pclarcld

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  single  moment  of  honesty  and  it  was  borderline  impossible  to  reciprocate.  still,  it  was  so  tempting  to  go  back  to  nothing  but  a  starry  night  and  dying  flowers  all  around.  it  was  a  nice  memory,  if  bash  was  honest  with  himself.  perhaps  it  was  all  thanks  to  liquid  courage,  but  regardless  it  had  been  some  time  since  he  opened  a  door  let  alone  walked  through  one.  every  single  time  someone  extended  their  hand  to  grip  on  the  door  handle  they'd  push.  pull.  yank.  nothing  would  come  about  it.  it  was  a  door  that  was  battered  and  bruised,  caution  tape  plastered  all  around  with  an  obnoxious  yellow.  it  wasn't  worth  opening,  let  alone  walking  through.  he  told  people  this.  bluntly.  loudly.  he'd  prove  it  time  and  time  again.  and  it  worked.  people  left  him  alone.  and  it  was…  easier  that  way. 

life  was  duller  now.  the  volume  of  all  the  noise  in  his  head  was  dialed  down  to  a  subtle  buzz.  numbness  had  its  perks  and  it  most  certainly  carried  its  own  weight.  still,  it  was  most  likely  better  than  the  alternative.  molars  pinched  the  thin  skin,  an  indication  that  vulnerabilities  threatened  to  spill  from  his  lips.  it  was  tempting,  considering  maeve  appeared  so  desperate  to  be  validated  for  her  own  reasons.  she  understood,  he  knew  she  did.  he  knew  she  understood  the  void.  even  if  it  looked  different  from  his  own,  she  had  the  knowledge.  it  was  comforting,  in  a  way.  as  if  he  wasn't  alone,  even  among  a  stranger.  because  what  else  would  they  fucking  be  considered?  〝                                   i  know.                  〞infuriating.  too  much.  that  wouldn't  change,  whether  his  truth  was  known  or  not.  suppose  it  would  connect  some  dots.  have  explanations  for  paradox  way  of  life. 

listening  to  her  synopsis  of  their..  situation,  a  breath  left  bash  almost  silently.  he  shook  his  head,  just  slightly,  in  disagreement.  though  suppose  her  interpretation  wasn't  exactly  false,  perception  was  funny  like  that.  he  fumbled  with  the  magnet  bookmark  in  hand  before  finally  deciding  to  clip  it  on  the  single  page  he  left  off  on.  he'd  like  to  believe  that  it  was  tempting  to  walk  away  then.  take  the  final  blow  and  end  the  current  interaction,  but  he  didn't  want  to.  not  really.  〝                                   i  didn't  mean  to  ignore  you.  i  was  just...                  〞scared?  being  pathetic?  what  was  it  that  maeve  wanted  to  hear,  exactly?  the  truth,  probably.  he  folded  shut  the  novel  in  hand  before  flickering  his  gaze  at  her  once  more,  allowing  his  voice  to  trail  off. 

for  being  strangers,  maeve  sure  had  a  way  to  be  an  expert  on  reading  in  between  said  lines.  she  seemed  to  know  what  stung.  what  statements  would  hit  with  a  little  bit  too  much  of  reality.  sure,  he  was  selfish.  he  didn't  want  to  be  wanted,  because  that  would  cause  reciprocation.  and  bash  was…  well,  when  he  was  in,  he  was  all  in.  people  often  thought  they'd  be  prepared  for  it,  but  they  weren't.  〝                                   would  you  want  to  be  wanted  when  the  one  person  who  knew  you  wholly  leaves?                  〞choice  or  not,  bash  didn't  do  well  with,  well,  abandonment.  he'd  always  come  crawling  back.  every  time.  like  clockwork.  truly,  part  of  him  pleaded  to  be  desired.  as  if  it  was  permission  to  take  up  space  in  a  world  he  didn't  think  he  fit  in.  it  probably  would  have  been  easier  to  note  that  he  had  no  memories  from  their  open  night.  maybe  then  they  could  have  started  ten  paces  back.  in  that  scenario  it  was  straight  forward.  small  talk  would  come  easy.  but  how  does  one  talk  about  nothing  when  they  already  saw  your  wounds? 

every  time  sebastian  paused  between  his  words,  the  air  grew  thicker.  it  was  tempting  to  let  the  boiling  water  overflow,  sizzle  once  hitting  upon  the  wooden  floors.  bash  wasn't  one  to  shy  away  from  a  scene,  it  was  a  craft  to  form  his  perfected  expectation.  he  was  easy  to  set  off,  still,  unfortunately  the  emotions  that  lingered  wasn't  anger.  he  wanted  to  be  full  of  rage.  wanted  to  hate  her.  wanted  to  accuse  maeve  for  being  way  out  of  her  element.  he  didn't  owe  her  shit,  still.  part  of  him  wanted  to  get  to  know  her  too.  〝                                   do  you  want  to  sit  or  are  you  not  patient  enough  to  learn  what  our  truths  are?                  〞truth  took  time  to  expose.  still,  his  voice  had  a  softness  to  it.  he  wanted  maeve  to  take  a  seat  near.  even  if  they  said  nothing.  maybe  they  could  just  take  time  learning  to  be  comfortable  in  each  other  vicinity  rather  than  suffocating  themselves  in  their  locked  rooms. 

she wasn’t even sure why she stopped. not really. maybe it was the way his eyes flicked up — too fast, like a slip, like a breath caught mid-sentence, as if looking at her had been accidental. like maybe it meant something, or maybe it meant nothing at all. she hated not knowing the difference. or maybe it was just the book in her bag, the weight of so sad today pressing into her side like a secret she never meant to share. it sat there like a bruise she kept touching, just to feel something. the hallway around them was hollow and overlit, humming with the kind of quiet that felt deliberate, like the universe was leaning in to listen. old posters peeled from the walls in curls, forgotten announcements ghosting the space like shed skin. he didn’t owe her anything. they weren’t friends. they weren’t anything. and yet she felt.. betrayed? no, that was too big a word. but something close. something raw and restless. something with the shape of hurt and the taste of regret. he’d opened something in her: some small door she hadn’t realized was still locked. and now he just stood there blank as a winter window.

