" He paused briefly, his thoughts to her comment not entirely done. "Sharing is caring, I won't hold it against you if you don't like it as much as I do." Perhaps it was a slightly corny saying and all. But, in the end he valued the other enough to share it. The tone easy and light just to reiterate the fact that even though that bit of information was untouched or had been, didn't mean it had to be digested as such. "But to relieve that pressure, it's not like I stake any kind of claim on the spot if that makes you feel any better." A warm, yet minimal smile was shown her way. Adrian was never over the top with certain looks. All were usually calm and subtle. But perhaps, the roots of those could be linked to the trauma he endured. Though he preferred the cool and collected reasoning.

"I would hope not, it would be to my surprise to say the least should I stumble upon it and there's a whole party going on." He was clearly teasing a bit, the look he cast off was a clear indicator. The male had all the faith in her that she would appreciate it as much as he had of the spot just as he had ages ago when he first stumbled upon the gift. His own little sanctuary. Adrian didn't have to escape anymore, so it was simple for him to pass along the gift now. "I suppose that's fair, but just remember you're the medical professional out of the two of us." Words muttered and teasing lacing them for someone who only presented such traits to somebody who he was familiar with. "I do like to think though I can take direction though, even with the grudge you would surely carry." The theme continued. "So, does that mean you are going to play hooky today or should I take a rain check?"

[likehells]

the words settled around her like dusk, slow and amber-toned, and nety let them. didn’t deflect, didn’t retreat — just breathed them in like the air had changed. like something in it had sweetened. her gaze stayed on the grass a moment longer, watching the way her fingers moved through it like a habit she didn’t want to break. when she finally looked up, it was gradual. reverent. bette, lit in the low light, eyes steady and sure. there was something in her — always had been — that refused to look away from the hard things. not with pity, not with demand. just... presence. nety had known people her whole life who made care conditional. bette never asked. she just gave, the way some people lit candles — quiet, slow, knowing where the flame belonged.

nety huffed something like a laugh through her nose, silent and short. "you make it sound like a threat." she said dryly, though her mouth curved, lazy and warm at the edges. the grass whispered under her palm as she leaned back on one hand, letting the sky open up above them. whatever music was left had faded into something distant and hollow, like it was meant for someone else entirely. "haven’t been to the pit road in a while." nety added, not quite a confession, but close enough. "place still smells like fry oil and bad decisions, i bet." she didn’t expect an answer — not right away. the hush between them didn’t ask to be filled. it just was, steady as breath. after a moment, she tilted her head toward her, expression unreadable but not unkind. "you always take strays in?"

that   warm   voice   seemed   to   strike   like   a   dart   even   amongst   the   early   summer   haze   –   bette   didn't   need   to   open   her   eyes   to   know   nety   had   taken   perch   near   her,   didn't   feel   the   need   to,   she   just   allowed   a   contented   smile   to   spread   across   her   face.   there   weren't   many   she   shared   full   silence   with,   even   fewer   who   held   meaning   in   that   silence   with   her,   but   nety   was   one   of   them.   for   another   moment   in   their   lives,   the   two   women   were,   once   again,   existing   in   one   another's   space   fully   and   quietly.   without   pretense   or   expectation.   it   was   nice.    ❛   stick   with   me,   honey,   and   you'll   never   forget   again.   ❜    an   invitation,   presented   with   subtlety   and   patience.   i'm   here,   if   you   need   me.  when   nety's   voice   fills   the   air   once   more,   bette   turns   her   head   towards   her   and   finally   allows   her   eyelids   to   flutter   open.   the   smile   has   transformed   now   into   something   more   comforting,   her   deep   blue   hues   trained   on   the   other   with   intention.    ❛   ain't   no   need   to   thank   me.   ❜    and   she   meant   it,   for   once.    ❛   the   pit   road's   always   open   to   you,   you   know   that.   ❜    but   it   wasn't   just   the   pit   road,   was   it?   no,   something   weightier   sat   behind   bette's   words.   nety   had   found   herself   in   a   position   reserved   for   very   few,   those   who   exhausted   themselves   helping   others,   those   who   needed   to   be   taken   care   of   themselves   lest   they   fall   at   their   final   hurdle   –   she   was   now   under   bette's   care.

