morrisxn02

[morrisxn02]

Pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, Eddie tries to sell the image of someone who is utterly annoyed with Milo’s response. But, in reality, he’s gotten used to this and thinks these antics are quite funny. “I’m just… I’m just asking you a question. Completely off-the-record, I promise.” He raises a hand in a vow, wondering if it would be useful to explain that he wasn’t actually going to cite Milo’s name in the paper, but rather use his response as a compass for following questions and then for further questions, and so on... Ultimately, however, he reckons Milo is certainly not interested in learning about the purpose of his essay and instead tries to be more simplistic about the whole ordeal, “Plus, this is meant to be submitted to an arts and literature journal. I guarantee that most of the people who will read this won’t even know who you are.” He explains. “Not to underestimate your popularity as ATP’s people’s princess, of course, but it’s an entirely different audience…”

He sat down near Edward perhaps about ten minutes ago because he seemed distracted, and like he wouldn't be a bother. Not that Milo was busy doing anything besides doom scrolling, but that wasn't really the point. So, when his attention was called away from his phone, glancing over towards the other he gave a deep sigh. "Sorry, I'm not allowed to do unauthorized interviews," he said, shrugging his shoulders. That was actually true as well. Especially with everything going on at Ogden his people had become very strict about any public appearances he made. Although this certainly wasn't a public appearance, and he wasn't sure it constituted an interview either. "Do you want me to text you the number of my PR person? They can send you a form or something to fill out." Knowing Eddie the unnecessary red tape might even be enriching for him.

[morrisxn02]

✍︎ open starter

Computer on his lap – a Word document open with just a few words in – as he lazily rests his back on the cushions of the (brand new!) Commons sofa. The little black bar blinking on the empty white background, petulantly daring him to write something. But he was in the middle of yet another terrible episode of writer’s block, and every time he tried to type something out, it felt like staring at a brick wall and hitting his head against it. But nothing came of it. Just an awful migraine, which could also be due to the fact that he was adamant about not changing his display to night mode.   

“I hate it here – a study about the manifestations of escapism in contemporary literature”, read the first few lines. In the abstract, he proposed exploring what Gen Z considered particularly pressing about their lives and what they sought as a means to escape the bleakness of reality. But besides that, he hadn't been able to come up with much more…

With a long, languid yawn, he notices he is not alone anymore. Someone had taken the chair next to him – the realization causes him to quickly cover his mouth and sit up straight, taking his feet off the coffee table where they had been resting while he thought he was alone. But it also sparks an idea. “Would you mind answering a question? For research.” He shifts in his seat, trying to look a bit more collected, “How are the quote, unquote best years of your life going?”

[morrisxn02]

from g with love – part 2.

(self para)

tape screeches sharp and loud as he opens the box full of dean zuko’s souvenirs. a clatter echoes as he turns it upside down – contents sprawled on the concrete. faster to go through them this way. books, binders, folders, pieces of paper, cds… was that a floppy diskette? when was the last time zuko had cleaned his office? 1999?

beneath the diskette, a loose piece of paper, roughly ripped off something, caught his eye.

october 28, 2022

a page pulled out of a planner or an agenda.

he picks it up just because it’s lying there. waiting for him. otherwise, it would’ve gone unnoticed while he fumbled aimlessly through the books and the binders.

and as if it had been planted: meet greer morrisson at–. it read, in rough, childlike handwriting.

the location was impossible to distinguish – a water stain had blurred out the blue ink of the pen.

october 28, 2022. 5 months – well, nearly 6 after greer’s disappearance. but once again, there he was. dean zuko found at the crime scene. figuratively, of course. just another confirmation to him – both that greer was alive and that zuko was involved in her disappearance. but meet…? that kind of implied some sort of collusion, no? that they were working together?

nearly two years of her disappearance and he still defended her religiously like he was protecting the memory of a martyr. no, i’m sure there’s a reason for indexing everyone’s secrets – maybe she’s an aspiring compliance hr analyst.

oh, maybe she just needed a break, that’s why she was planning to run off to portugal.

well, i’m sure that she was only saying that to penny in those texts because penny was kind of an asshole.

and so on.

now a meeting with zuko? months after disappearing? kind of a slap across the face. a new betrayal. somehow worse than the previous ones. something he couldn’t just shake out.

zuko? out of all fucking people? why not him. why did she rather keep in touch with dean fucking zuko and not him? he was the one who stood by her like a guard dog when she was alive. the one who defended her from their parents and the rest of the world. but, somehow, she would rather see dea– his phone buzzes in his pocket. and buzzes again. and again.  

annie? he said, picking up the call. eddie, where did you go? i have the attendance list here with me.  oh. yeah. i– i had to rush to the washroom. sorry. be there in a minute.  oh, okay. don’t worry, sweetheart. sorry. didn’t mean to interrupt. no, don’t worry.

greer’s memory disappears with the urgency of going back without getting caught. instead, he’ll think about it later – trying to sleep. unsuccessfully. overcome with the anger of not being her favored confidante. of knowing she preferred even dean zuko over him– not just him, of course. penny, too. and all the people she had allegedly appeared to or communicated with in the last 21 months.

but now he doesn’t think about it. now, he tries to focus on the task of getting out of there unnoticed. heart still loud on his chest with the breaking of so many rules works like a compass, guiding him to the right focus. he stuffs the confirmation of zuko’s and greer’s appoitment in the pocket of his trousers – as well as two flash drives and a few more loose pieces of paper in case there is anything useful – and rushes out of the room, leaving dean zuko’s remains abandoned on the floor.