“you’re infuriating,” she said, voice low, as if saying it too loud might break something — an admission more than a statement. her feet had stopped moving without her consent. they planted themselves like she’d grown roots right there in the linoleum, cracked and waxy beneath fluorescent light. arms folded across her chest — not cold, not angry, just trying to hold something in. she looked like a girl trying not to shatter, compressing herself into the smallest shape that might still count as whole. her gaze moved across his face like it was reading a language she’d never been taught. she was looking for meaning in the creases, in the not-quite expressions. like he might accidentally tell her the truth just by blinking wrong. and he just stood there. still. infuriatingly quiet. then again — louder this time, and sharper, like the edge of a snapped violin string: “you’re really, really infuriating.” her voice echoed slightly in the narrow corridor; a fluorescent light above them buzzed like it agreed.

those too-wide eyes soft around the edges, the kind of softness that made her want to scream. how could someone that guarded carry a face like that? a face that looked like it had once known tenderness. she hated that softness. she hated that she noticed it, analyzed the little things. “you ignore me. shut down whenever it gets too close. and then you do… that.” her hand twitched toward the strap of her bag, where the book pulsed like a second heart. “and you just expect me to — what? read between the lines? translate your annotations into some kind of apology?” her jaw clenched. the words weren’t loud. they weren’t theatrical. she didn’t believe in scenes. not in public. not where someone might see the seams. but her voice shook just a little — just enough to feel real. like it had to be dragged out of her, hand over fist, from the deep place where truth hides. her eyes locked on his like she could dare him into clarity. he looked at her like he was on the verge of saying something — something real — but couldn’t quite cross the line. it made her feel foolish. it made her furious.

he looked back like he might speak — like the truth was sitting in his mouth, silver and shaking — but he didn’t. didn’t cross that invisible line. and it made her feel stupid. it made her furious. “i know we don’t know each other. i know you don’t owe me anything.” the sentence cracked in the middle, held together only by the tension in her spine. “but you let me care. for five fucking minutes.” she laughed once, bitter and brief. not amusement — disbelief. “and then you slammed the door shut like i was never supposed to knock in the first place.” her arms dropped to her sides — slowly, like her body wasn’t sure it could hold itself upright without the barricade. her fingers twitched once, then stilled. her breathing was uneven now, shallow, like her ribs were afraid to open all the way. she stood like someone trying not to fall apart in front of someone who wouldn’t catch her. “and i hate that i’m still standing here,” she whispered, shaking her head once, as if to scold herself more than him.

the words fell out of her like ash. like the last thing still burning. she shook her head once, more at herself than at him. a warning, a scolding, a plea to shut up — but it was already too late. she had cracked slightly. “wanting to know you. wanting something from someone who made it very clear that he doesn’t want to be wanted.” it wasn’t a performance. there was no script here. just the truth — raw and ugly and honest — dropped like a stone between them. she didn’t step closer. didn’t back away. she just looked at him, face tense with a cocktail of frustration and ache. like she was daring him to move. or begging him to. she wasn’t sure which anymore — frustrated, confused, aching. and still, impossibly, wanting.

[pclarcld]

there  was  tragic  empathy  that  ozzy  attempted  to  relay  as  cleo  coped  with  the  reality  crushing  in  on  her  world.  they  plucked  a  dead  leaf  or  two  from  the  strands  of  hair,  holding  back  a  laugh  in  response  as  they  went  over  the  squirrels  clearly  evil  vendetta.  〝                                   squirrels  can  grow,  cleo.  keep  an  open  mind.  they're  probably,  like,  actively  writing  an  apology  letter  right  now.  they  were  blessed  by  a  big  brain  and  they  have  so  many  thoughts.  what  were  they  supposed  to  do  if  not  plot  the  murder  of  a  human?                  〞it  was  the  only  explanation,  really.  ozzy  let  their  hand  drop  from  the  mission  to  remove  any  loose  nature  clinging  to  cleo's  hand  and  instead  let  their  arm  plop  along  her  frame. 

ozzy  nodded  in  agreement,  a  peace  offering  only  seemed  fair  considering  that  letter  would  be  pretty  unlikely  due  to  the  lack  of  opposable  thumbs.  another  chuckle  left  ozzy  as  they  nudged  cleo  as  a  playfully  scolding.  〝                                   heyyyyyy…                  〞they  drew  out  the  word,  coating  the  word  with  a  wounded  tone.  〝                                   i  don't  want  a  leash.  i  want  to  be  free.  i'll  still  stay  close  though.  promise.  i'm  really  hard  to  get  rid  of.                  〞and  that  was  just  that.  an  indefinite  promise.  they  were  puppy  like,  in  that  way,  easily  trotting  behind  like  a  shadow  of  sorts.  they  hated  to  be  alone  after  all,  so  it  didn't  take  much  to  convince  time  well  spent  together.

feeling  complete  and  whole  was  an  abstract  idea  that  seemed  so  foreign  now  that  it  was  brought  up.  a  gap  always  followed  ozzy  around,  no  matter  how  often  or  how  far  they'd  run  away  from  it,  the  theoretical  idea  would  always  catch  up.  so,  they  brought  back  the  arm  that  was  one  laced  around  cleo  and  held  out  a  pinky  as  a  proposal.  〝                                   well,  i  pinky  promise  to  never  stop  providing  for  me  you  and  nutsy.  nutsy  will  have  all  the  grand  things  –  a  lavish  purse.  all  the  acorns  in  the  world.  you  name  it.                  〞

cleo didn’t even pretend to take the squirrel accusations seriously. she laid there dramatically, one arm slung across her forehead like she’d been wronged by fate itself. “apologize? to that little freak?” she said, squinting toward the tree like she half-expected the squirrel to still be lurking. “ozzy, that thing tried to assassinate me. i saw it in his beady little boba eyes. no remorse. just violence.” she rolled onto her stomach, the grass sticking to her elbows, and let her hand drift toward ozzy’s knee — fingertips idly tapping against the fabric of their jeans like she didn’t even notice she was doing it. she propped her chin in her hands, feet kicking lazily behind her, gaze flicking toward them with a conspiratorial grin.

“but fine. maybe i’ll consider a truce — if he brings me a peace offering. like a leaf. or a tiny acorn hat. you know. something tasteful.” she reached out again, this time giving their side a half-hearted poke, followed by an exaggerated sigh. “and you, with the leash ideas. what are you gonna do, knit him a sweater that says ‘emotional support menace’? because i will not be responsible when he rips that thing to shreds and climbs onto your head like you’re his personal jungle gym.” cleo tilted her head, considering them for a beat, then added slyly, “actually, maybe you’re the one who needs a leash. keep you close. for my own safety. or entertainment. or both. tired of you wandering off like a little creature.”

she gave them a slow grin, fingers now trailing up to absently tug at the cuff of their sleeve like she was grounding herself there without meaning to. “but honestly? if we had a squirrel pet, i think i’d finally feel complete.” she rolled onto her back again, this time letting the side of her arm bump against theirs as she stretched out, her fingers twiddling in the air above her. “we’d be unstoppable. me, you, and nutsy. the holy trinity.” a pause, then a breathy, over-the-top sigh. “ozzy, i think i’m starting to believe in fate again. this is your fault.”