[likehells]

her laugh lingered, soft and a little breathless, like it had been coaxed from somewhere deeper than surprise. the dog’s sigh was a balm, warm and weighty, and it stirred something fond behind her ribs — something she didn’t name, didn’t need to. "of course he did." she echoed, glancing up with a smile that curled slow and rueful at the edges. "you blink, and i inherit a fugitive." bowie gave a faint huff, and her fingers swept instinctively through the scruff of his neck, touch gentle, practiced — like she already knew him. calder’s voice settled around her like worn denim and sunlight, familiar in a way that snuck up on her. there’d always been something quiet about the way he moved through her life — nothing loud or demanding, just the steady rhythm of presence. of showing up. of staying.

"i think i’m flattered." she murmured, rising carefully to her feet, brushing dirt from her dress with the back of her hand. "though i’d have preferred flowers. ribs feel a little... carnivorous." she shot him a look, playful but not unkind, one brow lifting just slightly. "but i’ll take what i can get." his question settled between them, more felt than heard. her gaze flicked to his — brief, searching — and then she nodded, slow and certain. "still standing. barely traumatized." her voice dipped warmer then, low and sincere. "he’s got a soft landing here. no charges pressed." a pause, small but full, the kind that carried weight without needing to explain itself. then, quieter: "you, though? breathing okay after your sprint across the field of shame?"

calder jogs over, boots thudding a little too loudly on the grass, camera swinging against his hip. there’s a grimace on his face like he’s been muttering apologies under his breath the whole way, and when he spots her — bowie settled calmly at her feet — the grimace softens into a small, wry smile. “of course he's come to you, nety,” he says with a half-laugh. “i blink for two seconds and he’s off causing a scene.” bowie lets out a low sigh and rests his chin against her shoe, like he’s found the perfect spot. cal shakes his head, lips twitching, fighting a grin. “didn’t know he still had it in him, running like that.” he slows to a stop just short of the mess of napkins and sauce-streaked grass, scratching the back of his neck. “he’s got good taste, though. i mean, if you’re gonna commit grand theft barbecue, might as well deliver it to someone who won’t press charges.” he glances at her, a quick scan to ensure she wasn't hurt. “you alright? he didn’t knock you over too hard?”

[likehells]

*  𝗻𝗲𝘁𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗹  ‚  + @tenderfate  .

[likehells]

she didn’t know when exactly she’d started bracing for the moment things turned. maybe it had always been there, humming low beneath the skin like a fault line, waiting for the tremor. maybe that was the real reason she never let herself reach too far — not because she didn’t want to, but because she knew the shape of what came after. the silence. the shift. the slow retreat. but cash? he was there, ridiculous and golden and tilted toward her like he couldn’t help it. like the gravity between them wasn’t something to be feared but something to be leaned into. it wasn’t that she didn’t know kindness — she did. had cupped it in careful hands before, had let it rest against her ribs like sunlight through gauze. she knew the shape of sincerity, the way it warmed the room without asking for anything in return. but this was something else, wasn’t it? something quieter, deeper. not loud enough to name, but steady in its pulse, threading itself through the spaces between their words, blooming in the hush. she could feel it — not just in the air between them, charged and waiting, but in herself. a slow-blooming ache, unfamiliar only because she hadn’t let it grow before. it stirred beneath the surface, gentle and insistent, as if asking to be let in.

but nety had always known the architecture of solitude — its clean lines, its predictable comfort, the way it never shifted when she leaned too hard. people didn’t offer that kind of certainty. people looked at you a certain way and then asked for things without ever saying them out loud. so she backpedaled, not abruptly but carefully, like someone tiptoeing from the edge of something she might’ve wanted, if it didn’t look so much like falling. her offerings came piecemeal now — slivers of honesty, tested like sea-glass against her palm. not enough to invite anything in. just enough to prove to herself she could still hold it. "oh, really? touchy subject for ya?" she said, arching a brow like it was the most natural response in the world, like she hadn’t said it with a grin sharp enough to suggest she maybe didn’t mean it. there was a beat. "i’m thinking cursive. maybe a little gold foil. it’ll be a real collector’s item." she left it there — his voice had gone soft around the corners, and she could still feel the echo of his grief sitting quiet beside hers, like two stones in the same pocket. she didn’t touch it, not exactly. just let herself linger there in the in-between, where the silence was its own kind of answer.