[morrisxn02]

Damp, cold feeling on his torso halted his stride. A weird disorienting sensation of running into an obstacle you didn’t see appear in your way – then, the notion that something had soaked him. Sticky, humid. Gross, even. Crap, he muttered, barely audible, muscles hardening – more out of disgust than of outrage. But before he could say anything else, he realized it was Ollie and the tension in his body just dissipated, like magic. Ollie’s own t-shirt also stained the same lifeless brown that painted Eddie’s baby-blue button-up an ugly shade of grey.

A little chuckle sprouted, even as Ollie apologized for the coffee spill, Eddie’s head shaking to assure it was okay. A much different outcome from what would’ve been if not for the fond face that greeted him a split second afterward. Not that Edward would’ve raised his voice or anything, but had that been a stranger – or someone he wasn’t particularly fond of – he would certainly have complained, and told them to watch where they were going, and had his morning ruined over a mundane little accident simply because his shirt got dirty and he would have to reroute back to Alcott just to change. “No, don’t worry.” He said, taking some napkins from the nearest table to help clean up the crime scene. “My mind’s all over the place, I don’t even think I saw you stand up, anyway.” An unusual thing for him to do – admit he might also be at fault. But it was true, he was so caught up in his own thoughts that he might as well not have seen Ollie get up when he did.

dining hall during lunch sometime [ @morrisxn02 ]

If you were to ask Ollie he was absolutely not the sort of person who spread himself too thin, but that would be a lie. A lie he told everyone, and a lie he told himself. He was in his last year, and luckily managed to keep his own work load pretty low stress this year, which ultimately meant all of his stress was coming from outside sources. The grades, the exams, the fucking papers. The having to track down people who had not paid him yet to deal with their grades, and exams, and fucking papers. End of term was always a bad time for Ollie. The extra stress and anxiety added on top of it from a certain somebody in his phone did not help.

So, as he got up from a table in one of the dining halls turning around and spilling his (luckily iced) coffee all over himself, and the person who had been passing by behind him he almost felt like dramatically bursting into tears and throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of campus would be a great way to let stress out. But he didn't do that. "Oh fuck," he muttered, already grabbing napkins left behind on the table, as he laughed and looked up at Eddie, "I'm so sorry. What a senseless waste of life…" He said morosely as he started to clean the coffee up.

[morrisxn02]

His face remained aglow, smirk flourishing into a playful smile as she demanded a promise from him. He shook his head, eyes rolling, quenching the impulse to let out a little sneering laugh. Rhia’s peculiar brand of optimism was amusing. Charming. It bordered on idealism. And it was (or at least it seemed) entirely devoid of malice. Early on, back when they had first met, Edward assumed this was merely a fabrication. A result of desperation to seem like an inviting presence. Always nice, always smiling – to try to lure people into her claws and take advantage of them. Now, he realizes that was kind of just who she was… Which didn’t make it any less strange to him, this whimsical behavior of hers. But knowing it was genuine definitely made it more palatable – rather pleasant, even. “I’m a very good liar.” He warned, raising his brows, trying to mirror her playfulness. “But. You have my word that I’ll do my best to be as honest as I can.” Which was a grand gesture of good faith, promising he would do his best. Better than promising he wouldn’t lie just to break the oath as soon as she spilled whatever information she had to share with him.

“A lot,” Rhia ascertained with fervor. She felt somewhat like a private investigator, the thrill of uncovering some unseen truth turned this more into a game rather than another blackmail from G. He sat down beside her, much to her amusement. “Well, first… You have to promise me you won’t lie,” she demanded intently and extended a pinky toward him. The pinky hung in the air between them, before Rhia gestured to her hand to indicate they would not continue until he acquiesced to her request. “I can tell when someone lies, y’know! So don’t even try it,” Rhia bluffed, knowing in reality it was quite the opposite.

[morrisxn02]

PSL? That was the school Lucas attended – the Dauphine campus, for their journalism program. Funny how this always happened: how his and Diego’s lives seemed to almost mirror each other in certain ways, without them ever touching.

He couldn’t help the intrusive thought that came immediately after: Lucas and Diego. Getting acquainted. Becoming friends. Becoming more than friends. Was Diego even into guys? The thought made his stomach churn. No, no. That would be nearly impossible. The Dauphine campus was restricted to Journalism majors, no? What was the likelihood of them running into each other? He tried to comfort himself in the lie that the statistics were that it was highly improbable – but the facts were that Diego and Lucas still had gone to the same school. And there were extracurriculars, and parties, and the possibility that there had been an encounter was higher than its opposite.

