mclvin - Tumblr blog

[mclvin]

Octavio Paz, tr. by Eliot Weinberger, from “Letter of Testimony”, The Poems of Octavio Paz

[mclvin]

cordibeckett·:

‘‘I’m nothing if not an inventor of new traditions.’‘ She’d dragged her family into far too many out-there traditions that nobody quite understood the reasoning behind- most of them actually didn’t have much of a reason. It had just been an antsy Cordelia needing change. ‘‘Pepperoni, preferably. Pineapple is too acidic for the Whiskey.’‘ 

Cordi does feel a bit bad at the idea of calling Beck, but with Mel here she couldn’t really call David either. The last thing she needed was Beck finding out about her boyfriend through Mel of all people. ‘’Wait, seriously?’’ She glances over at them, then looking back at the car that just barely stands out in the heavy rain. It’s as if it’s a blocked out shape in the world rather than actual object.

‘‘Sure. If you really don’t mind. It’d be very nice, thank you.’‘ She’d gotten into cars under far more questionable circumstances, and they could just sit in an awkward conversation until they sobered up.

pepperoni’s a heavy taste ,  all grease and the stodgy weight of processed meat sitting idly on bubbling cheese .  it’s perfect ,  and mel raises their brows in appreciation .  he whistles out a low accompaniment ,  though it cracks as would a prepubescent voice ,  the high leaving him with too-dry lips .  mel blinks their doe-eyes and grins ,  lazy ,  at their little fuck up .  heh .

that languid smile is still in place when cordi turns to him ,  and it grows at her surprise .  mel shrugs ,  ❝  what ??  beck didn’t tell you i’m a generous folk ??  ❞  it isn’t the subtlest of attempts to scoop out any and all info ,  a glimpse into what the eldest beckett might think of the perpetually oil-stained dealer .  ❝  it’s cool ,  honest .  hell ,  i’ll even smoke you up ,  if you want .  make that pizza taste extra good  .  kinda gotta make a run for it ,  though –  here .  ❞

they pat their pockets ,  only to remember that they’d left the keys to their beloved van in the jacket .  ❝  i’m just gonna —  ❞  careful not to overstep any boundaries ,  mel pinches the very corner of his jacket and slips his fingers into the pocket .  he snatches his keys back and lets the ring slide down his pointer ,  wrist flicking so that they  ( along with a tattered ,  discoloured mini funko-pop of dale cooper )  swing around and around .  ❝  ready ??  ❞ 

[mclvin]

cammyxclark·:

Cameron lifts her head up to make eye contact with them from where she’s working at tying to the laces on her borrowed shoes. A bet. Oddly tantalizing for someone who knew she was not a skilled bowler. Really, if she was smart, she’d try to haggle her way down as low as possible, but she hadn’t decided to put on her bravado in front of Mel for nothing. 

Shoes laced, knee high, striped socks running up her claves, she pats the top of her feet before standing, and joining Mel at the tiny table, to fish a chip from their pile of bowling alley quality nachos, as she pretends to think over the offer. 

“I could be… persuaded,” She hums, popping the food into her mouth, before leaning her head into her hand. “What kind of money are we talking here? Because, I do love a touch of… friendly competition.”

in that confused instant ,  mel can only offer a speechless blink ,  doe eyes dulled down by the perplexity of cameron’s insinuation .  they can’t quite decipher what’s being proposed ,  be it a not-so-subtle plea to keep money off of the table ,  or ,  on the other hand ,  to raise the stakes . 

they decide to simply come out with their doubts . mel’s speaks slow through his uncertainty as though wading through thick and heavy mud ,    ❝  meaning . . . you . . . don’t want to bet cash ??  or –  . . .  or you do ?? ❞

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

It was all coming back to him now, agonizing over whether ornot to include an emoji—and if so, which one. Or if that would make it lookweird. But then Cordi called, taking over his entire screen and regrettablypushing his totally finished text-in-progress to the backburner.

He allowed the dainty dance of Mel’s fingertips to guide his wrist, and if he leaned into the touch just a little more, well. That was. He just wanted to tilt the screen, make it easier for Mel to read.

