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[ncghtshifts]

closed for @yuorknife

There wasn't usually a lot Leo could do when he was worked up like this. Sent into a spiral, anxious when he truly wasn't used to it. It wasn't how he functioned most of the time, but when it occurred, there was a small handful of people he turned to, and in that moment all he wanted was his oldest brother. Relying on family was still new to them - but as Tuck walked into his apartment, Leo could be found oh his couch, hugging their legs to their chest, sweat lining their forehead. "I used your key." Leo explained, like Tuck needed it. Like they hadn't just entered his apartment of his own accord hundreds of times. But this was different. "Pretty - I'm pretty fucked up. Y'want a drink? Or - pill? I'm fucked up." Their words slurred and moulded together. Usually, Leo could hold his own, even at their most high, but knowing they didn't have to even try with Tuck, they lost all qualms of attempts. "Where've you been? I, um - was waiting for you for a while."

[ncghtshifts]

Monty was in a state of undress - but that wasn’t anything new. Monty thrived whenever they were in a state of undress, really. Usually with someone who would appreciate it more, and one could argue Fraser did, even if it killed him, but in a far more intimate setting. Though, in Monty’s eyes, and heart of hearts, what was more intimate than sweltering together in a studio? Shirt off long ago and shorts rucked up so that they could hardly pass for anything decent, the beginnings of a smirk appeared on their features. They’d been incredibly patient, waiting for this exact moment, where Fraser would finally break and complain and whine. They already had to readjust themselves in their flimsy excuse for bottoms before even acknowledging him. “And if I did?” They asked, eyes flitting to the expanse of skin Fraser had exposed, inadvertently or not. “Since when do you protest against what I get off on?” Smirking, Monty groaned while stretching out from where they’d been lain out on the studio’s floor, graceful as always in everything they did. Elegant and languid as possible with it too, hoping Fraser stared at lithe and stringy, strong muscle the way Monty stared at his. They weren’t ashamed or bashful about it - but half the game was the fact that they weren’t meant to acknowledge it. “C’mere,” they demanded, waving Fraser closer, now sat up on the floor, “I need my back stretched out, then you can leave, you big baby.” Emphasising what they meant, Monty made grabby hands in his direction - hoping he’d understand the implication, to press the soles of their feet together and hold hands while pulling and pushing. It was how they almost always ended their practice sessions together, and that always ended the exact way Monty wanted it to. “It’ll be worse, come July. August. What’ll you do then? Quit? Because you can’t take a little heat? Is that your new specialty? I’ve become quite familiar with it.”

for, @ncghtshifts — ferals ride again!

summer unfurls, devours irving whole   —   long, hot, snakelike in the way it squeezes. not even the wheezing of an air conditioner well past its glory days can take away the sweat - slick dampness of it   ;   beachy breezes that roll off waves do approximately diddly - fuckin’ - squat to extinguish the lazy way it seems to swallow him, alive, barely breathing. all of this exacerbated, of course, by the burn at his very core, sick little furnace  /  accidental by - product of existing around monty a moment too long, he’s convinced of it.  (  it’s unhealthy, the fixation he has with lodging himself underneath other’s skin, digging a trench in limited patience  +  making a home of it. therapy’s expensive, alright  ?  )  cue whatever this is: rehearsals extended long past their natural demise, limbs stretched almost to breaking point. cotton gone thin  +  transparent where it clings to patches along his back, his shirt’s ended up rucked up to expose a dazzlingly pale strip of skin. damp curls are an inky halo, huffed out of obscured vision when he shoots yet another glare towards front of the room.   “is this productive? like, genuinely. level with me.”   protest comes at the tail - end of a huff that echoes, wet, across studio that remains unspeakably empty bar the two of them.  danger, will robinson, get the fuck out before you fog up the goddamn mirrors again.   “i’m fuckin’ dying here. do you get off on this shit?”

[ncghtshifts]

Cassie can’t help but feel a bit childish. After his divorce, he’d always treated flings with an air of teenage awe. He was never allowed to venture into fun, never supposed to even consider the frivolous, until it was all he knew. Enter Levi - it didn’t feel like something fun and frivolous, had stopped seeming casual early into their companionship. Cassie constantly sought out his attention, company, affections, though they were short and few. He took what he could get, until what he could get built and grew. And then suddenly Levi was gone - and now he was back. This felt like a second chance, though Cassie tried to shove away any idealisms of romance or intimacy that passed anything platonic. He’d be okay. Levi was back. “Early retirement but you’re - back here?” James had told Cassie a handful of times his tone held judgement like it was second nature. And he wasn’t even judging Levi, more than he was just confused. Levi came, went, came back, and all with the blanket of retirement to blame on his return. Whatever, it wasn’t Cassie’s business, but if he wasn’t curious about Levi to begin with, he was practically insatiable now. “You don’t have to explain.” He soothed, handing Levi a beer and popping open one himself before passing the bottle opener to the other. “If anything I’m just glad you’re back home.” Despite his drink already opened, Cassie still rummaged in his cabinets for James’ stash she always left here, popping open her bourbon as she screamed in his ear from the ether. Poured them both a celebratory drink of it before carrying on. “I’ve been - the writing, y’know?” Levi had heard many complaints from Cassie about his lack of inspiration and muse, this was nothing new. “Maybe it’ll be better now that you’re back. It’s been, like… super lonely. I’m - I can’t… like, there’s no words really, for how empty it was here without you. But maybe there’s no words because I can’t fucking write!” He scoffed, downing the shot he’d poured. There’d meant to be a cheers in there, a toast to Levi coming back, but when Cassie was worked up, rationale left the building. Hopefully Levi remembered that and wasn’t suddenly perturbed - left again, as soon as he’d reappeared.