and when he spun on his heel, showboating like he’d already claimed victory, something eased at the edges of her. something that might’ve been fear, or might’ve been hope — it was hard to tell the difference anymore. her arms crossed loosely, mouth tugging into a smile that didn’t quite know whether to laugh or linger. "lebron, huh?" she said, dry as summer grass, but there was a fondness woven through it, quiet and rooted. "you’re lucky i’m merciful. the last guy who talked that much got taken out by an eight-year-old and cried into his funnel cake." but then — softer, as she stepped to match his pace, gaze tilted up toward him beneath the weight of the sun: "i didn’t say i wanted to spend time with you." a pause. "i said i might indulge you. big difference." her shoulder brushed his lightly, more a question than a statement. and maybe that was the answer, too. she walked beside him, letting the moment stretch the way it wanted to. sweet and stupid and a little terrifying. and for once, she didn’t try to make it smaller than it was. "and you can't hold it against me when i embarrass you in front of everyone. i swear i won't gloat. for long."

IF THERE WAS A GOD, SHE'D STRIKE HIM DOWN WHERE HE STANDS. middle of the town green, goddamn giggling at the prospect of nety cabral teaming up with him to stage a petty coup against a relatively harmless teenage dj (barring a second run of radioactive, evidently). and god help him, he laughed when she said elphaba, that small kind of huff that cracked open around the edges, sidling between fondness and grief. “yeah, well,” he managed, eyes flicking up to meet hers like it was muscle memory by now, like not looking would’ve hurt more. “if the hat fits.” what he didn’t say: that he’d looked at the tiny sunglasses this morning. that he’d held them in his hand for a minute too long, thumb tracing over the scratched-up plastic like it was some kind of relic. didn’t say that his mom used to message him every year on the morning of the potluck with ready to wow the town, my little rocket man? and how today the silence of his inbox felt like a small, mean thing gnawing at the edges of his chest. didn’t say how he missed complaining about lugging her gaudy, ridiculous bedazzled cooler around in the heat, how the empty patch of grass next to his blanket made his stomach pitch in that way he hadn’t figured out how to name yet. so no- he didn’t say any of that. never did. wouldn’t know how if he tried. but maybe she knew anyway. nety had this way of tracing the outlines of a silence and cradling it in steady palms. like it was worth keeping, not something to cover up with bad jokes or fill with late-night overshares and sheepish apologies. he felt her in the marrow of him, in the spot just behind his ribs that he only noticed when she was near.

destiny. she said it like a punchline, but he kind of believed in it. at least in this version- her, standing just a little too close to be casual and not quite close enough to be anything else. he leaned toward her without meaning to, like the gravity between them was stronger than whatever self-preservation instinct he had left. “lemon bar stationery?” he whistled, tilting his head like she’d just crossed some sacred, invisible line. “now you’re messing with family.” a teasing grin, even as his thumb kept worrying against the skin of his palm again. sunshine so thick it clung to them. and the backs of his knees too. nerves crawling under his skin like the world’s most organized ant colony. the warbled sound of a badly tuned guitar somewhere across the lawn, comically well timed. everything felt a little too loud, like the universe was leaning closer just to watch what happened next. he let her walk ahead, just a half-step. just enough to feel the heat of her brush past his shoulder like a sunburn he wasn’t in any rush to soothe. then he fell in beside her, but lagged- barely. like cornhole was a distant second to whatever this was blooming in the hush between footsteps. he was buying time. he knew it. playing it safe with sparkle, stretching the moment like taffy when she let him, sweet and slow and a little sticky around the edges. not because he was afraid of the end- he just didn’t want it to tip. he could live there in the golden middle of it forever, if she let him.

“you're sure you're ready?” he asked, cocking a brow. “don't let the pretty face fool you. i’ve been described as the lebron james of backyard games. and by ‘described’ i mean self-proclaimed, but the title holds either way. statistically.” then he spun on his heel, started walking backward just to show off, arms stretching overhead like he’d already won something. showboating. peacocking. ridiculous in a hawaiian shirt and cargo pants and acting like it was chainmail. "i'm just saying," all fake humility and crooked charm, "spirit's fragile. don't wanna break yours too early in the day. we just hit the fun part where you admitted you wanted to spend time with me."