“If that’s what I gotta do get back in your good graces, I think I can manage that.” Beck’s reply came outsurprisingly steady, and with just a little more confidence than he actuallyfelt; his heart was too busy fluttering off-beat at the way his name sounded in theother’s mouth.

Beck’s eyes flickered up from his phone, to the fingers still rested on his wrist, and finally met those warm brown eyes. He wondered if Mel could feel his pulse. He grinned back. 

“Let’s see,”Beck brought his phone toward his face and began tapping the corner against his chin in thought. Summer afternoons slipped away so easily, and last he checked, the forecast still called for a chance of rain tonight. “I’ve still got some beers in the cooler, got about twenty bucks left for your choice of food truck grub…” He landed on his final, riskiest offering with a raised eyebrow. 

“Or… we down the rest of these beers and crash the the band stage and belt out a song of your choice.”

beck’s jackrabbit pulse jumps up to greet mel’s fingers .  rather than retreat ,  or twitch nervously themselves ,  mel’s digits take to ever so subtly tracing circles along the soft inside of the other’s wrist .  they’ve grown a mind of their own —  rather , they’ve taken to acting out all of the little impulses and desires mel keeps trying to shove away .  he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it ,  far too engrossed by that delightful ,  stomach - flipping grin of beck’s .

that is ,  until beck’s drawing his hand away ,  and mel’s fingers fall until they come to rest ,  tingling ,  on the sliced up denim showing slivers of their knee beneath .  he tries not to give away just how utterly horrified he is when he realises what he’d been doing ;  whether or not beck had been aware is anyone’s guess .  if he had ,  mel’s thankful he’s moving on ,  giving the both of them an easy out .  cheeks burning ,  mel bitterly thinks how thankful they are now for the blistering sun . 

all traces of embarrassment but the peachy dusting on his cheeks vanish at beck’s proposition ,  much like mel’s brows vanish behind his fringe when they shoot up in shock .  they can’t help it ,  they laugh .  the raucous sound practically slaps out of them and ends in a shrill little “ ho - wee . . . “  ,  prefacing mel’s own little challenge . 

head cocked (  totally playful ,  totally not to make beck think of the angle and how similar it would be were the two leaning in for a kiss  ) ,  smirk in place ,  they say ,  ❝  deal ,  except – ❞  they prod their pointer into the centre of beck’s chest ,  ❝ –  you’re doing the belting solo .  and i’m totally recording it ,  just so you know .  i want a whole serenade dedicated to yours truly .  ten things i hate about you style ,  let’s go . ❞

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

cordibeckett:

The first few times that Cordelia had gotten invited to join Beck and his friends, she’d made a giant speech about how sad it was that all of her closest friends were actually his friends. And then she had promptly stolen Cam for herself and decided that Nancy was to cool for Beck to hang with on his own- so she didn’t even hesitate anymore when her brother shot a text in her direction. The only responses he usually got was a bunch of emojis for him to try and navigate and despite her inability to show up on time- she was never later than Nancy.

And that was good enough for her, honestly. Cordelia shows up to her brothers trailer ready, because the Beckett family was infamously good at drinking and she was not an exception to that rule. Her brother takes approximately two seconds too long- so she pushes the door open, eyes glued on her phone and a bottle in her other hand. ‘‘Dude, you’re so fucking slow.’‘ She calls out with no care.

Cordi closes the front door with her foot, looking up at the scene in front of her.  ‘‘Did- did you start pregaming without me? Also- did you hit them or something by accident?’‘

@augustslippdaway @lifeafterbeckett

With ice dispensed to the appropriate places, Beck tore his eyes guiltily away from the red splotch darkening beneath their fringe. He nodded sagely at Mel’s question, trying to play it cool but definitely failed to hide his wry smile at his own comparison. “I think they’re like those participation trophies they’re always bitchin’ about our generation getting, except theirs are like live goblins.” 

Beck’s barely taken two steps across the kitchen before Cordelia’s arrived in her usual fashion and made herself right at home. He waved off her complaint and picked up his beer again, knocking back the rest of it in one gulp. Holding the bottle by the neck, he held it up and waved it back and forth, obscuring her face briefly before tossing it in the empty recycle bin. 

“S’what happens when you show up late—what d’you mean did I hit them? I’m not the sibling prone to violence, accidental or otherwise. Remember Cal’s Thunder Dome incident?” 