"i do?" levi snorts. he can't quite believe it, grateful or not, but after a moment of looking at the floor he looks back up at cassie and inclines his head. "thanks."

he'd like to give cassie a more proper hug now, but that moment has passed. they're going to catch up. levi stands, and he listens. beer, wine, white claws, vizzys, james' bourbon.

and then a question. "uh. i'll take a beer, yeah." he moves a step in the direction of the kitchen before he recalls that this isn't his place at all, and he is not a newcomer but also might as well be in the here and now no matter what he feels, and he stops.

"i've been fine." emotionally, at least, and mostly. he shakes his head, shrugs. "you know. same old." runs a hand through his hair. he is usually so sure of himself in conversations, mostly because he is not a talker and does not care to share, but because he wants cassie in on his life he ends up at this strange crossroads. "got an early retirement, so. yep. and now." he gestures at the box of his belongings. "uh. you?"

[ncghtshifts]

Mercy didn’t know what to do with it - Rowan’s tenderness. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to on the best of days, but he’d witnessed it. Recognised it when mothers stroked the cheek of a wailing child trying to soothe them, a couple in the honeymoon stages incapable of keeping their hands off of each other. Sometimes touch didn’t elicit a reaction equivalent to jabbing a bruise to see if it still ached. But Mercy had never seen Rowan be particularly gentle with anyone - it wasn’t common in their line of work, but she wasn’t hardened yet. Past a point where there was no hope of returning to something that could resemble human, that Mercy knew. Lived through it every day. So it was new - to him, to see it from Rowan, but it still made sense somehow. Finally, the rationale slipped into place like a final puzzle piece that’d gone missing under the couch weeks ago. It’d worked each loophole, jumped through hoops, and practically led the Spanish Inquisition of his brain, but once it’d given into concrete evidence, it was easy to accept that he was allowed to breathe and melt into Rowan’s touch. A touch that was insistent and lingered, fingers still wrapped in his hair even when he leaned back to look at her, cupped his face and held a warmth there that made his skin feel blistered and raw, but the additional pain was grounding. “Don’t worry about me.” It was more demand than coddling. It wasn’t something Mercy could just accept, her care, her touches, a tenderness that still stung, now her worry too. It made him itch. It made him yearn. His chest felt as if it’d begun to cave in with such a blatant need for Rowan that he couldn’t stop pawing at her like some pathetic puppy. There wasn’t a real hope of stopping when all she did was fuel the fire. “Ludo.” Rowan had been around him a handful of times, but Mercy couldn’t remember if they’d ever actually interacted. His mouth still tingled where she’d kissed him, less than a second and it was all he could focus on. The shoulder they’d just fixed was still stiff, so he could merely tug her forward with three fingers, two rendered useless. It would’ve been embarrassing if he wasn’t still capable of tugging her closely enough that she had no choice but to end up in his lap. “I don’t want you talking to him. He’s a fucking cunt and he’ll fuck with you the first second he gets the chance.” For the moment, she still had her hand by his neck, still somewhat caressing his face. Mercy was pingponging between focusing on that, on the way his lips still felt lonely now, his anger at the hypothetical that she may one day even be in the same room as Ludo again. His brain working on overdrive and struggling to latch onto those past rationales again, mirroring her hold and cupping her face. This time last year, he would’ve kissed her then and there because it just made sense to do it - he wanted to, why wouldn’t he? But now there were other factors involved. He could indulge in her touch, but humouring anything real between them was a step Mercy was far too self-destructive to take. “Say it.” Repeating his earlier insistence, because it’d worked for them last time, but this felt more serious. If his arm had fallen right off, he would’ve kicked it to the side and moved on, taken on the inconveniences like he did every other one. But this was about Rowan now - Mercy cared about this outcome.

Rowan didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she felt Mercy against her, eliciting a gasp of air that brought some relief, fingers entangled in his hair, holding him close, chest heaving in beat with the sound of his breaths. Uncertain if she had managed, having him this tangible was enough for now, missed once he pulled away. She was focused solely on his being, bloodied lip forgotten, heat percolating her cheeks that had gone pale. A smile of reprieve came with a sear of pain in reminder. Before Rowan could attend to it, she felt Mercy shift, felt his fingers against her lips and all she could do was lean into the touch even as he pulled away. The heat had now traveled to her core, turned into something aching and carnal. Nothing new, but it had become harder to smother. Time and time again. The brief moments of vulnerability were what kept her up at night and distracted during the day. Rowan sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, swallowed hard, the thin line they tread on growing faint in the midst of the dying adrenalin. “Of course, I was worried,” voice gravelly, re-learning how to speak words. She was now brushing strands of his hair back into place, not wanting to lose this moment, but knowing her own tendencies paralleled his. Mercy was talented at giving her just enough before cutting the cord. She didn’t think it was a trap, even if that may have been naive of her; she just knew that tenderness was hard to stomach once you’ve been forced to live without it. Rowan decided to steal a bit more time, though, and try — she closed the distance to press a kiss to the right side of his jaw and then cheek and then lips, kisses that were too brief, before they were eye-to-eye once more. “I mean, if talking back to Rocky was bad, then imagine if I fucked up the arm of the guy leading the drug ring.” Brought back to the reality of the situation, she worked to douse those flames, a safety mechanism for her own heart. Her hand had fallen against his neck, thumb along his jawline. “You’re okay, right? Not just your arm, but you said you’d gotten into a fight with someone who works with your dad? You owe me that much. Tell me what happened, please.” And, she tried to sound assertive but could hear the echo of a scared little girl pretending.

