#(I'm now remembering her mimicry skills)

[x-authorship-x]

Hi🌻💜

22. “This isn’t goodbye.”

#22- "This isn't goodbye."

"Liar. You know it is."

There was nothing Shisui, for all his witticisms, could say to that.

They sat in silence for a while longer, looking down at the bustling streets below as their feet swung through the open air. If it had really been Ino's choice to be here, she'd have picked somewhere else. The communal Yamanaka gardens, probably. As it was, whatever Pein had done didn't quite align.

Eventually, Ino couldn't stomach the silence any longer. The shock had worn off, the rage and screaming, her fists beating against a chest warmed with the mimicry of life. The demand for answers, the frantic grapple for chakra she couldn't access and techniques she couldn't use to rip this illusion apart. The anger. The denial.

"It's not real," Shisui had said, soft as though that could have made it any less painful. Any less true. "But it's not fake either... not really."

A non-answer. Maybe, knowing her father and herself as well as Shisui's own skills, Ino shouldn't have expected anything less.

"A goodbye would mean we'd never see each other again," was the counter Shisui finally came up with.

Ino planted her hands on the pylon either side of her thighs and rolled her head sideways to look at her brother.

Her dead brother.

"You're telling me this is the afterlife."

Shisui pressed his lips together at that, abashed as much as amused, and his dimples carved shadows into his cheeks. He was both exactly the same and so different from how Ino had remembered him; photographs hadn't done the animation of his expression any justice, had made him look smaller when he was more of a size with her father, to say nothing of his voice and laugh. It was heartbreaking - or, if would've been, if Ino had allowed herself to linger on the thought - to realise that her memory had been so stunted. That she'd already forgotten so much.

Half her life had revolved around this boy.

Ino shook her head before he could respond, grim and stubborn in her conclusions. "It's not. If you weren't a figment of genjutsu or my own brain, then you'd tell me the truth. I don't have the answers, though, so neither do you."

Agony glinted in Shisui's dark eyes. Despite the blinding brightness of the noonday sun overhead, he wasn't even squinting.

"Ino-chan..."

Ino couldn't bear to look at him any longer but the idea of wasting these precious moments not drinking him in... Instead, a pitiful compromise with herself, she tangled their hands together and had to blink back tears at the illusionary warmth and strength in his grasp.

"If you were really my brother, you'd tell me why you died. You'd tell me the truth."

A hitched breath beside her. Another first.

Shisui had never cried in front of her, before. He'd been like that, sadness in glimmers that he was careful to shield her from. Wondering how much he'd concealed had only made the grief and guilt worse in the long term.

"But you can't."

Her voice was barely coherent now, thick with the tears that didn't fall but blurred her view of Konoha into a smear of sky and colourful checkers.

"You're not him. I won't see him again, you're here because I wanted to see you but that doesn't make it true... So, you're right. It's not goodbye. You were never here in the first place."

Her fingers were going numb from the vice grip Shisui had on her hand, clutching it between both of his and then bringing her knuckles to his forehead when she swung her hair as a curtain between them. Tears dampened her skin.

"I don't care if you don't believe me. This isn't your time, Ino, and I don't want to see you again for many years because you've got a whole life ahead. I'll see you after. But-" and, now, Shisui's voice was almost too thick to follow "-I want you to know that I never wanted to leave you. I'm so sorry, imouto, but I'm so proud of you. And, even if you don't believe me, I hope you don't doubt that. I hope you tell Sensei and your mom that I love them, that I'm watching, that I'll see them one day too."

Ino could barely breathe, it felt like she was choking on too much and too little, and then Shisui's arms were sliding around her shoulders and they were crying together, tangled. And they weren't outside any more, no longer suspended like guardians above the home that Shisui had adored, but perched on the counter of her mother's flower shop.

And, suddenly, it was all too much.

This was an unfamiliar hug, she'd been a child when her brother had died and now she was almost the same height, now she could grip him back and feel the shudder of his spine as he mourned everything beyond his reach. And it was the cruelest, most beautiful thing, to glimpse a perfect what-if and know, in your soul, that you'd never see it again.

Suddenly, Ino realised that she didn't care she was a Yamanaka, that she was training to be an Interrogator, that she was a Shinobi and supposed to look underneath the underneath, that she was never supposed to concede and blindly believe.