“Just… startled ‘em, is all.” Beck’s bright gaze swiveled over to Mel as he redirected his attention to them. He lowered his voice so Cordi wouldn’t hear over the blaring music. “I am sorry, are you okay? Didn’t mean to start the night off with a party foul.”

@mclvin··

when it comes to teasing ( tormenting ,  in cordi’s case ) the eldest beckett ,  mel and cordi are allies .  as it turns out ,  however ,  that doesn’t mean mel’s impervious to some taunting of their own .  they look away when cordi’s spotlight shines right on the tiny lump forming beneath their fringe ,  the attention burning even more embarrassment into their cheeks .  beck’s far better equipped ,  and mel barely holds back a snort as he watches his defiant little display .  

❝  what’re you having ,  cord ??  ❞  mel asks .  better to grab the quick solution by the horns and slide her something to drink before mel’s subjected to more beckett bickering .  as they turn to the collection of beverages ,  their eyes widen a little .  for mel to hear beck over the music ,  beck’s had to come closer ,  and beck coming closer means mel’s blush is burning brighter ,  which means they need to ply cordelia with drinks before she notices —  not that it would be hard  — and teases them all the more . 

but then comes beck’s softness ,  a quiet concern that melts the snowball building in mel’s throat and eases his breaths .  doe - eyes on the defensive relax into something tender ,  affection slipping into view ,  even when mel’s promised themself time and time again to keep .  it .  cool . they nudge their glass into beck’s shoulder ,  mouth cracking into a smile ,  ❝ don’t sweat it ,  ‘kay ??  ❞

@cordibeckett·

[mclvin]

cordibeckett·:

‘‘You kidding me? Unlike Beck, I went to college. Weed is the American past-time there. Also the only reason any of us got through our exams.’‘ Cordi is already halfway through putting the jacket on and sure enough she can smell the obvious remains of a great smoking session. 

The jacket is damp from the rain but it is still warm just from Mel’s body heat and Cordi feels a bit like a cat wanting to burrow into a blanket. Her brother had good taste in people, clearly, because Mel didn’t even seem to hesitate to be this nice to her.  ‘‘Well, sushi tends to work well but I’m feeling pizza. So I’m going to go against the laws of food and pair whiskey with pizza.’‘

Then again it wasn’t shocking, Beck was- overall, the good sibling. He may be up to no good to Vanguard but Cordelia knew her brother at his core was a good person who put his values above all. That’s where they differed quite severely. ‘‘Well, you’re better off than me then. I need to be the good little sister I am and drag my brother out of bed and hope he gets someone to pick me up’‘

mel bites the tip of his tongue ,  feeling the flesh get trapped and his taste buds swell between two neat little rows of teeth .  they didn’t go to college ,  either .  most of their life was spent with their head down and their brows creased ,  desperately deciphering algebraic equations that ,  to this day ,  soar high over their head .  at least he’s quick enough with numbers to deal his goods . 

his brows shoot up ,  ❝  whiskey and pizza .  ❞  oddly enough ,  it doesn’t sound totally repulsive .  granted ,  it all depends on —  ❝  what topping are you going for ,  though ??  ‘cause i kinda can’t see jack daniels pairing up with hawaiian ,  y’know ??  ❞  mel’s eyes narrow a little at the thought .  yeah ,  that’s repulsive . 

the prospect of catching if but a glimpse of that floppy-haired guy makes mel’s stomach tighten momentarily ;  they shift where they stand .  their hands ,  which would have ordinarily shoved themselves into their jacket pockets ,  hang uselessly by his hips .  he rubs his pointer and thumb together in nervous little circles and peers out at the sheet of needle-thin rain .  ❝  i don’t mind giving you a ride ,  ❞  mel shrugs ,  ❝  i guess we could ,  ah . . .  make a run for it ??  stick the heating on .  i just need a minute to ,  like ,  sober up ,  but . . . yeah .  if you want .  ❞

[mclvin]

cordibeckett·:

Cordi takes in Mel’s appearance properly, now that they aren’t just a small picture on a phone. She notes that he has very pretty eyes and maybe she gets Beck’s whole thing appearance wise at least. ‘‘Yeah, I finished work like five minutes ago.’‘ She looks back at the rain and sighs, crossing her arms to preserve some sad excuse for body heat.