[likehells]

nety didn’t flinch when the cup hit the ground. didn’t look down, either. just kept her gaze steady on harper like she was watching a storm roll in across an open field — not scared of it, just bracing for the inevitability. "on call." she echoed, tone mild, unbothered, like she hadn’t caught the way harper’s voice curled around it with something too close to contempt. her fingers curled loosely around the edge of her plate, thumb worrying at a chip in the ceramic like it was something to anchor her to the moment. there were worse things than being disliked. nety had learned that a long time ago. and harper’s dislike — sharp, personal, petulant in a way that made something ache — was something nety didn’t carry lightly, but she carried it all the same. her eyes flicked to the cigarette, the way it balanced there, ghosting smoke before it had even met flame. "she gave me one of those tarts once." she murmured, voice dipping softer.

"wrapped it in wax paper and told me it was 'an old family recipe.'" nety’s smile came slow and dry, like sunlight filtered through dust. "i still don’t know what the filling was. i’m not convinced it was fruit." she let the words settle between them, casual and easy in a way that wasn’t quite natural — more like practiced kindness, like she knew harper didn’t want softness from her, but didn’t have the cruelty to meet fire with fire. nety shifted her weight, the heel of one foot digging gently into the grass. "i’ve seen people go to war over less than a potluck." she said, tone wry. "the woman who brought that flag cake? already side-eying anyone who doesn’t take a slice." a pause, brief but intentional. "people always get louder when they’re afraid their offering’s not enough." she didn’t mean it as anything. didn’t even know who she meant, really. but she looked back at harper, calm and steady, like she wasn’t asking to be liked — just willing to stay in the weather of her, if only for a while.

"Good," Harper retorted as Nety refused her offer of a drink. While the blonde had wanted the satisfaction of taking the drink away, once Nety had said yes, this direction was enough. Harper poured the little liquid she had actually offered into her own cup, discarding the other on the floor beside her. "On call huh?" Harper spoke up, almost acting unbothered by their conversation. The older woman had no reason to be this cold towards the other. Truth be told, Nety was a friendly and gentle soul, who had only been doing her job the first time she had seem Harper's daughter. Her kindness flared up a bitterness within Harper, jealous that her own flesh and blood would rather go to some stranger than confide in her. Harper was being childish, she knew that, but it was all she knew.

While Harper would prefer to do anything other than engage in a conversation with Nety. Her friends had disappeared, leaving the older woman with nothing better to do. "Janelle Grady and that shitty, tasteless rhubarb pie." Harper shook her head in disgust, pulling out a packet of cigarettes, allowing one to dangle idly from her plump lips before stashing the rest back into her bag. "I've already told her, her baking tastes like ass." Harper had never been good at keeping her opinions to herself. "Yet she still carries on every year, trying to poison the fucking town. Have you tried her tarts? The fucking woman should be banned from potlucks."

[likehells]

nety hums, low in her throat, the sound more breath than voice. something fond flickers in her eyes as talia settles beside her — that effortless kind of presence, like she’s always belonged there in the shade. nety shifts just slightly to make room, though there was always enough. "an hour wandering the aisles." she repeats, her tone light, the curve of her smile tugged somewhere between amusement and affection. "you must’ve circled the same shelf five times." it’s not a tease exactly — more like the echo of some private image she can see too clearly: talia with her basket, half-lost in thought, fingers trailing labels like she’s reading the energy of a thing.

the corner of nety’s mouth lifts, a small, conspiratorial tilt. "i brought lemonade." she says at last. "and a pie i didn’t bake." a beat. "but i did slice it." there’s pride in it, dry and quiet. the kind that lives between shared glances and unsaid jokes. the lull that follows isn’t awkward. it stretches like something well-worn, something soft between them — a hush tucked into the folds of summer air and rustling leaves overhead. "i’m glad you came." she says it without weight, but it lands true anyway. like truth always does when it’s given freely. her gaze lingers sideways, not searching, just... present. "the table looks better with your things on it." a pause. "and at least i'll know it's going to taste good. i'd hate to lie to you over something you've made, tal."

Talia had been thankful to find a familiar face. While the brunette had made a handful of friends since arriving at Wicklow, she still found herself feeling a little lost in the large crowd. Despite being incredibly social, it was difficult to engage with conversations when people were often only interested in their small groups. "Now, you're being way too sweet, I'm sure they would even notice." While Talia was thankful for the compliment, she knew it was no more than kind words. The older woman was under no illusion that she wasn't alone when it came to bringing food from the local grocery store. But, at least she was more than happy to admit it.