[ncghtshifts]

The first thing Abel had noticed about Freya was that she was so witty, he felt like he was stumbling through every conversation with her. Abel was smart, but she was smart - and sharp. He was desperate to nic his fingers on all of her edges. But then she hadn’t actually been so cutting after all. She was really just… smart and sharp. Naturally, that quick, comedic, and observant. It didn’t take long to pick up that she had to be, raised in a way that it became impossible not to be, but she’d adapted and turned it into what could’ve been some pathetic weakness into her biggest asset. There was so much more underneath, a softer and loving side to her that Abel still craved all the time. He was charmed, and that feeling of deep set endearment never really left, even when he attempted to wipe their slate completely clean. “She should give it to you, or it’d be a waste of a dress.” Matter of fact, and as much of a compliment as Abel was willing to give without showing just how affected he was by her appearance. They were always playing that game, Abel attempting to gather himself and give her baseline compliments as to not - scare her away, truly show his colours and how much he wanted her, even if she wasn’t trying. And then she was casually calling him sexy, which - wasn’t new, but still left him flustered either way. Before they started dating, during, after now, even if she was just teasing. Abel could only press his lips into a tight line, though he was sure his amusement still showed, grin appearing nonetheless and ears turning pink. “In my defence, I genuinely - did not expect this place to be so fancy. It’s new! All it said online was that it was a family owned Italian place, my first thought had been diner.” He insisted, taking a sip of his own wine. As she rattled off, Abel wondered if that’s how this looked to her. A Pretty Woman situation - it must’ve been. They’d gone this long without entering territory even close to this again. It probably was out of nowhere, and Abel was to blame for that, knew it was his move to right the wrongs he’d created, but it was nerve wracking, especially where Freya was involved. With anything serious, she was easy to scare. It’d taken an arm and a leg to convince her to trust him the first time, and after he’d broken it so gloriously, Abel knew it’d be almost impossible to do again. But she was worth it - it wasn’t a question of whether she was worth it or not, but whether he was. “Dom is far more elegant than you give him credit for!” His way of pushing past the topic they were meant to talk about a bit longer, just for a few more seconds. Before he was setting down his glass of wine, hand gliding across the table but never reaching, merely tapping a finger against the spot right in front of Freya’s hand. He wanted to reach for hers, hold it, but it was still uncharted territory, and he needed to speak to navigate it. “I’m not trying to Pretty Woman you - to clarify. I’m -...” Clearing his throat, more nervous than he’d been in a long time. “I’m okay, except that. I miss you - all the time. And this wasn’t intended to be anything more than an excuse to see you, and that’s all it has to be. We’re friends, and I want that over not having you in my life anymore. Which is to say that... this could also be a date, but - I recognise… that’s a big ask. Of you, and for me, as well. You probably don’t trust me at all. And I considered the possibility that you’re seeing someone else. But I’d like to at least try, if you’d give me - another chance, let me explain some things to you. Even if I don’t deserve it. I’m not above begging.”

Freya’s not easily fazed, able to dive headfirst into anything without a thought or a care; years of practice in the face of countless disappointments made it easy. Tonight, she had overestimated herself. She was far too sober and someplace she obviously did not belong at, with someone who knew more about her than she was comfortable with. Maybe that’s why Freya had agreed to the whole thing. To prove that being around Abel, after everything, was no different from trying new teas with Cricket or smashing shit with Will. A stretch at best. Abel’s own nervous energy helped in a way, overpowered her own. Still, she was almost through her glass of wine already.  “Gotta give it to Lana, leaving her shit around,” Freya acknowledged the dress she wore — a simple slip, but fancier than anything she owned herself. “Or else, I probably would’ve been denied access. You were kinda setting me up with the dressy casual, huh? So you could come in all sexy and make me look bad. Good thing I’m very smart and know all your tricks, Romanov.” Voice lowered with a narrowed gaze to match, but softened just as quickly, shoulders falling into a shrug. “Duh. I’ve seen Pretty Woman. Lived through Romanov dinners. Besides, you’re paying and I’m looking forward to asking for extra truffles.” She smiled — a genuine one despite her quips to provide reassurance, no matter how faulty. “Are you okay? …No, like, seriously. Don’t tell me this is what you do for all your casual hangs now. Dominic Evans can barely hold a fork. He’d get you banned from all the finest establishments.”