‘‘I have a bottle of whiskey, real housewives and delivery food waiting for me at home. Yet here I am, stuck, held prisoner by water just because I don’t want to…die from a cold like a sick Victorian baby.’‘ Her voice trails off, amusement mixed with a very real complacency about her situation. ‘‘Not really ideal.’‘

Cordi glances over at them, tilting her head slightly-  wet hair uncomfortably sticking at the back of her neck. ‘’Why are you running around at this time though? Parking lot that interesting?’’

at least mel has layers .  working in that stuffy bar ,  they aren’t entirely surprised by how ill-equipped cordi is against the unexpected rain .  if his foster parents taught him anything ,  it was manners ;  mel shrugs out of his bulky denim jacket ,  the lined interior expelling a puff of tangy ,  body-warmed air .   they hold it out ,  ❝ if you don’t mind the stoner smell ,  you can totally borrow this . ❞

if beck’s enthusiasm for a good drink is anything to go by ,  mel figures cordi can also party :  they doubt she’ll wrinkle her nose at weed ,  for crying out loud .  it’s hardly even a gateway drug these days .��  the mention of whiskey is assurance enough ,  and mel finds the corner of his mouth lifting of its own volition in appreciation of such a plan .  ❝  that actually sounds really good , ❞  they agree , ❝ what kind of food ,  though ?? i can’t really think of much that would go with a decent whiskey . ❞ rum ,  maybe ,  but whiskey’s trickier .  in mel’s mind it goes better with dessert . 

❝ oh ,  ah . . . ❞  beck blows out a gust of air that would put a horse to shame ,  their lips rolling with it as their brows creep behind a wet and frizzy fringe .  ❝ my van’s over there , ❞  he explains . ❝ i got out to pee and ,  yeah . shitstorm . ❞

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

Kat: Hello Caleb, your Uber has arrived out front Kat: Hellooo Kat: HelloooooO Kat: Did Jay actually come get you or did Lenny put you to work back there?

Beck fired off a quick reply to his coworker before she came back looking for him. Exhaling quietly, Beck tucked his phone away and glanced back up at Mel, giving them an apologetic smile. “Yeah, it’s all good. I just, uh. Gotta get going, my coworker’s here to pick me up.”

Beck’s fingers twitched and the rest of his body followed the impulse; he reached into the dashboard cubby and grabbed a notice, the last working sharpie in the vehicle, and scribbled on it as he spoke. 

“It was great meeting you, Mel, and thanks for taking care of Ol’ Smokey.” Folding the peach slip in quarters, Beck pulled the keys out of the ignition and slipped the paper between the tight coil of the key ring. Realizing Mel’s hands were occupied, he held the keys up, jingling and gesturing to him, before setting them back down on the seat. “It’d be cool to hang out again, if you’re up for it. No pressure.” 

Beck backed towards the garage to make his exit, but before he left, he fixed Mel with a grin and added, “But I’d like hear the rest of that fire story sometime!”

it’s sudden ,  but mel supposes it’s out of their control :  beck’s got an impromptu ride he’s probably left waiting for a bit now ,  and mel needs to get back to work ,  anyways ( though they assume lenny’s radio silence might have something to do with the conversation the two had had a few days back about mel needing a social circle outside of the old codgers haunting the workshop ) .  

❝ sure ,  of course , ❞  they mumble .  he’s about to bid beck farewell with a nonchalant wave of his greasy hand ,  but beck’s dragging it all out ;  be it politeness or a mirrored want to keep talking –  however long time permits – mel can’t quite help feeling a flutter in their chest .  their stomach swoops when they realise beck’s given them his phone number . 

a new friend ,  that’s all . 

a little flustered now ,  they seem to completely forget the state of their fingers as the digits toy with the tips of his fringe .   ❝ yeah !!  yeah – no ,  without a doubt .  i– i’d like that . . . yeah,  i’ll see you around ,  beck . ❞ 

they stay standing where beck had left them until lenny pokes his head round the side of the garage door ,  bushy brows raised as he fixes his youngest mechanic with a smug , cheeky gaze .  ❝ how about that ?? ❞  he calls in his gruff ,  cigar-smoked voice .  mel only shoots his boss a short lived glare . 

they turn back to ol’ smokey with lenny’s laugh ringing in their ears . 