Again. Funny how this always happened. Lives mirroring each other’s. But somehow, Diego still always seemed to end on top. Always having everything Edward wanted for himself…

“What course did you attend?” He almost instantly, impulsively said, expecting to exclude the possibility of a Diego/Lucas fling, noticing only a few seconds too late that he had ignored Diego’s question. “Uh. Sorry. I– I’m all right… As fine as a person can be in these conditions.” He shrugged.

Diego was surprised when Edward broke the silence between the two of them. He was fine pretending to listen to music while he worked at the chest press, like there was no reason to try to speak to each other. Not that he felt the need to avoid him, neither of them were the others favorite person, but he had nothing particular against Eddie, and he was certain the other felt the same way. Sure. Despite all the pretending in the world his music wasn't that loud though, ear health was important, and he did hear when Eward began to speak.

He smiled a little, and shrugged. "It was nice, about like Paris always is. Except this time I spent the entire time in the library studying, and preparing for exams," Diego said. "I liked it, PSL is a great school. I sent an application in there for Post Grad." He was still hoping for acceptance from Cal Tech though. "How have you been? I know it's an unbalanced question, since there is a whole thing going on here, but…" He trailed off with a wave of his hand.

[morrisxn02]

Warmth on his face, cheeks turning pinkish at the touch of her hand. He hoped she couldn’t see, in the darkness, how his face glowed with her approval. Embarrassing to admit and inadmissible to confess this sudden comfort that he felt with this novel feeling that, for once in their life, they were on the same side. Eighteen or so years ago – when their personalities hadn’t fully developed, and the twins hadn’t yet become each other’s (apparent) perfect opposite, they might have experienced this same feeling of camaraderie. Fraternal, spiritual bond. Edward certainly couldn’t remember it, though. For all intents and purposes, this was entirely new.  

Inattentive to the sharp shards of glass that remained on the windowsill, Edward felt his arm be nibbed by the pointy edges, blood dripping on hardwood, falling on top of his sister’s. A sealed pact to go down together, if worse came to worst. He ignored the cuts – body too hot to pay mind to the pain – and followed her along, a world of possibility materializing in front of them.

Where should we start? Where should we start…? Big responsibility to decide. Something emblematic, of course. A statement piece.

The armchair.

“Can I interest you in a drink, first?” He jested, walking to the bar near the dining room.  A large cabinet stored a wide array of some of the world’s finest liquors – things they were never offered by their parents, even after they had become of age. Never deserving of sharing a drink in their presence.

Edward didn’t wait for Cara’s reply to pour a glass of an 80-something-year-old Macallan to each of them and drink his own like a shot of cheap tequila. He took the bottle with him, though – two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of alcohol – and poured the contents on his father’s prized armchair – a sturdy, twenty-something year old, unique piece of furniture in which he sat every day of their summer holidays to read the news and drink his coffee, where he sometimes napped, and sometimes even dined. A representation of Rufus Morrison. The dark brown of the whisky stained the light beige of the chair irreparably. But that wasn’t enough.

Eddie then stepped on the chair, climbing to stand on it – soles of his shoes dirty with wet sand and dirt from the walk over, leaving dark footsteps on the cushion – and started jumping as if he was standing on a trampoline. The bottle of Macallan shattered into a million pieces on the floor as he put more and more energy into bouncing up and down on the chair. Beneath his feet, it started to cave. First, the cushions started ripping. Then, the legs started to give in. And, suddenly, the whole thing broke apart. A muffled thud as it fell – backrest and arms falling to the sides as Eddie landed on his feet, on top of the seat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

Cara half expected Edward to call the cops on her as soon as she broke the window. It would be in his character - another moment of her acting out and him running to tattle on her with his tail between her legs. She was used to it. There was a reason why she no longer trusted her twin, no longer let him see what she was capable of. Cara reacted, Cara lashed out - and Edward turned heel, ashamed of her.

And yet...he popped his bottle too, Cara's head whipping in his direction as a smile spread across her face, a near feral delight in her expression as he smiled in response. Well. Almost smiled. It was close enough.

Before she could make the next move, letting them into the house, Edward - her straight-laced, goody-two-shoes, rule abiding twin - kicked the window in, clearing out the glass so they could get in. Get into their own home, one that Cara longed to make look a little less perfect. She wanted it to match her own mental state, yes, but also the state of their family. It wasn't pretty.

And it hadn't been for a long time.

Since long before Greer vanished.

"I knew you had it in you somewhere," Cara cooed, reaching up to pat Eddie's cheek before she handed her bottle of champagne off, delicately stretching herself in through the window. Some of the broken glass bit into the skin of her arm, a small yelp in reaction before she batted it away (which absolutely made the scratch worse), Cara stumbling the rest of the way into the house, arms swinging out to balance herself. Okay, it could've been more graceful. But she was in, unharmed - small droplets of blood on the floor not withstanding - picking her way over the glass shards as she turned back to Eddie to take their bottles. "Where should we start?" she asked as he followed her in, casually sipping from her bottle, nothing small about the amount she was downing.

