morrisxn02

[morrisxn02]

Getting on the road, driving away, disconnecting for a while – a trend among them, apparently. Only in their early twenties and already desperate to set out, leave the world behind, and live like nomads. Or hermits, like he had chosen to (in the self-imposed exile of his family’s country home). At least this exodus from campus seemed to have done them well… “That sounds nice…” He replied, genuinely, because she had a sort of revigorated air about her. “And how was, you know, travelling with Jesse?” Regardless of having aimed for a cool, unassuming tone, his curiosity evidently transpired. He didn’t want to press her, of course, but he couldn’t help but wonder how things had played out…

His retreat had certainly been more monotonous, on the other hand. Not that he was complaining. Monotony was exactly what he needed. Nothing got his creative juices flowing better than some peace of mind and the silence of isolation. “I wrote a little bit of that too.” He answered, slight enthusiasm coating his words, happy that she had remembered about that. It was one of his favorite traits about her–the attention to detail. Mental notes that she could access as easily as looking at post-its on a corkboard. “You know how this works, you’ll get an idea, and it’ll become a source of hyperfocus for two weeks, and then your mind will create a new, completely unrelated narrative to be obsessed about.” He sighed. “But that progressed a little bit, it’s supposed to merge into other plays that have creepy aspects, like Hamlet or even non-Shakespeare works like Doctor Faustus. I’m just having a hard time drawing the common thread. I feel like I have a lot of cool scenes that work separately, but they don’t really come together as a whole story. We should sit down for you to have a look at it someday. I need to pick your brain as much as I can before you graduate and leave me to be the only Elizabethan-theatre nerd in Ogden."

a nod of understanding tilted parker's chin. it was almost verbatim what jesse had said before their own brisk escape—remind myself that there’s more than this. the crazy thing was, there was. so much more, so much better, was actually just brimming up around the edges of their lives on campus. the normal things, as eddie had put it, had been so within reach that it actually made the entire ordeal all the more frustrating. maybe the crazy thing, though, was not realizing that all along. maybe they'd all just get through this trauma and leave—and that'd be it.

"jesse and i drove up to maine, bopped around a few coastal towns," parker answered with a shrug, though her growing smile betrayed any purported sense of oh, you know, whatever casualness. "camden has this beautiful little opera house—i could've slept on the floor there." she knew he'd understand just how literal she was being. if not because they tended to enjoy the same things, then because she'd actually refused to leave the DIY theaters they all, as children, had built in the walsh family's living room and did, in fact, sleep there. "what'd you write? anything you'd like to share? hey, did you ever figure out that macbeth inspired dialogue you were working on forever ago?"

[morrisxn02]

Milo kind of had a point. There was, likely, some overlap between tennis aficionados and pretentious art enthusiasts. Edward himself was standing right at the intersection of that god-forsaken Venn’s diagram… “Well, that depends. If a big journal picks it up, then it might be published.” He explained – but that would require him to have a decent article. Meanwhile, all he had were 12 words. “But I won’t mention your name, don’t worry. I’m still trying to understand where this is taking me.” He set the laptop on the coffee table, turning to Milo. Maybe a casual conversation would make ideas flow more naturally than interviewing his friend. “I think we can both agree we all live in very… pressing circumstances, right? What I’m trying to understand is how this affects our – and by our, I mean our generation, in general, – appreciation of art. Like, what kinds of books are you reading? Or what kind of films do you watch? And why so?”

"It's going to be in a publication?" Milo said, waving his hand, "that definitely qualifies it as an interview, then. I thought I was just giving you a hard time about some assignment. And I think some arts and literature journal would likely have a large crossover with pretentious tennis fans." That seemed like the exact thing someone would have out displaying on some magazine rack. "Unless it's only online, then maybe not so much." You can't display how cultured you are if it was only online. He placed an elbow against the arm of the seat, leaning in Eddie's direction. "What's the questions? About how there is not much of a future to look forward to for our generation, or what?"