"You're here," Ino wailed, and it was something between heartbreak and utter relief. "Nii-san, you're here."

"It's not goodbye, Ino," Shisui agreed, even as everything started to fading, like mist slipping through Ino's arms and she couldn't hold him tight enough.

"Shisui-nii-"

"I never left you to begin with."

[wanderingandfound]

Just read the first chapter of a (so far one-sided) epistolary fic that unlocked the memories of reading Ella Enchanted and getting to that point where the emotions are so strong and every choice is a heartbreaking one.

[averysexyleon]

Karl x Ada opener

Authors note: This is an intro to a two person roleplay between Ada Wong and Karl Heisenberg. You didn't know you needed it, but baby you did.

Strauss, or maybe the static between the notes, was starting to sound more like the grinder Karl was using. The engineer sneered to himself and dropped the tool to pound his gloved fist on the radio, which sat on the same pile of metal as his current Soldat installation.

The banging didn't help, and Karl frowned over at the cord. The ELF installation should have cleaned up the clarity of the radio. Maybe it had a blown speaker. He picked up the grinder and with a glance at the radio, it turned off. Now Wiener Blut's oddly lighthearted echoes left the subterranean chamber and Karl was left with his thoughts.

This probably wasn't the best way to work. The headgear he was cutting was for the corpse on the next table over; the cadaver was setting out to thaw. Implantation was never successful on a meat popsicle. It would be hours before this neural visor was done, so it was a rewarming race--Karl hated when the corpses began to decompose, when the too-familiar scent of rot overtook the rooms.

Now he'd done it; he glanced over at the corpse and then found himself lost again, not thinking, just staring emptily at the cadaver. What time was it? It had to be four in the morning. He removed a glove and his glasses, rubbing his eyes mostly as an excuse to not look at the grey carcass. He needed a break. Maybe Strauss had been trying to warn him.

He spun on his stool away from the intricate wiring and stacks of metal, to another workstation. He removed his other glove and now, without his dark glasses dimming the view, he reached for the wooden music box. It was comically out of place in his dreary workroom, painted a powder blue color and embellished with beautiful wood carvings and gold leaf.

DONNA was emboldened on the top, glittering in the reddish-orange light Karl insisted on working under.

She'd had another fit, some kind of depression or psychosis, and had broken it. Again. It had been a gift from her father, one of the best wood carvers in Europe, and thanks to Donna's own skilled hand it retained most of its splendor. But it also took a lot of beatings when she was, as Miranda said, "having an episode." An episode of missing her parents, Karl mused, turning the top over to look at the brass plating of the musical part. Imagine, being taken from your home and experimented on causing mental damage. Who would have thought.

It was, of course, that decrepit and obnoxious doll she'd spoken to Karl through, asking in syrupy tones to pretty please fix it. For decades now, Karl insisted that Donna use her own voice when asking a favor from him, which caused her excess stress...this time, he just didn't argue. It wasn't a big deal. He was angry at Miranda for discarding her "special daughter" and one of the "Lords"--what a fucking joke--instead of Donna, who he usually couldn't blame for having loose screws.

It was supposed to play "Für Elise." He inspected it, turning the box carefully while willing the parts to move. First it wound, and he heard the correct pauses between each click of thread. The winder wasn't broken. Now it released. Karl listened to the clunks that resonated from the little plates, a sad mimicry of Beethoven. A hammer or two was broken, it seemed, and one coil was off-center.

He wondered if using his hands was necessary, but then noticed a broken hinge on the lid. Might as well open it up, that would need a new metal lip. This was even more comical; a spring-loaded ballerina was poised to spin when he opened the lid. She popped up, waiting on the music box to send her into a pirouette. The little dancer looked sappily up at him as if challenging him to stare back.

He moved the ballerina close to his faintly luminescent yellow irises. One of her legs was cracked, her skirt askew from the throw that broke the music box.

"Donna, you really have lost your fucking mind if you think I'm gluing that." Donna of course would never--her craft supplies could work far more wonders for a ballerina fracture and wardrobe malfunction than anything Karl had in his entire factory. Just as he leaned forward, happy to repair the music box mechanism, a strangely modern sound blipped from the hall speaker.

"Son of a bitch," he said aloud, and dropped the music box. Karl swiftly, almost troubledly, exited the room and strode down the dark hallway.