Yet again, Nety had brought out a friendly smile in Talia, who tilted her head in a gentle manner. "If that's all I needed to bring then I wouldn't have wasted an hour wondering the aisles of the grocery store, deciding what to bring." While there was truth to her words, Talia let out a laughter at her own stupidity. Overthinking at it's finest. "Key word being 'yet.'" Talia pointed at Nety knowingly, her words dipped in humour. The older woman didn't need to be asked twice as she happily joined Nety in a shaded area. Talia sat with her legs crossed, hands fallen idly in her lap. as her purse laid by her side. "Did you bring anything for the potluck?"

[likehells]

*  𝗻𝗲𝘁𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗹  ‚  interior  .

credit: outcastcontent (psd).

[likehells]

she hears him before she sees him — the worn thread of apology in his voice, the call of a name that sounds lived-in, loved — and when she turns, it’s with that soft patience she keeps tucked into the corners of herself, the kind that waits rather than rushes. her plate’s balanced in one hand, a half-finished conversation abandoned somewhere behind her, saved at the last second. "he’s got good taste." she says, something close enough blooming at the edge of her mouth. "you too, if this is where you ended up." there’s wind threading through the trees, enough to lift the hem of her dress, to carry the scent of grilled peaches and sunscreen, and for a moment, she lets the stillness stretch long between them — that comfortable quiet they’ve come to inhabit like shared breath. then, gently: "i’m on unofficial duty, self-appointed of course, hoping nobody passes out from heat stroke. but i'm having a lot of fun." a pause, small but intentional. "how are you?"

ᝰ　　open  for  anyone ᝰ　　wicklow  summer  social,  afternoon

ᝰ　　　　the  perks  of  having  an  older  and  (  seemingly  )  well-behaved  dog  means  a  lot  of  things,  mostly  that  eddie  has  the  luxury  of  keeping  him  leash-free  as  he  spends  most  of  his  time  sleeping  on  their  blanket.  but  predictability  was  never  something  max  is  known  for,  and  one  passerby  later  he's  up  on  his  feet  and  following  the  scent  trail  of  food  and  inconveniencing  its  possessor.  “  max!  c'mon,  boy,  that  isn't  yours!  ”  eddie  calls  out,  rushing  to  clasp  the  leash  back  onto  his  dog.  “  sorry  about  him,  you'd  think  i  don't  feed  him  enough,  ”  he  jokes  as  max  tucks  behind  his  legs  like  a  reprimanded  child.  “  you  enjoying  yourself?  ”

[likehells]

her eyes catch on the silver glint of the can before they catch on defne — and when they do, it’s with that quiet, slow-blooming fondness she never bothers to name. nety is mid-step, still half in motion, half in whatever list she’d been reciting in her head — gauze, sunscreen, check on mrs. halpern’s ankle before she gets too much sun — but something in defne’s voice stills her. it always does. "you drive a hard bargain." she murmurs, voice smooth and amused as dusk-warmed river water, like she’s giving in even before her hand lifts to take the beer. and she is. she always does. "just one." she echoes, like a promise, like a warning. "but only because you asked nicely." she cracks open the can, lets the fizz fill the pause. "if the world ends while we’re sitting here..." she says after a beat. "you’re explaining it to my boss."

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"  considering  this  is  more  or  less  a  town  holiday  -  why  don't  you  put  your  duties  on  hold  until  you  get  called  in  ?  "  the  firefighter  knew  just  how  difficult  it  was  to  keep  work  and  free  -  time  from  one  another  ,  but  if  you  couldn't  divide  them  you  would  never  be  able  to  enjoy  the  small  pleasures  in  life  .  with  two  can's  of  beer  ,  one  in  each  hand  she  grinned  from  ear  to  ear  ,  waiting  for  her  companion  to  settle  down  and  realize  work  could  wait  ⸻  after  all  the  town's  troubles  wouldn't  disappear  even  if  they  had  one  good  day  .  "  for  me  ,  enjoy  just  one  with  me  .  "  pleading  hazelnut  hues  pretend  to  be  as  innocent  as  the  next,  dangling  the  canned  beverage  in  front  of  herself  .