[ncghtshifts]

Even though Danny should’ve fit in - no more neon than the walls, clothes maybe even a bit duller - he still stood out. It was like it was in their DNA, forced to stick out like a sore thumb even in the most radical environments. It was something Tommy had learned to appreciate, more by force than anything. They’d grown up in such a way that they had to become resilient, only encouraged by their mother to continue to be as uniquely themselves as possible - her words. Looking back, Tommy maybe should’ve said something, but if they were nothing but their mother’s disciples at the end of the day and her word was law. “Your eyes - that’s pretty cool but that’s, like, non toxic, right? It’d suck for you to go blind at a time like this.” Like there was a convenient time to go blind. Once Danny had approached - awkwardly, like he’d never walked a day in his life - Tommy reached for the top of his head, pulled it down so he could plant a kiss on the top. Danny had been significantly taller since he was 14, but Tommy had never been mad about it, found it fitting. While Danny hollered out Temporary Secretary, Tommy tried to scope through the miniscule selection they had on the DJ desktop. Try as he might to expand their music library, but Rockin’ and Rollin’s manager was a stickler. Almost half of their Spotify liked songs were Jonas Brothers. “Uh… can you choose something a bit more teeny boppy? These people - they just don’t really have taste, Danny. And then I tried to use Lara’s Spotify account the other day, all she had was House music and Kim Petras. The glitz and glamour of this job have significantly diminished, let me tell you.”

Danny didn't like roller skating. He didn't like any wheels that spun into motion - not skates or heelys or - skateboards. Bikes. Cars. Toy cars strapped to his feet. Really, the only circular thing he liked were the candy eyeballs he ordered from the deadstock store - expired in 1987. Well. What did they know? They tasted fine - like the 80's, if he had to think of a taste. But alas - Tommy liked roller skating, apparently. Which was fine by Danny - clad in all neon to match the hallway that surrounded him, hand - painted swirls over the jacket his mom had affectionately bought him from Value Village. "Aw gee - how'd you see me?" Neon paint was streaked over his eyes, bleeding into them a bit - the whites of his eyes seeming pinker and pinker by the minute. Maybe that was why they were burning. No matter. Danny ambled forward - an awkward shuffle - up to the DJ booth, casting a wide but tragically non - neon smile towards the Rockin' and Rollin' patrons - none who looked pleased to see him. No matter. Tommy liked him plenty - that was what brothers were for, right? "Temporary Secretary by Paul McCartney. Right classic. Makes me cry every time just thinking of it. Temporary! Secretary! Temporary! Secretary! Temporary -" Off - tune croons that seem somehow louder than the music actually playing.

[ncghtshifts]

Mercy watched, and was somewhat comforted, as her face seemed to melt from shiftiness to something more secure. A steadiness he didn’t even particularly feel, but he had no choice in this situation. Forced to put his well-being into the hands of someone else was a concept so foreign that even now, Mercy didn’t fully trust Rowan wouldn’t suddenly try to wrench his arm right out of its socket, just because she could. He wouldn’t blame her if she did - he’d dragged her into this part of his life with little to no thought of the consequences. But she’d just been a face then, a pretty one that could get anyone else to warm up to her, trust her even. Now she was Rowan, and she was holding his arm like a lifeline, and all he could do was allow it to happen. “Okay. Good.” His words broke into two as Rowan wasted no time, simultaneously pulling and pushing until there was a yank, a scrape, and then an audible pop paired with Mercy’s pained cry. It sounded more like a bark than anything, didn’t even manage to last a second before he was automatically staunching any noises of discomfort. If Vinny had been there, he would’ve started playing lego with the rest of Mercy’s limbs - shifting them in and out of proper position - until he could sit stoic throughout the entire thing. But it was Rowan, and she’d done it right, like they’d faux-promised each other. Liquor coursed through his veins, paired with adrenaline and relief from the searing pain he’d been feeling for the last hour, and it made his vision swim in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Hadn’t even noticed that he’d flopped forward, forehead resting on Rowan’s sternum and good hand (somewhat, fingers that weren’t taped together) clutching at the fabric of her shirt by her hip. “Fuck.” He wheezed, hair stuck to his forehead when he finally pulled back, flashing Rowan a grateful glance - as grateful as he could look. “Good. You did good.” Words syrupy and somewhat slurred now. Brows already pinching again as he took in her face, blood welling up on her bottom lip. His brain still consisted of nothing but mush, so Mercy didn’t really think much about it when he let go of her to swipe away the mess, deliberately careful with his actions the same way she’d been with him. “Fuck did you do? That worried about lil ol’ me?” His voice was strained, still with pain, excursion - something else as well, before slipping his thumb, still covered in Rowan’s blood, into his mouth and lapping at the excess. As if it were a normal thing to do. “You okay? C’mere, lemme see.”