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  certain  amount  of  beauty  entangled  around  bath.  ozzy  was  particularly  allured  in  as  soon  as  they  first  roamed  the  campus  a  couple  years  back.  they  were  more  than  glad  to  get  to  explore  new  hidden  gems  and  share  the  spots  they've  grown  to  to  adore.  still,  people  would  take  shit  anywhere.  some  things  never  changed,  but  suppose  there  was  something  comforting  about  that  too.  ozzy  was  the  type  to  see  the  positivity  in  just  about  anything.  sometimes  it  could  come  off  a  bit  obnoxious  and  they'd  do  their  best  to  settle  down  the  radiant  beams  that  often  rayed  off  their  being.  〝                                   what's  wrong  with  dreaming  big,  y'know?  like,  maybe  there  ends  top  be  a  mathematical  equation  to  make  my  the  structures  work,                  〞they  mused  out  with  a  small,  yet  playful  pout  playing  on  their  features. 

one  foot  in  front  of  another  worked  on  autopilot,  but  ozzy's  gaze  remained  on  taking  in  their  surroundings.  wind  lightly  brushed  against  their  cheeks  and  when  ozzy  looked  up,  past  the  overhanging  trees,  the  sun  still  blared  down  and  kissed  the  green  grass  long  the  sides  of  the  pavement.  they  blew  a  raspberry,  kicking  off  a  pebble  to  roll  into  the  dirt  rather  than  by  its  lonesome.  〝                                   no  names  necessary  –  i'll  be  sure  to  give  every  engineering  major  a  very  long-winded  lecture.  then,  suddenly,  they'll  all  switch  curriculum.  you'll  see.                  〞

ON A SUNNY AFTERNOON.

✴ ˚ — closed starter, written for @pclarcld !

               WHEN  SUMIN  SETS  OUT  TO  WANDER  THE  CAMPUS  GROUNDS  WITH  OZZY,  THEY  END  UP  FOLLOWING  A  TRAIL  OF  FLOWERING  VINES  THAT  SCALE  TOWARDS  ONE  OF  THE  SCULPTED  INSTALLATIONS  IN  THE  COURTYARD.  Insects  hum  dreamily  about  some  of  the  plants,  and  pipits  sing  high  overhead,  and  the  blue  sky  shines  cloudless  beyond  the  horizon.  Sumin  takes  a  bite  out  of  her  apple.  The  gush  of  fresh  juice  makes  her  forget  that  her  next  class  starts  in  less  than  an  hour.

       ❛❛I’m  just  relaying  what  I’ve  heard  from  the  engineering  majors,❜❜  she’s  saying  to  them  as  the  two  walk  in  step,  frowning  when  a  group  of  students  passes  them  without  giving  them  a  wide  berth.  She  levels  a  glare  at  them.  She  will  remember  their  faces.  ❛❛They  think  you  architecture  majors  are  clueless.  It’s  always  complaints  about  how  much  your  artistic  pursuit  never  stops  to  consider  the  practical  aspects  of  structures  and  buildings,  and  about  the  number  of  potential  building  code  violations  they  find  in  designs.  I  can  give  you  their  names,  if  you  want.❜❜

[pclarcld]

offense  wasn't  taken  at  the  sneer  that  coated  sumin's  features.  he  tended  to  have  that  impact  on  people,  most  automatically  rolling  their  eyes  when  he  stepped  a  foot  to  close.  he  didn't  mind  it.  part  of  him  was  amused  by  the  effect.  so  he  didn't  bother  correct  the  same  as  it  was  rather  meaningless.  he  doubted  it  would  become  necessary  for  the  other  to  catch  his  attention.  still,  to  be  halted  in  place  for  reasons  unknown  was  a  bit  uncalled  for.  he  didn't  exactly  enjoy  wasting  time  over  nothing.

there  were  more  than  likely  a  few  valid  reasons  to  be  stopped  harshly  before  entering  the  room.  it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  bash  was  met  with  a  punch  in  the  phase  just  by  showing  up  into  the  wrong  place,  wrong  time.  while  this  didn't  exactly  have  those  kind  of  stakes,  bash  was  still  caught  off  guard  with  sumin's  repulsiveness  to  his  interruption.  over  a..  〝                                   come  again?                  〞bash  had  questioned,  features  scrunched  as  gaze  lingered  from  sumin's  stance,  to  the  tupperware,  to  the  pale  wall  with  a  beetle  roaming  the  free  land.  〝                                   what  exactly  are  you  tripping  on  and  can  you  share?                 〞bash  stated,  a  half  chuckle  leaving  him. 

WE ARE ALL BUGS ON THE WALL.

✴ ˚ — closed starter, written for @pclarcld !

               THE  SMALL,  BLACK  BEETLE  CRAWLS  UP  THE  WALL—  IT  LOOKS  LIKE  A  DOT  SLOWLY  MOVING  ACROSS  A  LARGE,  WHITE  EXPANSE—  IT’S  SEEMINGLY  ENDLESS  FOR  SOMETHING  OF  ITS  SIZE,  AND  SHE  FEELS  A  SENSE  OF…  KINSHIP.  They  are  all  bugs  in  this  world,  really.  Sumin  is  enthralled  for  a  moment,  forgetting  what  she  meant  to  do  with  it;  the  clear  tupperware  is  forgotten  in  her  hand,  hanging  by  her  side,  as  she  watches  in  quiet  wonder.  Then  disturbance  arrives  all  too  quickly  when  someone  walks  into  the  common  room  and  self-awareness  finds  her  like  a  bullet.  Sumin  looks  over,  ready  to  return  to  her  task,  but  feels  a  prickle  of  annoyance  at  who  she  makes  eye  contact  with.  A  long,  heavy  sigh  leaves  her  lips—  it’s  a  common  response  upon  seeing  Sebastian,  or  Bash,  or  whatever  he  likes  being  called.

       ❛❛Samuel,❜❜  she  sneers,  then  notices  that  the  beetle  has  been  startled  out  of  reach  upon  his  gangly  entrance,  and  she  feels  like  he’s  suddenly  at  fault  for  there  being  any  beetle  inside  to  begin  with.  Fucking  asshole.  Turning  to  face  him,  she  shoves  the  tupperware  into  his  chest  before  he  can  enter  the  room  any  further.  ❛❛Look,  man,  you  scared  it.  Now  I  can’t  reach  it.❜❜

[pclarcld]

there  was  a  careless  shrug  of  the  shoulders  as  a  response.  he  wasn't  exactly  the  empathetic  type,  wrapped  around  in  his  own  world.  suppose  he  was  more  closed  minded  than  he'd  like  to  think,  seeing  the  world  from  a  birds  eye  view,  but  narrowed  in  on  his  own  perspective.  he  always  scoped  the  world  from  an  outwardly  body  experience,  yet  all  consumed  of  the  events  that  impacted  him  before  daring  to  walk  in  someone's  else's  shoes.  people  had  it  worse.  some  had  it  better.  what  the  fuck  else  did  it  matter  besides  awareness?  it  wasn't  as  if  he'd  pretend  to  relate  to  something  untrue.  still,  he  was  amused  by  delia's  disinterest.  of  course,  how  silly  of  him  to  propose  wasting  such  previous  time  of  charity.  〝                                   ouch,  first  you  don't  want  to  help  out  of  the  kindness  of  your  own  heart.  but  now  i  gotta  provide  entertainment?                 〞all  over  a  shit  outlet.  or  potential  charger,  suppose  it  was  still  up  for  debate  until  the  theory  was  tested.  〝                                   loser  completes  winners  assignment  of  choice?  i'm  sure  you'd  have  a  blast  completing  the  digital  art  project  i  gotta  do.                  〞because  godforbid  the  STEM  major  enjoy  anything  creative. 