[mclvin]

cammyxclark·:

status: closed ( @mclvin· ) location: alley katz bowlarama 

It was kind of ridiculous how done up the bowling alley was. Maybe it was the fact that they likely still had the same carpet laid out in the 80s, but with ambiance of lights, everyone dressed up in their biggest eye sore pieces of clothing, and Bowie, Queen, and Madonna blasting through the speakers at full volume, Cameron really felt like they had outdone themselves on this theme. 

Cam committed as best as she could, wanting to really play the part if she was going to do this, because she already knew she wouldn’t be impressing anyone with her bowling skills, so she may as well impress with being able to adhere to a costume theme. 

Honestly, she was a little surprised she had gotten Melvin out, but she wasn’t going to question it. It would be nice to just have fun. And, Melvin always managed that much. With a bit of hop to her step, she finds their assigned lane to a soundtrack of Under Pressure’s Bridge, and sits herself down on the impressively uncomfortable plastic seat to swap out converse for dingy bowling shoes. “You know, I’m feeling confident tonight, I bet I can beat your ass.” She was lying through her teeth. But, what was the point of going bowling if there was no trash talk?

considering the majority of their wardrobe was thrifted already ,  it hadn’t been that much of a challenge to put together something 80s passable .  clad in skinny jeans –  shredded at the knees ,  of course  – and a baseball jersey buttoned over a black long-sleeved tee ,  mel does their very best to not feel utterly ridiculous and ,  oddly enough ,  out of place . 

at least other attendees have taken the dress code a little more seriously than him :  as he and cam make their way to their designated lane ,  mel spots teased hair sprayed stiff ,  jangly ,  multicoloured plastic jewels and an impressive amount of leg warmers they’re pretty certain will end up causing some dizzy spells as the stuffy air overwhelms the wearer .

mel dumps the tray of nachos they’d purchased for the both of them on the little table set up a few feet from the bowling balls .  he looks up when cameron speaks ,  only to snort out a laugh .  ❝ oh yeah ??  does that mean you’re willing to put money where your mouth is ?? ❞

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

The quiet settling over the moment (paired with Mel’s seemingly-anxious body language) told Beck all he needed to know, that this… was not fun, summer, beach conversation. And that was fine—totally fine, it was his fault anyway for saying something. Given their conversational track record already, he should’ve known better. Totally fine, though. Nothing a few more beers couldn’t fix.

Except now they’ve got him skewered, pinned in place with those wide doe-eyes and teasing lilt. And it’s—

Hot…

“Among other medical em-mergencies.” It’s pathetic how quickly Beck’s brain short-circuits while trying to process Mel’s teasing, overloaded because his traitorous eyes were completely ensnared by the mere glimpse of hip, dips, and planes beneath Mel’s shirt. It isn’t until the fabric flutters back down that Beck found enough strength to tear his eyes away and return to the present.

The present, wherein he noticed his hand still lay on Mel’s arm. Beck didn’t want to move, but it was slimy with sweat and sunscreen beneath his hand. He rolled his hand over, letting the tips of his fingers moisten and booped Mel right on the nose. “Good.”

Frowning, Beck reached for the drawstring bag he’d stashed underthe chair and kicked the cooler full of contraband out, too. A reverentoffering. “Huh? Nah, that doesn’t sound like me…” Sitting back up, he fishedhis phone out and navigated to his messages. “You were like, the fir—one of the first people I texted. Look, I even threatened you with a good time and every thi–.”