Too defiant, precarious, a hassle to deal with — marred as such over the years, the truth was that Rowan knew when to listen. Knew that was different from being what everyone actually wanted, which was for her to be small and hidden. A child once again locked up in a closet. Habits were hard to break, often leading her from one extreme to another. Trust was an entirely different entity; sourness at the back of her throat, burnt flesh, and dried up tears. But Rowan trusted when Mercy said that she was smart, that she'd do good for one reason or another — maybe to fool her own brain, maybe ‘cause he was the one who said it. Whatever worked. She followed his voice’s lead, ignored the tiny breaks in tone, the urge to touch before it was time. The whiskey was a fair enough compromise, and she took a lengthy sip, urging the smokiness to dampen any nerves that remained before taking a seat next to him, bottle placed onto the floor. Closer now, face-to-face, she watched the way his lips formed words meant to guide her and took notice of the familiar wrinkle between his brows deepening, the time from pain rather than annoyance. “I’ll do it right. I will,” she said, steady, inhaling in and exhaling out. It had to be quick, she knew that much and Mercy’s voice echoed in her head as one hand circled around his forearm, the other against his bicep. Forceful traction in opposite directions, bone scraping bone, a pop, and the taste of something metallic. “Fuck.” Rowan had bit down too hard on her bottom lip and her hands pulled back to wipe away red from her mouth, to make sure she did no harm to him, time slowing as she waited for his reaction, for something. 

[ncghtshifts]

Will could hold his own when it came to alcohol, it was obvious. Despite over half the bottle being gone, Gunner hadn’t assumed that it’d been brand new that night - because Will had, for all intents and purposes, been drunk without being drunk. But he was also excessively touchy, and confused, clearly lost just from making himself at home on the couch and gripping at Gunner like a needy child. It felt like the world’s most awkward free fall, joining him on the couch, keeping space but maybe not as much as there should be. Gunner didn’t know what was appropriate or not, still trying to gather his bearings while Will began some sort of mild interrogation that felt derailed from the start. “What?” he blurted, still tripping over the compliment. Gunner’s features were flawed - an obvious crooked twist to his nose favouring left from too many breaks, a chipped canine tooth, a scar along his hairline and one that ran menacingly just by his jawline. Either Will didn’t notice or it didn’t bother him. “I don’t hate you, what the fuck? I’m -.” Defensive - excessively so. Gunner sounded and probably looked mad at the question, but he felt as if he had a right. He was cautious because of Will up and leaving without a word. Though his time away probably had something to do with it. It wasn’t Gunner’s business, and the idea of spending even a second on figuring out the timeline just to manifest a pitiful amount of hope that maybe he wasn’t the pathetic loser that was dumped after use was exhausting. “You’re just bad at this stuff.” Matter of fact and lacking tact. “I don’t hate you. We’re - we can be friends. You must be desperate for them if you’re coming here, anyway.” He teased, though his tone was missing actual humour.

will shrugs. "sorry." he stops staring. he is entirely capable of following direction, even if he kicks walks on the way there.

he finds a place to fall into, and he falls. he doesn't drag gunner with him no matter how much he might like to do just that, except that he's drunk and thinking about not looking, and one hand snakes out and catches gunner's sleeve, pulling him closer. "your features aren't flawed," he points out, matter of fact as he tugs.

then he remembers the earlier order, and his hand falls away. his head falls back - this is a couch. he's on a couch. does that make sense geographically? will looks around, and then shrugs off this question entirely.

the trouble with will is that, occasionally, bluntness wins out, bolstered by liquid (or, in some cases, powdered) courage. he runs a hand through his hair, suddenly a little sheepish, and says: "y'know, i can never fuckin' tell if you hate my ass. maybe i got it before i went away, but now. shit is. my memory ain't shit, you know?" he squints up at gunner. "though. evidence suggests not. i think i'm just bad at this kinda shit."

[ncghtshifts]

All Gunner could do, when Jack tried to come to a stand to reveal he was in nothing but his boxers, was stare - stupidly. A few years ago and he probably would have had an honest to God heart attack. But he felt far from scandalised now - that happened, when you’ve already seen each other naked, Gunner reasoned. Yet for a fleeting, futile moment, he was actually sad that he felt so numb to the whole situation, that he actually felt nothing. Nothing more than maybe a momentary swoop in his stomach, because he still had eyes and his brain knew what was objective. Jack was attractive, he’d always been attractive, even when Gunner tried to deny it for the sake of preserving whatever heterosexuality he tried to cling to desperately. Instead he just felt a little put out - it was hefty business, protecting your emotions from harm they had already familiarised themselves with, and Gunner hadn’t expected that he’d need to anytime soon. Leave it to Jack to swoop in just when he’d somewhat started to get things in order. “Relax,” he demanded, though he didn’t feel all that calm himself, “it’s fine.” With a quick glance to their surroundings, Gunner spotted Jack’s pants easily - somehow across the living room, but he didn’t feel like getting into logistics. Scooping them up, he tossed them at Jack quickly, before heading towards the kitchen on the opposite end of the hall, raising his voice so he could be heard. “He’s bringing Franklin by. Put your pants on so you don’t traumatise the kid.” Reappearing with a glass of water, Gunner held it out to Jack. He recognised the effects of a hangover on just about anyone, but it felt like deja vu, playing this out with the blond. Jack wore his ailments on his sleeve, right beside his emotions, though they had the habit of looking identical to each other. It was nauseating, that Gunner still recognised them like they were his own, even now. “Seriously - can you relax, please? It’s… it’s just me.”