[morrisxn02]

Smirk flirting at the edge of his lips, Eddie takes one small step to shorten the distance between them. He would be lying if he said he had never considered it. But there was never much room for that in their relationship – especially after finding out about him and Greer. But now, standing inches away from each other, Edward couldn’t ignore the tricky little spark of curiosity Milo’s latest comeback had lit within him. He wouldn’t admit it to him, of course. Instead, he counterattacked with a, “I had no idea you wanted me to kiss you all these years.” Playful mockery. “You know, you could’ve just asked…” He took another step, a hand instinctively reaching for Milo’s back, pulling him in, fingers feeling the firm muscles of his back beneath the shirt.  

Milo snorted, "unfortunately, I have looked at you," he said, expression saying itself how unimpressed he was with whatever he had seen. In a teasing way, of course. Edward, much like most (if not all) of Ogden's students, was extremely attractive. He stood straight as his friend leaned back, and shook his head. "He's fine if that's what you're into," Milo stated, implying that sure Alcaraz was fine. He was suitable and attractive. But he, Milo Navarro, was much better than suitable or simply attractive. He took a step forward towards Edward. "But sadly, it's me who is stuck with you, not Alcaraz. I feel like I'm getting the short of end of the stick here. You might as well make it worth my time."

[morrisxn02]

from g with love–

(self para)

that a compliment? he read the message again, staring at the kind word in which the first line of text ended. bet g said that to every guy… but he also wanted to revel in the flattery – that feeling of outsmarting someone you always thought smarter than you and suddenly you prove yourself more intelligent than them and life is beautiful again because the one person who made you insecure finally had to bow and recognize you were better than them. well, not exactly the scenario here – just for the sake of being realistic – but he allowed himself to pretend that that was what it was for a moment. it even distracted him of what that entailed… that greer had been the muse of a project by––

basement. main administration building, the next one said. take advantage of midterms. wow, what was with all this serendipitous generosity? had g taken a liking to him all of a sudden? he wouldn’t look the gift horse in its mouth, of course. just surprised. but he’d follow the orders. make sure to look for any information on greer.  

computer closes immediately. thank god. finally a decent reason to stop looking at those endless lines of 0s and 1s. jesus christ, he had to drop out of this fucking thing or he would flunk this semester and his parents would find out that– well, never mind.

basement. main administration building. he had to devise a plan. no time to think about such an unimportant thing like his major. daytime. to hide in plain sight. no one would suspect a morrison going into the administration building in the middle of the afternoon. nights would be madness. he was sure there were all kinds of alarms and security cameras that he wouldn’t be able to spot. plus, there were patrol cars on campus now. all through the night. bound to suspect a scarecrow-like figure walking around faculty buildings with a black hoodie. better to go in with the full staff there and trust his ability to lie his way in and out of places to help him escape. years of theatre classes had to serve him for something since his parents never let him become a real actor.

***

two days into midterm week, there he was. at daytime. main administration building. blood thumping. so fast he could almost hear it. somehow sense it on his ears. in his stomach, a tight feeling. he’d never been used to sneaking in or out. never needed it actually. maybe at his grandparents, first year in france. his friends always invited him to parties grand-père et grand-mère disapproved of. but other than that, he never needed to be stealthy about anything. but he had a perfect plan – 95,7% failproof. if he got caught he would just say oh shit i got lost. what was the worst that could happen?

he walked through the doors seamlessly – messenger bag hanging from his shoulders, hands in his pocket, sleeves of his shirts folded up to three-fourths, and a smile on his face. oh, hello. good afternoon, mrs. hershkowitz. how’s the wife, mr. koubeck? yes, yes. we all saw that oppenheimer win coming, susan. kind of a disappointment if you ask me. zone of interest deserved it more. a charming smile, a little chuckle. just another wednesday. he still needed a good excuse to be there, though, just in case.

two knocks on a wooden door, above the frosted glass, gold letters read office of extracurricular affairs. the door swung open, and the small, middle-aged, white-haired, pale-skinned woman’s frown suddenly turned into a soft smile. hi, mr. morrison. hi, annie. and she moved away from the door, inviting him in. what can I help you with? um, i’m in a bit of a pickle… a few students are saying their report cards are not showing that they participated in the writing club last semester… looked straight into her eyes as he said this. eyes pleading, telling her, look at me… i’m the one who has to solve everyone’s problems all the time. can you help me? if he weren’t so conscious about being a good liar, he would’ve self-diagnosed as a high-functioning sociopath. but he never abused this skill. saved it only for times of absolute need.  