Karl was always hesitant to introduce any "modern" tech into the factory, but as time went on it became evil necessity. Still, his paranoia was so excessive that he wired security systems to all devices: a speaker gave a tone any time an email made its way to his closed network. He rarely got any form of communication and liked it that way.

However, he'd had a thorn in his side ...awhile now. She called herself a few things, but he knew the truth. She was a goddamn spy. Karl listened to Miranda's sparse bits of information about contact with Albert Wesker, and organizations to help with her "science" projects long enough to pick up the name.

Ada Wong. Dangerous, calculating, murderous, mysterious, and not to be trusted with any level of seriousness. Blah blah blah. It wasn't as though Miranda thought any spy could be a personal threat. Oh no, that would mean Miranda didn't see herself as an infallible god. That would mean admitting there was a possibility where she didn't continue to get everything she wanted.

Let the bitch think so. But Karl had plenty of reason to want his motives and information kept away from a spy.

She found him, or he found her, when he was digging for information on the "Connections" group that Miranda kept flying to the US to meet with the past few months. Whatever she had planned with that group, it was big. No calculations required for Karl to feel an uneasy pit in his stomach. It was a big deal, and not in a good way.

Ada seemed to have information about it, but was pressing HIM to exchange what he had and knew. He had no intention of giving anyone anything, actually. And the longer the pair surreptitiously exchanged cryptic little notes with no discernable meaning, the angrier he got. And the more paranoid.

Now here she was, bothering him again.

He entered the pitch black room with no trouble at all, and nearly slapped the button that woke the screen. His eyes danced over her typed note, and Karl finally snapped. He knew he would never find safety in shadows, and interrupting his work was getting fucking old. Didn't she have any manners? And wasn't he a LORD???

As it usually did, genius struck him as his anger manifested.

He fumbled with the audio recording option, finally found it. Leaning over the monitor Karl spoke, for the first time, directly to the faceless, personless woman. His voice was recorded, little wave forms dancing across the screen.

"I'm done with the chess, Ada." His accent stressed the first A, as though he were mocking her name itself.

"I've got too much shit to do to be pen pals. You wanna talk shop, you meet me in the stronghold past the Forbidden Woods. I'll give you a week. Sunset."

It was perfect, he decided as he sent the clip. If this was a plant by Miranda to test his loyalty, the excuse of the Stronghold would be literal execution for any typical traveler. That's how he dealt with spies. Problem solved.

If that wasn't the case, and if Ada was as skilled as that Wesker had made it seem, then she might just live and he would deal with her then. If she wasn't a plant, and wasn't skilled, well. The Lycans would deal with that too.

He wondered as he left the room, telepathically turning the radio on again and hearing the magnificent tones of Kommt, ihr Töchter filter into the hallway, what day it was. Would he even remember when a week had passed?

Karl withdrew a cigar from his inner pocket. "You're gonna have to wait a little longer for a heartbeat, you poor bastard," he mused to the corpse, fishing for his lighter. "Gotta fix a fuckin' ballerina."

The choir, still scratchy, swelled from the radio speakers.

Seht! Wohin? Auf unsre Schuld!

Sehet ihn aus Lieb und Huld!

"Can't ask for better hold music."

[punkscowardschampions]