if he'd been awake longer than a few mere minutes, jack might have made some sort of effort to calm gunner's rabbiting heartbeat. instead, he felt it echo in his own chest, like gunner being so close scared him. it had never before but .. maybe something changed when jack was gone. maybe his body could tell. looking at gunner was almost disorienting, like everything shifted into extreme sharpness when he did. "i'm just sleeping!" he snapped back, pushing the blanket he hugged off his legs before realizing he was in his boxers (the white ones with the hearts that his dad bought him every christmas). immediately he yanked the blanket back, eyes darting from gunner to the space his legs had been exposed back to gunner. "i did not just mean to flash you. oh my god." had gunner been right that seeing each other could only spell bad news? why, then, did jack still want to kiss him? feel like he had every right? "do i?" and he looked as hurt as he felt, pulling the blanket up to his chin, gritting his teeth. "i'm sorry, i'm so rude," and he scooted against the other side of dom's couch, finally relenting space for gunner to sit, as though that was the only thing keeping him a safe distance away. "sit. i'll just. hang out right here in this exact spot until dom gets back. and then i'll put my pants on. and we can forget that they were ever off. yeah?" he was blushing, stumbling over his own words. jack was never so knocked off his game. was he still high from the tab the night before? dreaming?

[ncghtshifts]

closed for @stainedcherub

Tongue already stained cherry-red, Lara slurped obnoxiously at a blue raspberry slushie in a futile attempt to tie-dye the muscle. She'd started a bet that she could manage it, though her manager insisted it'd just turn into a mottled purple - and that the slushies weren't free, even for employees - but she'd never been particularly prone to listening to him. Halting in the middle of an overtly exaggerated gulp, Lara's eyes widened when she recognised Lice - cape and all - entering Rockin' and Rollin'. He stuck out like a sore thumb, a shadow amongst all the neon, and Lara immediately couldn't focus on anything outside of popping him into her mouth for safe keeping. "You!" She shouted from across the sticky-floored bar area, pointing out Lice before turning her wrist so that she could gesture him closer with a 'come here' motion of her finger. "You." A dramatised whisper this time when they were finally within reasonable earshot. "You've been hiding on me. Do you know how lonesome the nights have been without a vampiric presence with me? Keeping busy?" The last question sounded unsure, even to her ears. Always insecure, a try-hard with the people who least wanted it, but she'd purposely tried to keep a relatively respectful distance with Lice. He seemed easy to scare away, and she really, really didn't want to scare him away.

[ncghtshifts]

closed for @stainedcherub

Despite the party being full of people, Teddy still found himself promptly comfortable on the floor between Lana's legs. There was a stressor between them now, something they may never be able to get rid of, and yet there was a natural gravitational pull between them that was impossible to ignore. Call it years of giving into it or years of not - Teddy wasn't inclined to pretend he wasn't exactly where he wanted to be, even when he maybe should. Especially if Lana would still give him the time of day. There was always a chance that it'd stop, and Teddy had no real way of calculating when that'd be, so he clung to what he could while he still had the chance. "Jesus Christ!" He hollered, flinching back as they watched in abject horror as the bulkiest man alive spewed into an empty plant pot by Lana's windowsill. "This is what you get for having the world's least accessible washroom, Lana. How could you not think of the grown men who can't hold their liquor? This party's over with as far as I'm concerned!"

[ncghtshifts]

closed for @stainedcherub

A few glasses of red wine into what was supposed to be the most innocent coworker hang out of Rosa's life, and she thought she was seeing a ghost. She was sat across from a 50 year old that posted her grandkids on FaceBook like it was going out of style, and somehow, the past was haunting her. Even with her double take, the low lights of Scuba made it impossible to figure out if she was really seeing Jude across from the room, chatting with someone she didn't know. Which shouldn't bother Rosa because it wasn't her business and she wasn't allowed to care - except they sort of shared all the same friends. So not a friend? More? Less? None of her business, she kept repeating to herself, all the way outside to the smoker's area that she saw Jude peruse towards. Like she was the world's most pathetic Yo-Yo balanced on his string, yanked back towards him even after he'd snipped said string - maybe Rosa was just resilient that way. Or embarrassing. "Hey." She blurted, unable to hide once he'd turned and established painfully awkward eye contact. "Sorry - I just saw you and wanted to say hi, I guess. Hi. This is probably weird, I don't know. Can I have a smoke, please?"

[ncghtshifts]