really? and they’re just now realizing that? oh, annie. you know how we are. attention spans of goldfish. she chuckles. just want to make sure all their participation and attendances are accounted for… think you can get that paperwork for me? annie, tips of her toes sustaining her weight, put a hand on his cheek. well, at least they have you to make sure things are going well. you know, it’s great you’re the student rep for the writing club. reports are always on time. wish more students were like you. he smiles. you’re too kind to me. she turned around, unlocked a door to another room, where they kept all the file cabinets. this might take me a while, eddie. you might want to make yourself comfortable there. there’s coffee and some biscuits, if you want. oh, don’t worry, i’ll be here. he waved a hand in the air, moving to sit on a chair. she walked into the other room, door closing behind her, he got up – back barely touching the cushions – and walked out.

not too happy about lying to her. sweet lady. like fooling a puppy or a child. but it had to be done.

door closed delicately as he stepped into the hall. got to be careful. try to make the round trip before she’s out looking for him. either way, the messenger bag still awaited him on the coffee table. he’d just gone to the toilet, she would think. down the hall, right, right, second door to the left – he’d been there enough times to know. and, at the end of the hall, was the emergency staircase. he only had to make sure that he looked like he was going to the bathroom to the cameras just in case.

so he went. wump-wump. wump-wump. heartrate rising. he tried breathing a little slower. to no avail, obviously.

down the hall. right. right.

wump-wump. wump-wump.

no cameras beyond that spot, he noticed. and if he were guessing right, the last camera couldn’t even catch the first door to the left – the women’s room – much less the men’s. so, he walked past the second door to the right and went straight to the one at the end of the hall.

wumpwump. wumpwump.

door shut lightly, again. footsteps echoing inside the concrete walls as he paced downwards, below the ground floor.

wumpwump. wumpwump. wumpwump. as he reached the door to the basement.

maybe it would be locked and he would have to turn around and go. but he pressed down on the handle and something clicked behind it. no turning back. also, he couldn’t disappoint g……. what a stupid fucking thought. what did that mean? disappoint g. fuck g. he was doing that for himself.

wumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwumpwump. the last door closed behind him. basement lit up instantly. heart felt like it was about to stop as something churned at the bottom of his stomach. but he was alone. motion sensors, he figured. fuck muttered under his breath. only then he realized the lights were a cozy, warm yellow. the horrified state started draining away, but the wumpwumpwump remained. not much to look at. old boxes collecting dust. spider webs. some movement in a corner. rats or cockroaches. quickly, he started searching around. it was an ample space, but the things he was looking for couldn’t be that well-hidden. they’d barely had the time to pack everything up properly. a pile of cardboard boxes caught his eye. newer, brighter brown. not moldy or dusty as the others. a few steps towards them. something touched him, squeaking as it passed by. dust falling on him, feeling like small animals crawling through his hair. fucking disgusting. but there it was. flashlight of his phone illuminating dark sharpie writing on the outside of the boxes. dean zuko, it read. a late birthday gift, maybe? g really had been generous to him, after all…

[morrisxn02]

A light rush of electricity courses from his arm to his chest as he feels her fingers brush below his elbow. A smile flirts at the edges of his lips. For a second, he forgets that she looked very much annoyed just a few minutes earlier. For a second, he wants to touch her waist, pull her close, and lean in… But he doesn’t. Something behind her eyes. I’ll always send you a rose. Even if we’ve changed. Was that her? Saying she would always know him, regardless of what happened? If so, he wants to believe that he can reciprocate. “Well,” He takes one step closer to her, trying to make himself audible over the music, and leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “It didn’t seem like everything was okay back there… Was it the texts? Or… Something else…?”

Ever since that stupid game, Sassa had been thinking about the sight of Link and Edward disappearing behind that door together. She absolutely hated it, not wanting them alone for a single moment, unease chasing up and down her spine every time she thought about it.

And something else that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to examine.

When she felt a slight brush of fingers across her shoulders that evening, Sassa jumped slightly, not the type to get snuck up on. She turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Edward's, to her dismay. And to her...excitement, the sight of him with Link flashing before her eyes again.

Granted, there was a lot more that could be - that should be - on her mind. That valentine, for one. The text from new years, for another. The past year and a half.

But she was certainly mostly focused on the two of them, jealous at the possibility they had had a better time playing that stupid game together than she had had with Diego or Ollie. Sassa offered Eddie a tight smile, the inner corners of her eyebrows tilting up. "Nothing's bothering me," she said, lightly reaching out and brushing her fingers down his forearm. "Besides, you know. The normal." Or not so normal, depending on how they were supposed to look at everything happening on this campus. "You're so sweet to ask, though."