nose  scrunches  as  he  explains  the  horrors  of  black  mold,  she  really  didn’t  want  to  hear  about  it  anymore  than  she  had  to,  “  that’s  awful,  don’t  tell  me  that,  ”  it  wasn’t  that  she  was  avoidant,  she  usually  liked  to  address  things  head  on,  but  the  whole  situation  wasn’t  her  doing  anyways  and  she’d  prefer  to  never  think  of  it  again.  “  twenty  ?  ”  she  repeats  the  number  back,  head  tilting  to  the  side  eyes  appraising,  “  that’s  no  fun,  ”  it  isn’t  that  she  means  to  be  insensitive,  she  really  tries  her  best  to  be  aware  of  other  people  and  their  feelings,  and  she’s  responsible  with  money  too,  for  the  record,  but  still,  twenty  dollars  isn’t  enough  to  interest  her,  “  come  on,  you  can  think  of  something  better  than  that.  ”

[pclarcld]

eruption  often  followed  on  cue  whenever  following  a  heated  situation.  bash  wasn't  exactly  easy  to  get  along  with,  his  mood  fluctuated  gravely.  he  had  many  different  masks  depending  who  was  around,  where  he  was,  what  lingered  on  the  mind.  some  times,  a  simple  joke  could  trigger  him  down  a  spiral.  other  times,  it  was  impossible  to  read  of  sebastian  had  any  concept  of  emotional  intelligence  at  all.  still,  he  was  impeccably  and  unexpectedly  devoted.  whether  he  voiced  it  or  not  was  debatable,  but  he  internally  pleaded  for  esme  to  stay  time  and  time  again.  but  it  was  never  that  simple.  so  he'd  take  the  softness  in  her  eyes  and  the  gentleness  of  her  voice  as  that  at  least  for  right  now,  they  could  exist  and  be  just  fine. 

tomorrow  could  be  a  different  story  and  bash  decided  to  be  okay  with  that.  he  had  accepted  being  around  when  she  called  and  vanishing  when  it  came  to  an  end.  what  he  wouldn't  do  would  beg  for  her  time.  there  was  some  validation  for  the  way  rexy  and  milagro  greeted  him,  as  if  that  was  enough  to  be  missed  having  around.  it  almost  automatically  was  enough  to  knock  down  a  wall  down  or  two  as  a  genuine  grin  traced  on  his  lips.  he  stepped  inside,  kneeling  down  to  extend  a  half  palm  upwards.  〝                                   you  need  help  with  clearing  our  your  pantry?  that's  the  reason  you  texted?                  〞bash  questioned  with  a  light  chuckle  leaving  him  as  he  rose  back  to  his  feet.  〝                                   sure,  es,  if  that's  what  you'd  like,                  〞

esmeralda  always  thinks  she  knows  what  to  say  to  bash;  tell  him  he's  a  piece  of  shit,  that  she  never  wants  to  see  him  again,  that  she  wants  to  be  left  alone.  on  nights  when  she  feels  guitly  (  is  tonight  one  ?  it  wasn't,  not  until  he  came  without  question.  that  tends  to  make  things  more  complicated  )  she  thinks  she  can  be  normal  –  never  an  i'm  sorry,  or  a  this  was  my  fault,  but  soft  eyes  and  a  gentle  tone  that  she  hopes  can  convey  the  apology  she'll  never  give.  a  way  to  admit  she  fucked  up,  without  actually  …  doing  it.  it  seems  to  be  the  latter  tonight,  and  like  usual,  she  never  knows  what  the  fuck  to  say  once  he  actually  shows  up. “  thank  you.   ”   rexy  greets  him  with  excitement,  a  wagging  tail  eager  to  see  someone  she  knows.  milagro  does  much  of  the  same,  though  the  cat  settles  for  nuzzling  his  legs,  weaving  between  them.  esme's  almost  embarrassed  that  they  seem  to  be  showing  just  how  much  she  missed  him,  too,  “  um  –  i  need  help  with,  uh  …  ”  a  look  around  the  room,  “  are  you  hungry  ?  i  got  too  much  food.  ”  always  an  excuse;  god  forbid  she  just  says  she  wants  to  see  him.  but  esme's  sure  she  ran  that  privilege  dry  long  ago.

[pclarcld]

it  was  easy  to  focus  on  every  movement  he  made.  bash  was  pointed  in  the  way  his  ips  ghosted  over  patti's  skin  with  ease.  how  a  hand  lingered  against  the  waist  line,  fingertips  pressing  in  against  the  fabric  as  he  worked  along  the  creases  of  sensitivity.  he  barely  listened  to  her  words,  if  he  was  honest.  har  har,  sure  patti.  he  had  thought  the  bit  to  be  amusing,  but  really  he  didn't  give  a  single  fuck  about  anyone  else  in  the  room.  that  is,  until  some  elder  had  drunkenly  approached  and  was  far  too  close  in  bash's  bubble  than  he'd  like.  he  barely  parted  from  patti,  merely  stopped  the  lingering  movements  of  his  mouth  and  gave  a  tilted  look  to  the  other.  his  own  brows  furrowed  as  he  attempted  to  register  the  situation.  honey  hues  then  floated  back  on  patti,  measuring  their  amused  look.  it  was  a  little  less  funny  now  given  the  interruption.  〝                                   you're  sick,  you  know  that?                  〞bash  stated  before  a  smirk  mimicked  on  his  own  features.

Considering Patti's evening had begun making up stories to old men who lapped it up like pigs from an overflowing trough of muck, things had certainly taken a turn. Regardless of her abandoning them, a dozen crinkly sets of eyes remained tracing her silhouette from corner booths, yellowy and cataracts clad as a pack of old strays. The night had certainly drawn an interesting crowd, yet, somewhere in the heart of it all, right by the bar, Patti and Bash; their lips tweaked a fraction against his, so thoroughly amused by the absurdity of the situation, this geriatric circus show they were hosting, that they honestly couldn't help it. Patti allowed her neck to subtly tip sideways, encouraging his lips to rove their path. While he pressed kisses against swallowed drumbeats, Patti couldn't help but lift their pint for the benefit of the gawking barkeep, a silent incline angling the foam in toast. Liver spots marred his bald head like a faded jaguar hide. She went so far as subtly pooching her lips in a mock peck with her eyes on his before taking a sip, abandoning the glass again right around Bash's murmur against her neck. "Yeah, don't worry," came as Patti sought out the elderly gent in question, currently slumped at his table with thick eyebrows bunched and drawn. Their fingers snaked their way into Bash's hair, again, burgundy nails raking slightly at the nape of his neck like they'd greet a nuzzling cat. "He's watching. I think this'll really win his heart." As if on cue, said man began rising to his feet, staggering a slow path towards them. Patti resisted the urge to truly push his buttons by guiding Bash's hand to support a corseted tit. Best to have some decorum, perhaps. He blinked when he arrived; hard, slow; then grumbled under his breath, pointing a finger between them. It was difficult for Patti to not look utterly delighted when he raised his voice. "You fuckin'--," HICCUP, "you havin' a fuckin' laugh?"