[likehells]

cold soul

[likehells]

nety hums low in her throat, the sound more exhale than voice, as she chews the last bite of shortcake slow, like she’s tasting memory as much as flavor. oh, it’s nothing. how often had she said that herself? how often had she meant the opposite? "a burger." she repeats, light but not unamused, a small arch of brow offered in return. her voice settles into something fond. "was it the burger from the red-grill-bald-guy or the one black-grill-hat-guy? because i'm not fully convinced that the red grill guy was washing his hands." and it lingers now, softer, the familiarity hidden in humor. "no surprises, food wise. i had a little bit of the grilled corn and something that claimed to be pasta salad. but mostly..." a pause, not uncertain, just deliberate. "i think i was waiting to see you so i could have an excuse to not be social anymore." she says it like it’s nothing, too. but her smile holds briefly.

a gentle gaze observed nety's action, attentive and curious, as if simple choice opened a window that peered deeper into the mind, the soul. did her own hand not drift to certain desserts based on the emotions filling her ribcage?  ❝  oh, it's nothing. ❞   a phrase, accompanied by a soft smile, yujin had said far too many times to count, but sincerity coated each syllable. another day, in another circumstances that might not be true, but the words would be spoken nonetheless.  ❝  i'm glad you like it. ❞   brown eyes blinked.  ❝  um . . . i grabbed a burger earlier. why? did you try something that can't be missed? ❞   hopefully, the cake wasn't the first food she'd had all day.

[likehells]

"well." she said, tone thoughtful but not too serious. "that’s a little pressure, isn’t it? being the first." her mouth curved just slightly, like she didn’t mind the weight of it, but wasn’t going to let it sit unacknowledged either — not when it had been offered so honestly. she wasn’t someone who spooked easy, but even then, it mattered. the smallest things always did. "guess i better be on my best behavior, huh?" she didn’t look at him when she said it, but the lilt in her voice gave her away. not quite teasing, just gently amused — the way you get when the company feels easy, when you don’t have to work so hard to be understood. the breeze tugged at a loose strand of hair and she tucked it behind her ear, gaze drifting back out toward the sound of distant laughter and the clatter of plastic cups somewhere down the hill — the laughter, the music warped by distance, the faint metallic ring of soda cans tossed in a bin. the world still spun in its chaotic little orbit, but it hadn’t quite found them here yet. and she was in no rush to remind it. "and hey — not finding the waterfall just makes it feel more like a fairytale for me. rare and elusive." and maybe a little protected, too. maybe that was the point.

she nudged the toe of her sandal lightly against the grass, idle motion giving shape to thought. "don’t worry, i won’t go dragging the whole town there. you’ll just find me posted up under a tree someday with a sandwich and a mystery novel, pretending i stumbled on it by accident." her smile was crooked now, easier. like the words came on instinct. like she didn’t have to think too hard to imagine it — the quiet, the space, the steadiness of it. the kind of place that didn’t ask much from you except to breathe. "if you lead me into the woods and i roll an ankle, i’m holding you personally responsible." she glanced at him finally, a flick of dry humor in her expression — not quite daring, but close. the kind that said she trusted him not to let her fall. or at least to help her back up if she did. a pause, then — "but you’ll owe me another cookie either way." her gaze dipped back to her lap, picking absently at the crimped edge of the wrapper. there was something grounding in the simplicity of it all.

He nodded again, a common gesture while acknowledging for the male. Just fortunate that the cookie could go to the right hands, but it was also the relief of the nagging feeling of acceptance. As quickly as it appeared it disappeared from the end result. "You may have a point, well in case you didn't know." Adrian mused, offering a half smile. Adrian's antics along with mannerisms were never over the top. He was gentle in nature and perhaps to some people that was him being mysterious. But it was just him, a product of an environment that he wasn't going to be another statistic for. One had to be the change.

"I think everyone has to make their own choice, should inhabit a clear conscious without any sort of pressure. You have another point. For fast-acting relief, people should try slowing down. It's rewarding." Biased? Maybe but at least the words were spoken with honesty and principle. In the end, there was more to life than increasing its speed. "It's not easy to find. So, don't feel too bad." Reassurance and optimism lacing each word. "I trust you. But thank you." Adrian still believed in people, even after everything he had gone through. Though, he was skeptical whether she wanted him to 'shake on it' so to speak with her pinky promise. He didn't mirror the action back while trying to respect her boundaries that could include persona space but hoped by his words she could pick up on those cues. If anyone could decipher him, it was her. "You would be the first one."