[morrisxn02]

Leaning back on his chair, arms folded on his chest, Eddie tried recalling specific times in his life where covering for his sisters was necessary – letting Monty’s examples guide his search. Parties at their beach house. Nights spent at a boyfriend’s place. But they were all such good liars, all five of them. They even lied amongst themselves. It was easy to sneak in and out of a big house without anyone noticing. Thanks, also, to their parents’ negligence, of course. Cherise always drunk out of her mind, and Rufus always too busy to even care. Throwing parties at their Hamptons home was, perhaps, the only time their bond would be put to the test. The only occasions in which all three of them were involved and would be equally punished if they got caught. “Uhhh… Yeah, it was a little different for us, growing up.” He gave a little shrug. “We never really told each other much about that kind of stuff. If was hanging out with a girl, or if they were at some guy they just wouldn’t tell me. Or each other. I guess we would just lie to our parents and, they either didn’t suspect a thing or didn’t care enough to investigate.” Which wouldn’t be a surprise to Monty if he knew how the Morrisons were treating Greer’s disappearance inquiry. “The only times we’d cover for each other was when Greer threw parties at the house. But that’s because if one of us got caught, we would take the other two down with us.” A little smirk started to play at the edge of his lips. “So… That’s sibling bonds in the Morrison family for you.” And then, a little chuckle broke out. “But, you know, lately – and don’t tell her I told you this – Cara and I have been getting along a little better. Just a little tiny bit.” He made the little-tiny-bit gesture with his fingers. “But, I guess that’s a start.”

Monty cracked a smile and snorted under his breath, muttering softly, "I know all about Cara." He feared that he related to her the most out of the Morrison trio of siblings. They certainly weren't the same, both social strata and gender coloring their childhood experiences, but he'd found that they frequently saw eye to eye without ever verbalizing a thing. The hierarchy of every family needed a black sheep, didn't it? His shoulders shrugged up a little, hand lifting from the keyboard to point at his screen. "I'm working on a paper about the impacts of sibling bonds." Or he had, like, a year ago or something now, but it sure did work as an easy excuse in a pinch. Monty dropped one of his legs to the floor and groaned as he began the process of unfolding his knotted-up limbs, hunched body arching over the back of his chair while he reached for the ceiling. His spine popped and he sighed, arms going limp, head turned in Edward's direction again. "My sister and I got into so much shit as kids," he started to say before giving a more full-bodied snort, amending, "I mean, we still do. Haven't stopped. But in high school, y'know, I was always covering when she went out to parties or slept at a boyfriend's place, that kind of thing. My parents usually sniffed us out, though, they have some sort of sixth sense for sus behavior." And even the times he and Sally got away with murder, Monty had to think it was because his parents just hadn't had the energy to deal with punishing them in the moment. "Were you guys ever any good at covering for each other?" he asked, head tilting with a sly, teasing smile slipping into place. "Trade weekend party custody of the Hamptons house for Greer not ratting you out to the 'rents over something dumb?"

[morrisxn02]

Lips twitched and a contemptuous smirk flashed across his features. Breaking the system down? The journalist-major equivalent to a political science student who thought they were going to make the White House someday. Common, childish dream. Impossible, in his case. Destroying centuries-old structures with the power of information. Kind of pathetic even when you look at the grand scheme of things. He indulged in the mental image anyway. Crawford being a nightmare to politicians and billionaires – having a Watergate moment to call his own. Exposing corruption in the roots of capitalism. Destroying his father…

But that wasn’t what Eddie was looking for. Nor what Lincoln was willing to give. Not straightforwardly, at least. “Your disregard for foreplay is really frustrating.” Hands lifted up in a sort of apologetic manner, as though he had chosen to let the subject go. He would have to reroute. “Is it so hard to believe I am genuinely interested in what you do?” Voice started to low into a whisper as he took a few steps in Lincoln’s direction, head leaning in to meet Lincoln at their height. “Hope this isn’t the kind of guy you think I am.” Hands landing on their waist, pulling them closer. A fire burned inside Edward as their lips finally touched. Did Lincoln truly not enjoy this cat-and-mouse game? Sad, if so. For Edward, it was like throwing gasoline on a pyre. One of the few times in his life where stakes seemed real.

sometimes, when link is overwhelmed by his attraction towards eddie, he remembers why he isn't all over him, all the time, the moment he opens his mouth. just like that, the fantasy fades away, and they're back at their cat and mouse game that seems never-ending. link rolls his eyes, unable to catch himself. "no one's life here is that interesting here where i feel the need to chronicle it." though, he does keep mental notes of what people are doing and saying, anyway. and he was certain that was what eddie was alluding to. "but, you know, i'm a man of simple aspirations — the fantasy is breaking the system from the inside and exposing as much shit as i can on people until i become one of those journalists at risk of getting shot in broad daylight. so, simple." he jokes, a playful expression on his features — though, in reality, that was exactly what he wanted to become. if he was good at being a weasel, he might as well put it to interesting use. "are you done throwing small talk at me now? please?" his worst nightmare.

[morrisxn02]

The defensiveness in her voice surprises him a little bit – expecting a more inquisitive response from her, perhaps. Certainly not something like ‘people would have to understand’ as if Greer were on trial, standing before a jury. He couldn’t even hide his reaction, turning to face her immediately, eyes slightly narrowed in subtle confusion.