[pclarcld]

it  wasn't  the  first  and  certainly  wouldn't  be  the  last  time  bash  has  heard  ‘you’re  a  piece  of  shit'  speech.  'you're  really  something'.  sometimes  the  claim  would  be  met  with  a  laugh,  a  smug  smirk  on  his  features  as  if  he  took  it  as  a  badge  of  pride.  other  moments,  similar  to  this,  it  gnawed  at  his  insecurities.  a  reminder  that  he  wasn't  exactly  as  in  control  of  his  emotions  as  he  would  like.  he  wasn't  as  certain  as  he  seemed.  it  was  a  bit  pathetic,  really.  just  a  boy  unable  to  articulate  what  he  was  thinking  and  feeling,  too  instilled  in  his  way  of  thought  to  really  branch  out.  really,  bash  didn't  know  why  he  went  through  to  take  the  risk  to  display  is  thoughts  on  annotations  of  a  book  that  someone  else  cared  about. 

fingertips  brushed  against  the  corner  of  the  pages,  keeping  the  book  open  as  a  security  blanket  of  sorts.  he  could  remain  silent,  let  his  gaze  leave  maeve  and  flutter  down  to  the  inked  words.  he  didn't  though,  simply  watched  the  other's  mannerisms  as  she  spoke,  attempting  to  predict  where  she  stood.  if  she  already  grew  tired  of  walking  in  circles.  he  doubted  that  if  she  was  anything  like  him,  that  she  would  allow  herself  to  open  up  just  to  be  met  with  nothing.  again.  there  was  an  indescribable  weight  that  shifted  as  maeve  had  so  sad  today  steady  in  hand.  the  power  she  had  to  simply  laugh,  ridicule  any  thoughts  he  decided  to  manifest  into  writing.  it  wasn't  as  if  maeve  owed  him  anything.  why  the  fuck  would  she  even  care  what  he  had  to  say  in  the  first  place?

〝                                   i  know  that.                 〞   bash  agreed,  words  simple.  stoic.  no  sense  of  tone  behind  any  syllable.  just  stated  as  fact.  if  there  was  anything  to  the  many  masks  he  wore,  it  was  to  at  least  be  self  aware.  he  took  a  moment,  an  attempt  to  read  maeve  like  a  story  playing  out  before  him.  it  was  easier  to  understand  her  though  through  the  personal  essays.  part  of  him  craved  learning  a  new  book  that  made  her  feel  vulnerable,  but  he'd  keep  that  though  to  himself.  a  dreaded  sigh  left  him,  attempting  to  ween  out  the  tension  that  stuck  from  his  clenched  jaw.  a  snippet  of  softness  lingered  in  his  gaze,  but  bash  wavered  once  again  on  the  worth  of  even  expressing.  〝                                   i  think  the  point  is  it's  up  to  you  on  what  to  do  next  with  it,                  〞  he  nodded  towards  the  text  in  question.  〝                                   you  never  have  to  read  a  word  i  write,  if  you  so  choose  not  to.  you  could  burn  it.  i've  had  my  fair  share  of  arson  moments,                 〞he  attempted  to  joke,  the  corners  of  his  tips  tugging  upwards  only  slightly  as  he  gave  a  minimal  shrug.  〝                                   it  was  a  good  read,  but  you  already  knew  that.  just…  figured  i'd  try  sharing  too.                  〞

maeve entered the room with a quiet determination to get back to her dorm, the book so sad today cradled in one hand as though it might slip through her fingers if she wasn’t careful. it had been in her bag for days, each time she’d caught a glimpse of it reminding her of that ridiculous moment — his silent offering, that strange, unspoken attempt at… something. she hadn’t read it yet. the annotations? they could wait. she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know. she didn't expect to catch his eyes — but when she did, it was like the entire room tilted. bash’s gaze flicked up from the book, just for a split second, like he hadn’t meant for their eyes to meet. there was a sheepishness there, something almost vulnerable that flashed across his features, a kind of discomfort he couldn’t quite mask. the kind of thing she rarely saw from him, a crack in the facade that she almost didn’t know what to do with. his eyes were there, dark and unreadable, but still holding something she couldn’t get a handle on. something that felt familiar and unsettling all at once. she wasn’t sure if she wanted to look away or lean in closer, to push and prod at that softness he rarely let slip through.

instead, she just stood there, mouth slightly parted, trying to wrestle her thoughts into something coherent. she pulled her gaze away quickly, forcing her shoulders to stiffen, to reclaim her cool. but the frustration was there, a slow burn that crept under her skin. she’d let him in for a second. maybe just a second. but that was too much and she felt stupid last time she saw him. and now — now he was making her feel like this, like they were both stuck in some weird trap as two dogs and god did she just wish they would both be put down out of mercy. “funny,” she said, her voice a cool edge of mockery. “i thought i closed that old stupid PO box i had,” she was referring to his random offering, the book at her door, inconspicuous, weird, jarring — horrifyingly intimate. what she had once wanted to share with him, she wanted to hide so deeply inside a closet, sealed shut. her eyes flicked over to him, but not for long. not long enough to let him read too much into it. no. she wasn’t letting him in, not now. she didn’t even want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. but he’d done it anyway, hadn’t he? done something, and then nothing, like some cruel game where she was the one expected to understand the rules.

she leaned back slightly, arms crossed with the book in her hold — defensive, like it was the only way she could hold herself together without cracking. “you could’ve just handed it back, you know. no strings. no… whatever this is.” the book shook in her hold, emphasizing it. her voice had softened, but the bite was still there, coiled just beneath the surface. she wasn’t letting it slip. not yet. she hated to feel stupid and she hated when she felt all stretched out like an exhibit with bright lights flashed on her, every crack and divot highlighted for anyone to poke and prod at. she glanced at the book again, the crinkled corners, the faint imprint of his handwriting bleeding through the pages. “i wasn’t expecting a reply,” she continued, her voice losing a little of its edge, softening into something far more dangerous. “but now… i don’t know what to do with this.” silence hung in the air like frostbite on her fingers, numbing and burning, aching. horribly, painfully cold. “you’re a real piece of work, you know that?” her voice wasn’t as casual as it had been. the words came out sharp, almost out of reflex, frustration sneaking through her control like a storm breaking. she didn’t move, didn’t flinch. but the air between them felt thick — like everything she hadn’t said was finally finding its voice.