Beck paused. “Y’ever have that thing happen where you type out a text forget to press send…?”

even the odd gust of wind that rushes across the temporary set up is freaking hot .  mel’s never been one for extremes :  even in new york ,  they’d absolutely detested the january snow .  it was charming during christmas ,  a fun build-up of making snowfolks and battling it out for the title of that year’s snowball gold medal ,  but then the post-new year glumness would blend januray and february into a daylight savings haze of dark days and muddy slush ,  and mel would be cursing the cold ,  their shitty heating system ,  tony’s absent arms ,  which had once so eagerly and easily warmed him up . 

mel doesn’t want to think about tony .  not when they’re here with beck .  especially not when they’re with beck . 

it could be blamed entirely on the heat .  it melts their inhibitions and worries to the point that mel’s leaning forward ,  fingers ghosting over the inside of beck’s wrist to tilt his arm down so he can peer at the proof of an attempt at contact .   ❝  huh , ❞  they muse ,  ❝  you actually did . ❞

he’s already seen the text ,  so he should move away .  he doesn’t .  mel looks up instead .  and they grin .    ❝  still ,  you didn’t send it ,  so . . . guess you still have to make up for it ,  don’tcha think, ca-leb ?? ❞  mel concludes ,  uttering beck’s first name in a cheeky sing-song lilt .

[mclvin]

cordibeckett·:

when: late night where: empty parking lot near the drunken fish. who: @mclvin·

Northpass had gotten the curse of unpredictable weather on top of the walking-dead milling around the place. Cordi usually was the one who got caught in the addition of sudden rain, eyes narrowing at the grey clouds further pushing the fact that it was late and she wasn’t the biggest fan of the dark. The rain hits down at an alarming speed and Cordi has a moment of consideration that maybe- just maybe, she should check if Beck could get someone to pick her up.

But it’s quite late and the small trek back to the Drunken Fish for pick up would probably be more than just uncomfortable. She’d gotten past most of the practically empty parking lot before she had to dart under a hanging roof by the long-closed line of small shops taking up most of the street. At the very least, she wasn’t alone in being cold wet and miserable as she watches another figure jog in to take cover from the rain.

It doesn’t take very long to recognize Mel, even if they look  more like a wet cat than they usually do in the pictures Beck showed her. ‘‘Oh, shit- Mel, right?’‘ Because honestly, Cordi isn’t entirely sure still. She’d once thought someone was Beck from far away and scared a poor pedestrian  half  to death. Not that it’d be a very permanent death in Northpass. ‘‘Cordelia, I’m Becks sister?’‘

❝  fuck !!  shit !!  piss-balls !! ❞

squawk after cursing squawk chases after him as mel’s now soggy sneakers pummel the pavement in his fruitless escape from the sudden downpour .  it’s still a dash and a stone’s throw to the comforts of their van ,  and mel’s damp enough to decide against risking it .  they look like a grouchy cat post forced bath time ,  lids low with exasperation ,  arms folded tight across their chest .

at first ,  he’s too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice cordi ,  but then she’s piping up and he’s whirling around to face her ,  gaze as stunned as that of a deer caught in headlights ( though a little more red-rimmed :  mel’s still sluggish from the weed he’d been puffing on ) .

it isn’t until cordi clarifies who she is that mel finally relaxes ,  yet even then there’s some lingering tension bunched in knots across his shoulders .  they nod ,  a little curt –  but that can be blamed on the cold .  ❝  yeah —  hi .  i... ❞  to say that they’ve heard about her would be a lie ;  suddenly guilt is twisting in mel’s gut :  how they keep neglecting getting to know beck properly is beyond them ,  when that’s exactly what they want to do .

in the end ,  mel decides it’s best to simply stick to the present .  he acknowledges the rain with a jerk of his head ,  ❝  you got caught too ,  huh ??  ❞

[mclvin]

Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

Yet again, the silence settling between them left Beck wonderingif he had some latent, verbal form of foot-and-mouth disease. The last thing hewanted was to make his friend Mel uncomfortable, yet he couldn’t seem to stopsaying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Even his cupboards seemed like theywere playing offense. The night was off to a great start.

“O—h my god, are you okay?” Beck asked quickly, frozen betweenreaching out to them or backing as far away as his kitchen would allowhim to. He settled for option three, murmuring a quiet apology and turning backto the fridge.

Grabbing himself that second beer, then moves on to thefreezer to grab the container of ice. And freezable fruit shapes. Heoffers the small bucket to Mel, for their drink or—or their forehead.

“The uh, the usual. Mostly delivering mail, sometimesgetting chased by their little rat-dogs, sometimes playing music too loudly tooearly in the morning.” Beck answered with a light shrug. “But believe me, youdon’t wanna get between old folks and their newspapers.”