“Yeah, yeah. Absolutely.” Her words still lingered at the forefront of his mind, hindering him from thinking about anything else for a moment. Strange juxtaposition.

An undesirable thought began to take shape. Blasphemous, almost.

No, no. Of course not. She was probably just as worried about Greer as he was, that was all. Not her, of all people.

He had read somewhere, though, that there was nothing more real than a thought. Once it materialized inside your mind, there was really nothing you could do to exterminate it. It would exist for as long as its author did.

“I was thinking that or maybe some freak accident, you know?” He tried to shake off the idea. Just an intruder. “Either way, people would have to understand, sure.” Either way, he understood… A sister to him. No. His sister. Greer. “But maybe things weren’t looking too good for her at the time, and she thought she was safer going away…” They even had a joke growing up – never trust a lawyer to get you acquitted. The type of thing that comes up when your parents’ friends are being charged with embezzlement or money laundering. But surely it applied to any type of crime. What an incompetent bunch attorneys could be. Poor Heni. Such a bright young woman... “Anyway, I’m just saying all this because maybe someone has found out and is threatening to expose her. Which, to answer your question, is who I think drove her away."

parker watched eddie with a dully pained expression, observed as shades of frustration, confusion, and hurt washed over his features. swiftly, the conversation had taken a shift. it'd never be easy to talk about it, would it?

not g. greer. the only brief moment parker could recall such a thing had happened between her and rhia. merely a slice of what had been a fuller conversation, but still the last lighthearted one she could recall having about their missing friend.

i try to imagine what she’s like now. you know, did she fall prey to the short haircut trend? is she crashing in someone’s condo? does she know about the taylor and matty healy breakup?

she’s definitely got a couple new boyfriends. what if she got eloped to some rich, foreign guy and they’re planning to have a million babies?

greer… babies…? i mean, one or two in, like, ten years, sure. maybe. well—

do you think she misses us?

and, as it always did, the topic from there went sour. why didn't she tell me? parker thought for the thousandth time. why didn't she call? if she'd told me sooner that something had happened—

eddie's breaking of the contemplative quiet drew her out of the spiral. it would've made parker's ears perk up, had she been some sort of fidgety forest animal. instead, her brows rose some and chin tilted in a small nod, as if to say, that's okay, i'm listening. though she took his preface seriously, how bad could something he had to say be? how horrible, if delivered by such a thoughtful vessel?

but it wasn't just bad—it was worse than parker expected. eddie continued on in his explanation, giving no time for pause until it was all laid out there, and all the while it seeped into her bones like a harsh downpour of rain. "okay," she began after some seconds of thought, expression shifting into one of careful dissection. "but if she had hurt someone—or almost hurt someone," parker couldn't even say the actual word, kill, its bite lingering at the base of her throat, "don't you think it would've been out of self-defense or something? i know i just said she'd hurt and been hurt, but... not like that. people would have to understand." right? right? but wasn't the answer in eddie's own admission that he, if he were witness to it, wouldn't stick around?

[morrisxn02]

Hey. The chirp made him lift his gaze on instinct – sunlight burnt his green eyes forcing him to squint. He had noticed her sitting there during the last set. He had just assumed she was there for someone else. When she called, he even turned around to make sure Rhia was talking to him and not to a teammate, but there was no one behind him... “Hey.” He said in return, a hint of confusion in his voice, as he stepped out of the court to join her on the bleachers, curious to understand what had brought her there, to talk to him out of all people. “A lot?” He repeated playfully, smirk on his face briefly covered by the towel he used to pat the sweat off his forehead. And immediately, one portion of the enigma had been solved – G’s Valentine’s Day texts. The only thing that could prompt such a mysterious greeting. Eager, he sat down beside her, hands fidgeting with his racket. “Go on…”

who: @morrisxn02 when: a day or two after the tri delta celebration where: tennis court

Luckily, Rhia’s proficiency with the ins and outs of Greer’s life led her directly where she needed to be. She wouldn’t call Eddie a friend, though there certainly was never any bad blood. Still, she was desperate enough to seek him out. Which was a mildly infuriating task when she realized she knew nothing about his schedule or extracurriculars… that was until she remembered spotting Eddie’s face alongside Greer’s at one of the tennis tournament during her freshman year. So, she nagged Heni for details about tennis practice, and currently watched from the bleachers as Edward broke off from his other teammates. She closed the beaten composition book in her lap, concealing from the world her heavy heart and sloppy script. “Hey,” she lilted, a melody only familiar and identifiable by herself. She tapped her fingers across the cover of her notebook, scooted over and pat the metal seat beside her. “Come take a breather and talk to me,” she suggested amiably. “We sure do have a lot to discuss,” she prefaced, though her upbeat demeanor gave little away about her intentions.