This felt serious. It was serious, but the severity hadn’t actually registered to Mercy yet. It always took a while for danger to creep into his system and electrocute all his nerves into fight or flight. And usually he’d always pick fight, but right now, he really wanted to hightail it and run. This didn’t feel real, his mind was elsewhere, and Ducky felt like a block of ice beneath his hands. If it weren’t for how badly his brother's body had been rattling, Mercy might have just floated off. Even still he felt like he was light years away, watching someone else force heat to pump through Ducky’s body again. Both numb for completely different reasons, before Ducky was finally coming to, both of them snapping each other back to reality in turn with their own words. Mercy almost completely missed Ducky’s, but his subconscious caught them in time to light something behind his eyes. “Maybe?” He snapped, gripping onto the back of Ducky’s neck to make him look up at Mercy. There wasn’t much in his gaze - eyes glazed over, as foggy as his mind must’ve been. But Mercy forced him to focus, if at least for a second. “What do you mean maybe? Are you fucking with me? What the fuck is going on with you?” It wasn’t like this was entirely out of the ordinary. He was usually better at holding it back, or at least hiding it, but Ducky had always struggled with - panicking. There was no other way to word it really. The life they’d been strong armed into was panic inducing, so it wasn’t like it wasn’t understandable, but it still forced Mercy to baulk. He didn’t know what to do with it, when he was actually faced with the fact that his brother was just slowly losing his humanity day by day, and there was nothing he could actually do about it. “She’ll be fine.” It’d been admittedly rough, to watch Vinny toss her around like a ragdoll just to scare the life out of her. And yet he was still pissed - he was so unbelievably pissed off that she’d fuck up this astronomically and force Vinny back into their lives. He was still a bit pissed now, only heightened by Ducky asking and caring. But if there was ever a time Mercy wouldn’t rub it in or dig home the fact that he was so pissed off so Ducky should just fuck off, it’d be now. He had half a mind to handcuff his brother to the handle above his head just for peace of mind. “I made sure she got home.” It reminded Mercy that was all he wanted at that moment. They’d never really had a home before - the place they grew up in was the apex of all of Mercy’s nightmares, hardly counted when he couldn’t be within 50 feet of the house without breaking into a full body sweat. But that Palm Motel bed was calling his name, even in all of its scratchy sheets glory. As he started his car and began driving in its direction, he suddenly felt so bone-tired he had the sudden, horrific impulse to cry. Instead, he started an interrogation. “What the fuck were you thinking? What if I hadn’t gotten there in time, dumb fuck? Just expecting me to wonder where you went forever? You - fuck.”

There'd always been a blanket of fear over Ducky - weighed down with bricks, more tarp than cloth - more suffocating than comforting. Like if he breathed too hard, too quick then it'd tighten around him in a tight coil. Like it really could suffocate him at any moment. Ducky didn't feel the cold - he didn't feel the tips of his fingers, or the edge of his lips, or the chatter of his teeth; but he felt that same restraint in his lungs. He hated Vinny. He hated Vinny with ever fibre in his being, every nerve in his body; only dreamt of violence when it was of him dying. Over and over again - hundreds of violent endings; sometimes not even Ducky would make it out alive. A small - no, large - part of Ducky would be glad to, if it meant the people he cared about staying out of harm's way. Out of Vinny's. Somehow - Ducky ended up besides Mercy, in the passenger side of the car - though his mind was elsewhere - not in the present. Not in the car with his brother - not registering the hot blow of air as his body subconsciously leaned closer towards it. His teeth still chattering. "No," His voice doesn't sound like his own, something quieter and hoarser and like a gargle of sea salt; his throat burning. "Maybe. No. No - I'm s-sorry." His body wrapped arms around itself - protecting him though he couldn't register it. "Is - Freya okay?"

[ncghtshifts]

In his attempt at being casual, Gunner could not be more obvious with how desperately he was trying not to stare. Not even avoid staring - but to try and ignore Will’s. Gunner had never felt more scrutinised in his life, and he assumed everyone was always scrutinising him. Instead, he just grabs the beer he’s suddenly desperate for, biting the cap off with his teeth and spitting it onto his countertop. “No glasses. I was just testing you. Usually just raw-dog it from the faucet when I want water.” Monotonous and overtly sarcastic as he grabbed a glass from his cabinet, but gave pause at Will’s offer. Gunner had said he’d wanted a drink, but getting drunk seemed dangerous. He couldn’t even blame alcohol on the what led to their time together, overtaken by the throes of a hangover when they’d made the final mutual decision to face what was practically tangible between them head on. The alcohol had led to vulnerabilities which led to a false sense of kinship. It’d felt real at the time, but once Will had bolted and momentarily dropped all forms of communication, Gunner figured it’d all been in his head. He was constantly lonely, after all. “Yeah.” And even then, despite his rationale, Gunner still shuffled his way closer again so that he could take his offerings, sans glass. “You’re freaking me out, y’know.” His voice was strained from the gulp of vodka, face pulling into a pinch. He obviously wasn’t as seasoned at this as Will was. “With your - staring. It’s mean to point out someone's flawed features, even if you don't say anything.” A joke - even though Gunner could be so self-deprecating it might as well have read as real.

paws off. will can respect that, hands falling, the drop of one more violent given the bottle still clutched in it, but he doesn't stop looking at gunner. gunner, who is retreating.

will should opt out of analyzing this, which could be helped along by the vodka. his gaze reluctantly trails away from gunner and down to the bottle. and will chews on gunner's question, all the while wishing they were closer (physically and otherwise).

then he catches on the thing gunner had said earlier about the parole officer, and who knows how many beats too late will's shaking his head. "he's- nah. nah, fuck him. you don't wanna talk to him. man's a shit fuckin' storyteller, anyway." a frown. "i'm assuming. you got glasses?"

and then, a hopeful afterthought, warm as an offer of food (and it's here that will gives himself away a little): "you want some?"

he holds the bottle out.