[morrisxn02]

✍︎ @sassa-fiske ; @ironlvngs

Edward, hundredfold, strode in infinite directions in the dark. A view that never got tiring. His reflection. Elevated to the nth power, reproduced endlessly inside the House of Mirrors.

There was, undoubtedly, an element of self-obsession to his wonderment–an unwavering appreciation of his own image that was characteristic of mythological characters that would drown or blind themselves after trying to kiss their own reflection. But there was also the psychedelic thrill about getting lost in a maze of glass, surrounded by so many nonexistent versions of one, that you couldn’t even point out who was object and who was image.

Not that any of those things were particular motivators to his volunteering to work at the House of Mirrors. Those were just the things he liked in something he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about, which was working the closing shift at the carnival. Instead, what had led him there was the promise of extra credits he so desperately needed thanks to his horrendous performance in some computer science courses he was about to bomb (which would, ultimately, lead to his parents finding out that he– well, never mind).

Regardless of the reasons that had brought him there or of how much he enjoyed being able to stare at himself for hours on end, there was work to be done. And so, he walked down the sinuous corridors of the maze, flashlight in hand, to check if there were any stragglers and to collect garbage that might have been left behind. At a turn, however, Eddie spotted something that made him stop. Two figures standing in the dark. Well, to be perfectly honest, about 16 figures. Standing close to one another. Talking.

At first, he imagined it might have been just two teenagers thinking they could get away with staying in the carnival past closing time. Hiding somewhere they thought no one would bother to check. But as he got closer, the shapes started to become more defined. The thin, jagged frame, the brown, curly hair, the cashmere of her sweater, and the faded vintage rock band t-shirt… And suddenly he was surrounded by Sassa and Link. 8 of each. He hadn’t seen them come in. Or maybe he had, but was too distracted with his reading that his brain didn’t compute. Still, this felt like being lured towards a fire–a sense of curiosity walking in tandem with trepidation in his mind. But it didn't hinder his stride.  

He cleared his throat loudly, stealing their attention, using his flashlight to distinguish the mimics from the flesh-and-bone pair – the ones whose eyes closed instinctively when confronted with light. “Am I interrupting something?”

[morrisxn02]

The thought came to him more than he would like to admit. As well as the inevitable melancholic feeling of uncertainty over how he would be able to push through yet another year of doing something he hated, but now with only a fraction of the people he loved to help push through. The sadness transpired only in the slightest, though. He didn’t want Anya–whose intentions towards him were as unclear as ever–witnessing too much vulnerability on his part.

But his response was sincere enough that they would realize he wasn’t happy. A sudden heaviness to his voice, a swift diversion of her gaze.

“Much the opposite, actually.” He met their stare again. “Most of the people I like are leaving…” He gave a lazy, unenthusiastic little shrug that was followed by a brief pause as he considered how, for them (for most of them, really), getting away, closing this cycle, would be a relief.  “You must be thrilled, I assume?” A smile flashed across his features, like the petals of a flower made of plastic, fake, and dim. Maybe one year from that night, he would be smiling a real smile. “Especially considering you won’t have to deal with you-know-who anymore?”

with: @morrisxn02 where: spring fling

Anya had almost stepped in it and asked Eddie whether he was excited for his last spring fling before graduation, before realising her error. In some dark, subconscious corner of their mind, they had perhaps framed everyone else's existence around their own: if she graduated, then everyone else did too. "You must be, like, so excited for all the rest of us to fuck off next year, I imagine?" The truth went unspoken: once Greer's cohort went, perhaps G would go with.

[morrisxn02]

Regardless of the little knowing smirk on Eddie’s lips – sharing in on the joke which was their collective experience living in the CW purgatory otherwise known as Ogden College – he didn’t really have any evidence to support Monty’s observation about his mental health. Truth was that, in spite of his fondness for Monty, they weren’t particularly close to the point that he had seen the other put up a display of frail mental stability. Instead, Monty always seemed to face the surreal developments of their common narrative with a fine sense of humor and a sharp tongue, which Eddie not only highly appreciated but also found extremely healthy. “If I’m being honest… You…do…” His brows raised a bit to accompany the prolonged movement of his shoulders.