His eyes lit up, burning with curiosity, as Mel revealed hisown taste in music. “I do know, big fan of alt rock—and general mixes. We shouldswap some playlists, have a good ol’ jam sesh sometime.”

·

✻ ✻ ✻

There’s no way they can play dumb, not when there’s red staining their forehead and Mel swears he can feel a lump steadily growing. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.

A prickly “hm?” shoots out of them while they’re pouring their drink; the regret is as instantaneous as the burn at the back of his throat after his first sip of rum. Beck draws back and takes the bottom of Mel’s stomach with him. They feel bottomless and suspended, heart thumping hard. He takes a gulp, sucks a hiss through his teeth. It’s awkward for a second, and every throb pulsing on his forehead is a mocking little laugh at Mel’s poor decision making. They really need to work on their impulse control.

“Thanks,” he mutters. He scoops some ice into his glass and presses the edge to his head. It helps– also shields their burning face from view, if only a little. But then Beck’s back to talking, and it almost feels as though nothing’s happened at all. Mel wonders how often Beck does that: Finds a means of accommodating those around him. They wonder if Beck’s ever focused on accommodating himself. 

Mel’s lips twitch, “they all got little rat-dogs? Is that, like, a thing? Surpass your sixties and you’re given a little ratty companion as compensation.”

Right when they’re about to ask Beck if he plays an instrument ( jam session? serenade me, Mr. Beckett ), there’s a sharp knock on the trailer’s front door. Mel whips around, strands of curly hair flying up and out before landing once more on their shoulders. He glances back over to Beck, “time to put your host hat back on.”

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett·:

“Here’s to.” Beck agreed, pointing back at them.

As Mel dove back into the engine, Beck moseyed back towards the action and leaned on the LLV to better hear their response. Beck’s career history consisted of two jobs, both of which were largely driving with a heavy splash of customer service swirled in there. Despite all that driving, he hardly spent any actual time in a garage or chatting with mechanics, but he loved hearing others crazy work stories. 

And found he really enjoyed listening to Mel’s voice. 

The shocking made sense, he supposed, but the mental image of their hair standing on end made him bite back a smile. Beck could not have predicted which way the rest of that sentence was going to go; his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. “That–damn, you actually raced cars against fire. That’s badass, dude. Did you get ‘em all moved out of the way in time?”

Again, Beck felt his phone vibrate—and again after that. Could be a phone call, or a lot of texts. Could be important… Disappointment left a small crease between his eyes as he pulled it out and glanced at the notification bar. 

✻ ✻ ✻

“Badass,” Mel echoes through a skeptical chuckle. They’d been drenched in panic-sweat at the time, and stunk of its remnants for the rest of the working day. Tony had teased him to no avail, even when Mel had grouchily piped up, defended their self-proclaimed heroic stench through a somewhat overdramatic retelling. Tony had called him out straight away. Mel had gone to bed that night with an uncomfortable emptiness in his stomach.

A buzz pulls them out of their reverie. The following ones catch Mel’s attention and he looks up. “Yeah, we–” they cut themselves off when they realise that Beck’s elsewhere, stuck on whatever’s popped up on his phone screen. Mel straightens up completely, fingers slick with oil and grasping tightly onto his tools. “Everything okay?” he asks, tentative, shrinking back into the shell he’d worn upon Beck’s arrival. He’s never been the best with rejection, be it voluntary or otherwise. 

[mclvin]

augustslippdaway·:

Location: the beach ; coastal craze Tag: open for anyone!

Emma felt out of place coming to the beach bash because, despite the fact that she had lived in Northpass for three years, she still felt like an outsider. She wasn’t a native of the small town and she worked for the big pharma company in town so it felt like two strikes against her. Still, she wanted to belong and come to the event anyway. It turns out she wasn’t as cold as her icy exterior would have you believe and she just wanted to make some friends. She didn’t know what she wanted to do though but it was hot so she found herself drawn toward the snow cone food truck. “Have you tried the pineapple one? Is it good?” she asked to no one in particular, but she figured someone standing nearby would hear her and if they were kind enough offer her some advice.

✻ ✻ ✻

The day’s heat has Mel gravitating towards any form of relief: A puddle of shade, the opportunity to endure the loud rumble of an industrial fan, a snow cone truck promising something cool and sweet for the not-so-affordable price of six bucks. At least, the blend of flavours Mel’s been eyeing has been priced as such; they’re debating whether to cave and get one when a voice pipes up behind them.