[ncghtshifts]

Mercy couldn’t help it - he felt guilty, watching Rowan stand in front of him, pale and clearly unsure. He was unsure, had done this for himself a handful of times, but he’d never had to talk someone through it before. There wasn’t a doubt Rowan could do it, though. It’d been the main reason he’d asked for her, and whatever smaller part Mercy insisted on batting away from his peripheral was the mere notion that at least when it was over, her company would be enough comfort. “You’re smart. You’ll do good.” He said simply. A steady line of sweat had built and pooled drastically at his hairline, above his lip and at his neckline. It fucking hurt, extremities attached to the injured arm starting to go numb. Mercy knew that was a bad sign, that they just needed to get it over with. He wanted it over for Rowan, too - he knew it looked nasty, and it’d feel worse under her hands, when it popped back. At her question about sedatives, Mercy wordlessly pinched at the half empty bottle of whiskey at his bedside table - almost fell off the side of his bed as he did so - taking another large swig. “C’mere.” He instructed, holding the liquor out towards her. “Have a drink.” Demanding and haughty, even as his face flinched in slight pain, though he did his best to hide it - but Mercy wasn’t superhuman, and he was sure it showed despite his efforts. “Then grab here,” he gestured to his forearm, “pull forward, push the shoulder back. Look at me.” Though his vision swam slightly, Mercy forced himself to be as clear minded as possible, at least in that one moment, as he tried to gauge what Rowan must’ve been thinking. “It’ll be fine. Takes two seconds if you do it right. And you’ll do it right. Say it.”

@ncghtshifts

Violence wasn’t anything new to Rowan; she was raised by it, learned how to push through the hurt. That didn’t mean her inside was as calloused as her outside. Softness retained, pushed against her ribcage, aching to break through. She stood in Mercy’s room, mouth dry, trying not to linger too long on the state of his arm or if she could find the pain in his features or maybe, the answers to questions they both knew she had. She had a job to get done, a task to push through. “I watched a video but you’re still going to have to give me pointers. Never done a shoulder reduction before,” she said, plainly, looking a little ways past from where he stood. “Did you take anything, at least? All the stuff I saw said that the patient requires a good level of sedation. For the pain.”

[ncghtshifts]

closed for @juvinile

At some point, Gunner had come to the conclusion that he could hang out with Naomi every minute of every day for the rest of his life, and he'd still feel unsure around her. Which was no fault of her own - he admired her. He didn't know what to do with someone as confident as her, and sometimes it stunned Gunner that she even gave him the time of day. He'd faked it 'til he made it, and now all he could do was stare at it like someone had given him directions on how to defuse a bomb in Mandarin. "You're one of the smartest people I know - don't let that get to your head." He warned, holding out a piece of liquorice to her in a silent offering. "What do you do when you're mad at someone you care about? I figured - I should probably stop resorting to being mean eventually. Character growth."

[ncghtshifts]

Holding his breath, Cassie feels his chest expand more and more with each second. Just from pure, giddy relief - he can hardly believe this is going so well. Levi is smiling and acknowledging Cassie’s efforts. Not that they needed to be acknowledged, or that Cassie was angling for praise, but in his own quiet way, it had been a test. Everyone was passing tonight - he wishes he was back in college again, most likely would’ve aced his exams then with the rate they were going. “You look nice.” Which is to say that Cassie was particularly overjoyed with the fact that Levi was so openly displaying happiness. He hadn’t been some emotionally despondent invalid, but there had been a time where gaining a smile was like pulling teeth. Cassie didn’t even have to break out his worst jokes, half convinced Levi had only ever laughed at them just to satiate him and finally shut him up. “Yeah! Yes, I do - I have so much to tell you!” The idea was a bit nerve wracking. There was still a livewire that Cassie had once upon a time tripped, with absolutely no clue how he’d done it. He hadn’t taken the time to consider this fact before allowing Levi back so easily into his life, worried that there’d be a repeat act. But if Cassie was good at anything, it was sweeping things under the rug. Levi was back - he was practically hoovering it out of sight, even from where it lay innocently under the rug. “I have beer. And wine, and White Claws. Some Vizzy’s some girls left a few days ago - we could even crack open James’ bourbon? James still doesn’t live here, lives here.” Cassie explained, first order of business to bring up his best friend. She’d kill him for touching her liquor, but that was tomorrow’s problem. “How’ve you been?”

his arms can't really take part in the hug, but he buries his face - if only for a moment - in the space between cassie's neck and shoulder. he laughs, quiet in that space, the laugh more the product of half-awkward relief than of mirth. when levi emerges from the embrace his mouth is crooked, smile only playing at wanting to contain itself, because this reunion is so far normal and warm and, circumstances be damned, levi feels in the right place.

he walks in. the room represents an effort levi is not convinced he deserves given such short notice, but it is a very cassie gesture, and levi glances at the ground for a moment before he looks at cassie again, because the smile's gotten a little bigger, and levi isn't sure he should abide that.

he abides it.

"i like it. 's more than i needed, but." levi gives cassie what might pass for a stoic nod if not for the hope in his eyes and the turn of his mouth. "thanks." he sets his box down in this new space cut out for him, and then comes the question of 'what now?'

"you, uh. you feel like catching up?"