But, if he really was being honest, sarcasm of his response aside, Eddie assumed that – much like himself, Monty reserved demonstrations of his frustration and revolt to the people closest to him. And their discussions would, instead, be restricted to little quips about G’s latest move or long, self-indulgent conversations about their common subjects of interest.

Irony. Humor. He jotted down on a recently opened note on the Notes app. Reading????

Conspicuously, he tried to catch a glimpse of what he was reading, but Monty’s fingers hid most of the cover, only letting him see the shapes of indistinguishable letters. “Kidding. Obviously. But out of most people here, you kind of seem to be handling all of this...” Well, well was not exactly the word. “A little better?”  He shrugged again. A bit faster this time, because it was sincere and not something done to punctuate a joke. “What are you reading if you don’t mind my asking?”

A brief and careless 'Wassup?' had been tossed in Edward's direction when he first sat down, collapsing into a nearby armchair and looking on expectantly. In a remarkably out of character moment for Monty, though, he hadn't been bothered by the lack of response. A sense of relief flooded his system instead, body relaxing as he accepted the silently unaware companionship while he could get it. Feet were pulled up to sit criss-cross, body drooping forward to rifle through his backpack and find a book, propping it open in his lap to read. And that's how he sat until Eddie finally spoke -- hunched over like a gargoyle, elbows digging into his knees with his head held up by his hands. Honestly, he needed the interruption.

"You really gotta ask?" he snorted, sounding unavoidably nasal with how squished his face was between his two fists. Monty's eyes cut to Eddie, eyebrows lifting a little while beginning to smile like they were sharing on an inside joke. "Ugh," he grumbled softly, rubbing at his face while sitting up, letting a hand fall to dogear the page he was on. Another second of thought led Monty to a lazy shrug, slouching into the armrest towards Eddie. "Other than the multiple murders… my life is going swimmingly. Don't I look like the picture of perfect mental health?"

[morrisxn02]

His jaded face suddenly illuminated when their eyes met, finally realizing that the first call he had heard had been meant for him. “Oh. Hey!” A smile greeted her, like she had just brought home wood for the fireplace. The week between the carnival and Spring Break had been a monotonous but busy one. No time to really talk to anyone – only to readjust himself to life on campus after two weeks of an idyllic (and lonesome) getaway. “It was all right. Got to spend some time alone, which was good. I needed some time away from… everything.” His hands made a circular gesture in the air. But truly, this small holiday had felt like flying out into space and coming back two years later to a place you should recognize, but either it, or you, had changed in such a way that things just didn’t feel like they used to anymore. “Rested some, wrote some… You know, lived life like a normal person.” Eddie let out a little chuckle, humored by the baffling realization that any other man’s trash had come to be his treasure and not the other way around. “How about you? What were you up to these last couple of weeks?”

who: @morrisxn02 where: spring carnival

the news of the dean having been fired had, like most rumors, spread through the student body like a fast-acting winter cold. parker had caught signs of it here and there throughout campus, from closely huddled groups in the quad to blatant comments on the school's social media page. it was unavoidable and, likely, everyone knew at this point.

three people had immediately come to mind when parker, herself, had heard only a couple days ago. while she hadn't exactly hoped to broach the topic during the spring carnival, she hadn't seen any of them since—and eddie just so happened to be walking by now.

"hey!" parker called from her place at the water gun game booth, fully abandoning the toy at the counter as she leaned over to wave in his direction. "eddie!" she tried again, leaving the game entirely to jog in his direction. "i've been meaning to catch up with you." both hands slid into her back pockets. "how're you doing? how was spring break?

[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?"