[pclarcld]

the  text  message  had  been  read  over,  and  over,  and  over  again.  it  wasn't  as  if  the  first  or  fifth  time  gave  any  difference  in  clarity.  the  outcome  would  still  be  the  same  as  old  habits  would  always  die  hard.  bash  should  know  better.  it  was  a  waste  of  time.  it'd  end  with  reclusiveness  and  venomous  words.  even  if  tonight  was  peaceful,  perhaps  even  full  of  bliss,  the  other  shoe  would  drop.  it  always  did.  the  knock  on  the  door  was  simple.  not  too  timid  not  too  loud.  it  was  the  seconds  in  between  the  pang  echoing  against  wood  and  the  fringes  opening  ajar  left  a  moment  of  knowing  regret  to  appear.  hand  dropped  down  from  the  nervous  tick  of  messing  with  his  lower  lip  as  if  memories  lingered  as  a  ghost.  〝                                   of  course  i  did.                 〞

for  @pclarcld,  esme  &  bash  &  bad  decision  number  2768714236.

loneliness  eats  at  her  like  a  parasite.   esme  would  describe  it  as  one,  anyway  –  it  takes  her  away  from  the  things  that  matter,  like  work,  or  school,  or  the  future  she's  been  cultivating  for  herself  since  she  was  two  and  wore  their  dvd  player  out  from  watching  too  much  land  before  time.  sometimes  she  wishes  she  was  still  a  child,  when  she  didn't  have  to  think  of  such  trivial  things  such  as  being  alone,  when  that  was  less  an  inconvenience  and  more  of  an  escape.  before  she  was  privy  to  being  held,  to  the  thrill  of  a  nice  conversation  and  a  kiss  at  two  in  the  morning.  she's  ruined  herself,  esme  thinks  –  she  thought,  even  as  she  picked  her  phone  up  and  texted  that  one  number  she  refuses  to  save  again  (  though  that  doesn't  really  matter  if  she's  got  it  memorized,  huh  ?  ).  none  of  it  matters  when  she  opens  the  door  and  sees  her  loneliness  disappear,  anyway,  “  you  came.  ”  why  wouldn't  he  ?  he  always  does.

[pclarcld]

maybe  graffiti  was  rather  juvenile,  but  it  was  a  rather  odd  difference.  castles  were  a  strange  architecture  to  find  himself  when  when  he  was  much  used  to  being  surrounded  by  busy  lights,  noisy  cars,  and  endless  skyscrapers.  there  wasn't  a  building  left  unscathed  by  someone's  tag.  admittedly  so,  some  people's  art  looked  best  with  a  hint  of  rebellion.  bash  though,  was  no  artist.  just  a  little  more  homesick  than  he'd  like  to  admit  and  an  incredible  amount  of  time  on  his  hands.  curfew?  yeah,  fuck  that.  so  he'd  get  up  to  some  trouble,  no  matter  how  harmless  or  deviant.  still,  last  thing  he  was  expecting  was  lucky  to  be  lurking  around  and  self-inserting  himself  into  bash's  little  poetic  introspection.  brows  furrowed  at  the  bold  approach,  almost  those  words  barked  at  the  wrong  person  would  cause  someone  to  swing.  lips  were  pressed  in  a  thin  line,  arm  lowered  but  fingertip  still  dancing  on  the  trigger.  〝                                   do  i  look  like  i'm  radiating  in  giddiness?                  〞bash  had  countered.  it  wasn't  as  if  this  was  a  particular  passion,  more  like  an  urge  to  kill  some  boredom.  if  lucky's  biggest  threat  was  to  mock  though,  he'd  take  it.  better  than  the  alternative.  so  he  shook  the  can  once  more,  drawing  his  attention  back  to  blank  canvas.  〝                                   well  i  was  going  to  just  tag  a  giant  dick,  but  now  that  you're  here  ‘suppose  i  can  come  up  with  a  portrait  instead.  i  think  it’d  be  using  the  same  skillset.                    〞he  doubted  the  other  would  take  offense  so  a  smug  smirk  creased  on  bash's  features.  〝                                   unless  you  have  better  ideas  that  you  wanna  contribute,                  〞which  would  probably  be,  like,  any  idea  whatsoever. 

*   ❪   💸     ❫     : 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲   𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁   𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵   𝗺𝘆𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆   𝗶𝗻   𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆'𝘀   𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀   𝗼𝗿   𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀,   being   able   to   hear   jackal - like laughter   a   mile   away,   only   amplified   once   he's   your   nearest   vicinity.   he   enjoys   it   that   way,   being   the   center   of   attention, so   eagerly   that   anyone   who   shines   just   a   little   brighter   is   a   blight   at   the   corner   of   his   eye.   snuffing   them   out   before   anyone   else   could   get   attached.   the   curls   on   his   head   are   wet   from   a   recent   shower,    water   droplets   falling   from   his   hairline and onto   the   board   that   kicks   up   into   his   hands.   the   ruins   were   a   perfect   place   to   get   a   certain high.   serrated ridges   providing   that   kick   of   adrenaline   needed   from   the   boring,   flat   plains   palladian   had   been   built   on —  didn't   need   another   voice   telling   him   to  ' stay   off   the   railings or that's a write up!! '  like a fucking child.  a   couple   of   fucking   rocks   being   torn   up   shouldn't   bother   anyone.   though seemingly   not   the   only   one   with   the   same   thought,   lucky's   trudging   through   jutted   branches   that   slice   at   his   cheeks,   pushing   away   with   an   irritated   noise.   grinning at   the   sight   of   someone   mid   act.   even   better   than   a   moment   of   indecency:   walking   into   someone   getting   fucked   by their girl's best friend,    catching   a   professor   smoking   the   same    dimebag   they   had   confiscated    that   morning. something   he   could   hold   over   their   head   if   he   cared   enough   to; if   they   gave   him   a   good   enough   reason. ember   hues   connect   with   sebastian's   over   the   can,   as   if   the   threat   of   getting   his   eyeballs   burned   out  of  his   skull   wasn't   a   threat   at   all. they're   hazy   with   interest instead,   intrigued   by   this   kind   of   behavior   and   indulging   in   it   with   ease.  ❝   take   it   easy,   babyboy.   i   won't   mess   witcha   lil    ' fuck   society, i'm different ' moment.    ❞ eyebrows   shoot   up   as   they   move   from    tense    features,   surveying   the   array   of   cans   at   his   disposal.   memories   with   the   remnants   of   a   city   he   no   longer   belonged   to flutter in the confines of a bordered brain.   trains   filled   with   unidentified   stains,   tumbleweeds   of   litter   and   skittering   rodents.   tourists   gazing   out  muggy windows  in   hopes   to   see   flashy   behemoths of   buildings,   met  only with   clumps   of   graffiti   tagging   every   creaking   tower   and   cracking   bridge.   his   favorite had   been   on   a   peeling   billboard   by   his   apartment.   in   weathered   black   that   read   "IS   THAT   REALLY   IT?"   ( nevermind   the   prepubescent   teenage  ' b   +   l waz here   ' etched   right   underneath ). ❝   this   really   the   typa   shit   that   makes   you giddy ? ❞ a   taunting   edge   to   his   voice,   not   filled   with  genuine  condescension,   merely   a   natural   reaction   to   anything   really.  no   matter   the   severity   of   it.  ❝   what   was   you   gonna   put   up   there ? ❞   surely now,    if   they   were   both   to   be   found   together,   neither   were   a   trustworthy   narrator.   they'd   both   be   penalized.   even   with   lucky's currently clean   hands,   invisibly   tainted.