“Hngh?” he utters. “Ah... No. Nah, I–” he scrubs a hand down his jaw, scratches the curve of his chin, “–am not the biggest fan of that one. Or rather the sound of that one. Pineapple’s good, but... Yeah, doesn’t sound right: Pineapple snow cone. Y’know?”

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett​:

“Exactly, we do have some standards.” Beck quips back, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It gets pretty rough, yeah, but definitely fun. We’ve had a lot of bruises and breaks, but no concussions yet–knock on wood.”  Beck answered, raising a hand to count off injuries and leaning toward Ol’ Smokey to let the other knock along the metal siding. Helmets were a lifesaver, literally.

His hands return to his pockets in time to feel his phone buzz once; he ignores it. “I’ve heard your line of work comes with some similar hazards, too. Got any stories there?”

✻ ✻ ✻

Mel knocks their knuckles against the side of their head, grin bright and fixed into place. Nervous as he may have been initially in dealing with Beck’s bright disposition, he’s finding that it’s easily thawing the ice they’ve brought with them from New York. 

“Here’s to no concussions,” they say.

At the mention of work, it occurs to Mel that he perhaps ought to continue tending to Ol’ Smokey, namely for Beck’s safety’s sake. The thought of vehicle going up in flames and serving up human barbecue is a stomach-twisting one, and it’s enough for Mel to shove themself off its side and turn to continue with the engine inspection. He should probably take a gander below, too.

“Oh, for sure,” they grunt, bending over the hood once more, “mostly newbies shocking themselves– guilty, honestly. This one time, though, there was a fire nearby, and we had a buncha cars parked outside. Well, we had to grab all of the keys, try’n’ find which one was for which car and get ‘em out of the way.”

Alarming as it had been when Szymon had yelled fire !!, Mel had ended up finding the entire ordeal rather... thrilling. 

[mclvin]

lifeafterbeckett​:

“I wouldn’t let you fall.” Beck said simply, then immediately waved his hand noncommittally to keep pace with Mel’s train of thought changing tracks in real time. “I know a few songs, just not their whole like… what’s the word. Album? Collection? Whatever, doesn’t matter.” 

Mel went for the rum, and some part of Beck’s still-sober mind carefully tucked that information away for later. There were lots of drinks to be made with dark rum, and many more to be discovered as sobriety slipped away from them all. 

“Yeah, you picture me driving around in that mail truck a lot?” The daring question set off a thrilling ricochet inside Beck’s chest; he smiled at Mel as they continued their search. Heat rose in his cheeks again, but really he could blame that on the almost-empty beer. And the second one he was ready to start. He got rosy when he drank.

“Ooo, you’re getting warmer,” Beck added (helpfully) nodding at the next cabinet over, only to take another sip before he continued, “But yeah, kinda sorta. My music taste is uh, a little all over the place.” He answered with a sheepish smile. “This is the party mix, usually reserved for party nights. Or whenever I need to wake up the old folks’ home. Little different than your day-to-day stuff?”

✻ ✻ ✻

Oh, I’m already falling.

The thought pops so casually into their head that Mel thinks nothing of it until it hits them square in the chest. Grime-caked fingers (not even a thorough fucking shower can clean the muck practically embedded in his skin) stutter on the next cupboard handle, but Mel recovers quick enough. They swing the doors open and– nothing. No glasses. At least he doesn’t have to meet Beck’s gaze just yet, he supposes; it’s a chance to wring his hammering heart into some semblance of steadiness. 

Except then Beck’s teasing them and Mel practically smacks his forehead into the next cupboard door. The dull thunk hits the air between them, but Mel only straightens up, lips rolling tightly into their mouth, and yanks the door open. 

Sure enough, there are the glasses. Forehead bright red and throbbing beneath their fringe, Mel turns with glass and bottle in hand and pours themself a drink. 

He frowns a little, confused. “Why d’you go to the old folks’ home?” he asks. “Me? Oh, just... I guess, although I do go for a mix of stuff, too. But a little more along the whole rock ‘n’ alt road, y’know?”