[morrisxn02]

✍︎ @sassa-fiske

Finally, he sees her alone. Hours after the game and he still hasn’t had the opportunity to ask her why she suddenly started acting strange after he walked out of the closet with Lincoln. Avoiding his gaze, keeping a distance, and whatnot. And he needed to talk to her. Not about this, specifically. Or rather, not initially. But now, about this too. Did she mind? If something had happened between the two of them? Did she think it might have? He walks to her stealthily, hoping she won’t notice him because he fears that if she does, she will walk out of the room. His fingers touch her shoulders from behind, subtly inviting her to turn around and face him. And, with intentional naiveté, he says to her once she does, “What’s going on?” As if he has no idea that it might have something to do with Lincoln, even though he’s pretty sure. “You look like something’s bothering you.”

[morrisxn02]

✍︎ @bigmandiego

A soft, slow exhale came instantly as his myopic eyes distinguished Diego’s blurry frame on the other side of the gym. Even if he couldn’t see his features, he could identify him: the height and the broad shoulders he’d known all his life. And there was a way about his movements too – direct, but light. Precise but not brute. Edward wasn’t sure he’d spotted him, so he would go on with his life assuming he hadn’t. They didn’t really have to talk if they didn’t cross paths, right? Just a nod of the head, like they had been doing the last few months would suffice. Hey. Hey. Never in a place that would force them to talk.

But avoiding someone at a party or on the other side of the campus was one thing, pretending someone standing ten feet away from you didn’t exist, was an entirely different story. And, eventually, the two of them alone at that hour, got physically close enough that avoiding the other’s gaze became impossible. So, as it happened routinely, there was the cordial nod. Hey. Hey. But then time began to elapse in an awkwardly slow manner. Silent glances exchanged accidentally more than once – brows raising and heads bobbing up and down like those wacky wobbler figurines. And, unsurprisingly, the need to say something became inevitable. You can’t dislike someone like that at 22. You had to at least be civil. It was unacceptable for adults. Even if it was reciprocated. They had known each other forever. They occupied the same spaces. “So…” And so, Eddie started, soon as he was finished doing a set on the bench. “How was Paris…?”

[morrisxn02]

The keys were probably somewhere in his car. Always kept a spare set in the glove compartment for an emergency. But just as he was about to announce that he could get them in, a pop. Sharp sound of a cork exploding, drawing a parable on the air as it rocketed to break through a second-story window.

Worried, he turned to look at her – his eyes widened as he realized they would be screwed when their parents found out. But she didn’t share in his preoccupation. The expression on her face was of someone who does something deliberately. Proud of her accomplishment.

A signature Cara tantrum, it dawned on him. Same glint in her eyes she would get as a child, finally obtaining what she had asked for after a spectacular fit – a richness of yells and cries and curses that surprised even himself.

He should turn around. His mind started flaring off all kinds of alarms telling him to go back to the party and leave Cara there. Let her face the consequences of her recklessness alone. But his stomach burned, a sensation that he had only felt the day his dad pushed him in front of Heni – made him stumble and fall like an idiot. Embarrass himself. The sound of his footsteps dissipating in the distance after yelling at him to mind his business. The feeling of being reduced to a child.

Thinking about that moment over and over, nurturing this feeling. Along with impotence and betrayal and all the thoughts of what people were probably saying behind their back. Everything their fault. His fault.

Pop. The sound of his own cork flying and cracking the ground-floor bay window. He looked at her again – his head a mix of worry, indignation, and pleasure at having broken something that belonged to his parents; a representation of them in his subconscious – but a light glow on his face. Almost – not quite – but almost a smile. Was that how Cara felt after she threw a tantrum? When she yelled at their mother? Was that why she kept doing it to the day? This feeling of pride that came over you for breaking a rule. Disobedience. Or maybe it was because Rufus simply deserved it? Deserved all the hell they could give him and more. Guttural need to make him suffer, like he had made Edward.

His foot broke more of the glass. Shards cracking like a xylophone as they hit the hardwood inside, creating enough space so they can go through. Great flexibility, he thought to himself. Those mobility exercises before leg workouts were really doing wonders.  “Ladies first.”

Cara threw Eddie a sideways glance, a roll of her eyes shifting it back forward as she continued her bullheaded stomp forward. Towards, yes, home. If it could be called that. Sure didn't feel like it could be, at the moment, so she just bobbed her head once, a vague agreement. "You're so...," Cara muttered, the insult falling short as her voice trailed off, unable to commit to taking out her anger on Edward.

For once.

Even though there was plenty she could say - naive, optimistic, stupid - for him thinking there was any universe in which thy weren't blamed by people for Greer disappearing. Of course they would be - of course people would assume the worst of her. It only went to show how different their lives were that he was surprised by that, and she wasn't at all. Without explaining, Cara continued to lead their way down the path, glad for a moment they weren't too far away from the Morrison's house, a wry smirk crossing her face as they emerged onto their property.

"Home sweet home," she said, a bitter and petulant sing-song cadence to the words as she approached the back door of their house, giving her bottle of champagne a few shakes - all the better to pop the cork with some force, aiming it straight at the window next to the door handle.

What, was she supposed to get in by breaking it herself? She'd pass on anything that could result in drawing her blood.