[pclarcld]

LOCATION: the common rooms WITH: maeve sheppard @tintedswindows

there  seemed  to  be  no  corner  of  this  strange  fucking  castle  where  bash  could  thrive  in  isolation.  the  suites  were  crowded  with  people  that  didn't  give  a  fuck  about  his  scowls.  no  matter  how  much  he  focused  on  plotting  revenge  tactics,  ava  continued  to  do  what  she  wanted,  who  she  wanted,  wherever  she  wanted.  he  couldn't  blame  her,  not  really  considering  he  wasn't  exactly  considerate  of  sharing  spaces  either.  still,  it  was  fucking  annoying.  so  he  claimed  a  corner  in  the  common  areas  instead,  being  broody  as  ever  as  a  clear  message  that  he  wasn't  taking  up  the  area  to  socialize.  no,  instead  he  had  a  copy  of  the  bluest  eye  in  hand  and  barely  bothered  looking  up  when  someone  entered  the  room. 

being  observant  by  nature  though,  hues  flickered  up  at  the  wrongful  time  to  catch  a  glance  of  maeve.  he  didn't  allow  his  features  to  change,  but  he  could  feel  his  heart  practically  drop  to  his  stomach.  a  painful  reminder  that  he  had  one  to  begin  with.  suppose  he  was  the  one  now,  offering  the  extension  of  an  olive  branch.  but  he  didn't  exactly  have  the  most  welcoming  approach.  instead  of  reciprocating  the  action  of  sharing  books,  a  commonality  between  the  two,  he  had  froze  up.  part  of  him  regretted  it,  another  was  thankful  to  keep  the  wall  intact.  still,  somehow  he  thought  it  was  a  good  idea  to  dissect  so  sad  today,  litter  it  in  his  own  annotations  and  leaving  it  for  her  like  some  attempt  at  waving  the  white  flag.  〝                                    you  didn't  leave  your  diary  laying  around,  did  you?                  〞

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even  ozzy  had  to  admit,  they  didn't  mind  being  across  quite  a  few  ponds  to  get  away  from  the  death  grip  their  parents  had  on  them.   running  away  may  not  be  an  admirable  trait,  but  the  avoidant  tendencies  came  to  use  from  time  to  time.  just  as  they  had  oh-so  desperately  attempting  to  dodge  the  possibility  of  this  interaction  since  the  langston  students  arrived.  they  shifted  their  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  face  scrunched  as  if  they  took  a  bite  from  a  lemon.  devon  seemed  to  be  one  of  few  that  had  that  kind  of  impact  on  him.  〝                                    or  you  could,  like,  i  don't  know  –  have  a  civilized  conversation  with  her  and  respectfully  remind  of  boundaries.                  〞yeah.  unlikely.  but  it  was  worth  a  shot.

                             OZZY  &  DEVON  (  @pclarcld  ) 

“OY,  MISTA,”  she  approaches  –  the  faux  british  accent  is  like  chalkboard  nails  or  whatever  the  fuck,  but  devon  has  never  and  will  never  again  once  miss  an  opportunity  to  piss  ozzy  the  fuck  off.  “mummy  dearest  is  currently  up  my  arse  about  finding  out  about  how  we're  settling  in.  you  mind  telling  her  to  bug  off  for  me,  or  should  i  use  more  explicit  language  so  she  gets  the  memo?”

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it  would  be  tempting  to  nod  off  here.  sure,  it  was  slightly  more  crowded  considering  the  new  influx  of  more  than  just  a  few  people,  but  ozzy  didn't  mind.  it  wasn't  as  if  there  was  much  else  to  focus  on  besides  the  bubble  around  them  when  cleo  was  near.  ozzy  was  convinced  that  there  was  perhaps  no  one  on  the  planet  that  could  make  them  laugh  as  hard  as  she  could.  everything  about  cleo  was  full  of  whimsy.  gaze  attempted  to  fall  to  the  nearest  tree,  leaning  his  head  back  and  squinting  as  the  sun  blurred  his  vision.  he  pondered  the  question,  a  hum  leaving  their  vocals  and  tap  of  fingers  against  their  chin  as  they  thought  inquisitively  about  the  question  proposed.  〝                                    definitely  a  sign  –  like,  literally  if  it  was  right  now?  a  two  for  one?  the  chances  on  that  have  to  be…  crazy  low--                  〞they  thought  their  theory  was  pretty  spot  on,  but  didn't  muffle  their  chuckle  as  cleo  dramatically  sat upwards.

ozzy  stayed  in  place,  hues  watching  her  accuse  a  poor,  nearby  rodent  who  regretfully  became  a  prospect  of  the  theatrics.  〝                                    oh  no,  do  i  even  wanna  know  how  you  managed  to  make  a  mortal  enemy  of  a  squirrel?                  〞a  huff  left  him  next  as  cleo  went  right  back  into  her  spot,  lazily  sprawled  out  with  no  sense  of  a  personally  bubble.  but  they  never  minded  that.  a  slight  pout  of  their  lip  protruded  at  the  consequences  of  having  to  plan  a  rather  odd  funeral.  even  in  lightheartedness,  the  depressing  concept  wasn't  something  ozzy  wanted  to  spend  too  much  time  actually  considering.  〝                                    how  about  you  apologize  to  the  squirrel  and  then  they  could,  like,  become  our  pet.  follow  us  around.  i  could  get  a  leash.  or  make  cute  little  outfits.  i  think  they'd  like  the  nurturing.                  〞

WITH: ozzy. @pclarcld WHERE: the courtyard. WHEN:  2:29pm.

the campus courtyard buzzed faintly with life — students scattered across the grass in lazy clusters, pretending to study or nap under the soft pull of the hazy afternoon sun. cleo, as usual, had no regard for boundaries; she was sprawled half on top of ozzy, her arm slung dramatically across their stomach, one of her bare feet resting against their shin like it was the most natural thing in the world. grass poked through the holes in her jeans, tiny crushed leaves tangled in her hair. she didn’t care. she looked half-feral, half-holy, beaming up at the sky like she knew a secret no one else did. without lifting the rest of her body, cleo twisted her head against ozzy’s side, grinning wide like she’d just thought of something Very Important. “if a tree fell on me right now,” she said, voice light and mischievous, “do you think it would be a sign from the universe or just bad luck?” she kicked her feet lazily in the air, a dirty shoelace dangling from one ankle, her heel bumping ozzy’s leg with every sway. “like — would it mean i fulfilled my destiny? or that i pissed off a very specific squirrel god and this is my punishment?”

with a sudden jolt of chaotic energy, cleo sat up, bits of grass clinging stubbornly to her shirt. she planted one hand on ozzy’s chest for balance — unceremonious and graceless — and pointed accusingly at a gnarled tree off to the side of the courtyard. “that one’s looking at me funny,” she said gravely. “if i get crushed, you have to avenge me, ozzy. you have to go full fantasy movie hero. cloak, sword, tragic backstory, the whole thing.” then, as quickly as she’d risen, she flopped dramatically back down across them, arms crossing over her chest like she was posing for her own gravestone. “promise me you’ll make it weird,” she said, half-laughing, half-demanding. “none of that normal mourning. i want interpretive dance. kazoo orchestra. twenty-seven pigeons released into the sky. make me proud.”

[pclarcld]

Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals

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SILICON VALLEY (2014-2019) 1.08 "Optimal Tip-To-Tip Efficiency" dir. Mike Judge

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there  wasn't  a  single  thought  that  infiltrated  bash's  mind  besides  the  words  that  left  patti's  lips  and  the  movement  of  their  fingertips  marked  along  their  map.  suppose,  at  times,  he  was  a  bit  of  a  giver.  who  was  he  to  deny  when  someone  like  patti  was  giving  him  the  time  of  day?  so  he  settled  his  own  pint  on  the  tabletop,  the  vice  easily  losing  the  match  in  comparison.  refraining  to  not  pounce  on  the  eagerness  that  tempted,  he  instead  watched.  listened.  he'd  be  damned  to  get  it  wrong  simply  because  he  wasn't  paying  attention  and  he'd  pride  himself  on  being  precise.  still,  he  connected  their  lips  once  more,  the  motion  resembling  more  of  a  slow  burn  than  with  the  rush  than  coated  his  mind.  his  own  mouth  then  ventured  off,  doing  as  promised  and  following  the  shadow  that  remained  just  near  where  the  pads  of  their  fingers  tapped.  〝                                    didn't  you  mentioned  introducing  me  to  the  love  of  life?                   〞bash  had  questioned  the  words  rhetorically,  mainly  as  an  excuse  for  the  warmth  of  his  breath  to  dance  against  her  skin.  he  adjusted  his  position  just  a  few  degrees  to  catch  her  pulse  line.  delicate  in  movement,  for  manners  sake.  rather  than  being  carried  away  by  the  intimacy,  he  was  purposeful.  pointed  in  the  way  he  worked,  less  sloppy  than  previous  memories  considering  the  shockingly  sober  scenario.  he  didn't  stay  in  any  space  long  enough  to  leave  a  mark,  merely  just  left  enough  attention  for  the  sensation  to  linger  on  the  tender  skin  of  patti's  neck  before  traveling  to  work  along  her  exposed  collarbone. 

Patti liked it, this ease that'd formed between them, how much it felt like letting your head go lax after inhaling a particularly large lungful of thick smoke, that satisfying hiss of television static in your temples as you slowly breathed out tendrils; they tried not to smoke as often, any more, but it was difficult, when the thoughts wouldn't budge, difficult not to wipe the slate blank rather than bother reading the inscription. A self-satisfied curl of her lips; cunning, independent, a fox scampering to find scraps in the dead of night, a vibrant orange flash among the black. Well, I could kiss elsewhere while you drink. Competitive as she was, there wasn't often a challenge that Patti didn't accept and intend on winning. She pulled back the hand that'd rest upon his chest, used two fingers to tap once, twice, right against her throat's pulse point, the intent thrum of her jugular. "Kiss here." Like there was a treat furled inside their palm, tucked up in a fist, just waiting to reward him, should he comply. Patti liked telling men what to do. They were under the firm belief that it was the very least they could do, considering. Her fingertips trailed a downwards line, eventually found the soft jut of her exposed clavicle. "Then here."

[pclarcld]

people  were  often  viewed  as  projects.  perhaps  puzzles,  as  someone  had  illy  reminded  him.  humans  were  of  course  more  than  just  a  case  to  be  solved,  but  it  came  naturally  for  bash.  he  was  inquisitive  to  his  detriment  and  against  it.  he  didn't  exactly  rest  until  his  questions  were  answered.  most  people  though,  didn't  really  cause  much  interest  for  bash.  it  was  easier  to  have  a  meaningless  night  or  multiple.  he  knew  himself,  at  the  very  least,  and  the  worst  side  of  bash  was  perhaps  when  he  had  another  half.  he  didn't  like  to  depend  on  anyone.  not  family.  not  a  partner.  not  even  a  friend  –  sorry  mika.  still,  what  could  the  harm  be  in  a  little  bit  of  socialization?  junie's  familiarity  made  the  gravity  of  this  new  place  a  little  less  daunting.  bash  let  his  gaze  make  his  way  to  settle  on  the  other,  keeping  the  textbook  loose  in  his  hand.  he  wasn't  exactly  subtle  with  the  way  his  hues  studied  their  mannerisms,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  vocalize  his  observations  either.  perhaps  they  were  just  seeking  familiarity  too.   〝                                    everyone  lies.              〞he  stated  as  fact.  it  wasn't  opinion.  people  would  lie  to  others  or  even  just  themselves.  aware  or  not,  regardless,  ignorance  didn't  excuse  the  fact.  suppose  under  the  claim  was  a  warning.  〝                                    how  about  afternoon  then?  two?  three?  leaves  plenty  of  time  if  it  ends  up  having  anything  half-decent.                  〞though,  admittedly  so,  bash  could  probably  spend  hours  at  any  library  no  matter  how  shitty,  but  he'd  keep  that  to  himself. 

It wasn’t that making friends was impossible for Junie - she was brash to start, but warmed up quickly. She was tolerant to a shocking degree, even kind and affectionate around those she genuinely loved. Confident with her conquests. They couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a tried and true organic crush that didn’t stem from anything physical she had with someone. Normally, she had to get to know someone better, realised her romanticisms came as she picked and prodded at the inner workings of people - searching through their DNA and finding what made them them. Bash was her exception and it made her clumsy - in her words and feet. Stumbling slightly as she tried to keep up with his gait, two steps to everyone one of his, despite being the person to set the pace. “What? As in - lying?” It wasn’t a foreign concept to Junie. She was disturbingly good at modifying the truth if need be - but she’d never thought to do so when it came to their academics. Wrinkling their nose, Junie didn’t realise how much of a square they sounded like until their garbled speech all but ran out of their mouth and splattered grotesquely onto the floor between them. “Cool.” A half-hearted cover up at that. With a pause, Junie stared at Bash for a moment. They hadn’t actually expected him to accept the offer, had tossed it out as more of an experiment than anything. She didn’t know what to do with herself, knowing they had a scheduled meeting. Not a meeting - hang out. “Oh.” Gnawing on their lip in an attempt to swallow down pathetic giddiness she’d rather die than display. “Good! Alright. Well - what time works for you, then? I’m available all day.” As if that didn’t make her sound desperate. And a little pitiful.