Jimmy & Janis

Poor Pablo

Jimmy: You here? Janis: standing to attention, like Janis: what's up? Jimmy: Can I stay at yours tonight like? Janis: 'Course, my Dad already extended the offer when he was trying to parent me lol Janis: Yours doing your head in? Jimmy: Seriously though? I'll sleep in the bath and try not to have Skerries flashbacks. Give a shit Jimmy: Yeah Janis: You don't have to Janis: though I've been told its comfier than you'd imagine if you're feeling it Janis: What's his damage...not ideal they had to call the parentals in but it is just detention, not a court date, y'know? Janis: I'd have figured out a way to take all the blame if I knew he'd go off Janis: Wank bank fantasy getting outta hand in the stalls? 🤔😉 Jimmy: It's an excuse for him to get at me, that's it Jimmy: Doesn't really matter what the drama is Jimmy: 😍 Proper romantic you 💕 Janis: Yeah Janis: Suppose it'd make a nice change to have you as the bad guy for once, eh? Janis: fuck that though Janis: Who me? Janis: never Jimmy: What d'you mean 😎👎💔 Jimmy: I'm so bad Janis: Very bad boy, NOT bad guy, waaaaaay different vibe Janis: Silly Jimmy: Good save Janis: Not a goalie or a superhero Janis: but Janis: 💪 Jimmy: 🏆 Jimmy: What time can I come over? Freezing here casually Janis: Come over now idiot Janis: Be doing me a favour anyway, be your charming self so I can escape the fam Jimmy: Done Jimmy: Want me to bring you anything? I'm thinking chips but no pressure Janis: Quite the offer Janis: but no need Janis: there's always so much food going in this gaff Janis: may as well help yourself Jimmy: Yeah? Jimmy: Alright Jimmy: I'm just gonna get Cass to bring me some stuff out #doorstepdrama Jimmy: Like fuck am I gonna come back here any earlier than needs Janis: That's fun 😒 free entertainment for the neighbours, nice one 👍 Janis: at least Cass'll get a kick out of helping the outcast hero Janis: Best to let him have his paddy, yeah, he'll be begging you back when he can't figure out where the kid's school shoes are Jimmy: I wouldn't bother but I need my charger in case Bobby can't sleep. Cass shouldn't have to handle that on her own Jimmy: She's be the definition of #buzzing for this part at least Jimmy: Maybe Twix'll shit in his shoes this time, 'cause bitch be loyal Janis: Shame you can't bring them both but kidnap would technically be something to shout about Janis: They'll be alright though, she's a tough cookie and a smart kid Janis: Get Grace to facetime him a bedtime story, he'd love that and she'd feel like she's doing jackanory, like Janis: We can only hope girl comes thru Jimmy: He'll take her up on that if I don't. Boy is 💕 for Gracie Jimmy: You're not about to get off light though, Cass wants to hear from you that I'm alright Jimmy: My word isn't worth a damn apparently Janis: She ain't offering for you! Even if you're currently in her good books for taking a 🔥 photo, like Janis: Still not good enough to be her fave 🤷 Janis: Tough ground Janis: Well, she's got you there, you're not the best at using 'em 😏 100% taking the fact I'm being considered the reliable one for once Jimmy: You win this round Jimmy: Don't get too comfy with it though Jimmy: I am on my way Janis: S'lonely at the top Janis: Get on my level, boy 🥇 Jimmy: 🎻 Janis: rude Janis: biting the hand that feeds Jimmy: Learning from your true love like Janis: I won't stand such slander on her good name Janis: she's a revenge shitter only not a biter 😂 Jimmy: 😂 Jimmy: I'm having a smoke, you joining me or am I coming knocking? Janis: Lungs won't thank me but Pablo would if he knew how close he was to getting a smackdown Janis: Save me some I'm running Jimmy: *He took it easy on this one (not for her sake, you snooze you lose, mate) having been puffing away consistently since he slammed the door on his dad's ranting 'cause he'd needed to calm down. Or shut down. Naturally, it crept up on him, as persistent, which is why he's here, huddled in another cold doorway, waiting for a distraction that'll have him forgetting the barney his dad started days before and wasn't done with yet. Argumentative prick. Jimmy was happy to let Janis have that win, the only where he wouldn't (and couldn't) compete being in this, in drowning out the shit with something that isn't. There's no hiding the smile when he sees her, if the shadows do let him get away with it, they won't for long 'cause he's closing the gap between them instantly, refusing as much of the space as he can without giving himself away for doing it as he passes the cigarette over.* Janis: *She takes the cigarette like its second-nature, kiss on his cheek, feeling the familiar dimple of his smile, like they are too. Far from it on both counts. She's not a smoker, she needs her lungs clear and strong. And she's not in love, same reasons for her heart. Simple as. Still, she could enjoy the benefits of both without committing, couldn't she? Why not. It's not like she's faking either, just...dipping her toes. Only likely to incur minor damage, she reckoned she could take that and still get away laughing. Sure. Long drag before passing it back because without needing to even look his way, (though she did regardless, studious expression taking in his tight, stressed as shit, posture right now), she knew he needed it more. Janis jogs her legs up and down, 'brring' in the cold Winter night air.* You alright then? *She adds, as if they're just meeting on her doorstep by chance, not for reason. She smirks, shaking her head at herself, nudging his side.* Jimmy: *With the cigarette back between his fingers and the girl by his side he gets what he needs, the familiarity a reminder that this is his normal, not what he rushed to leave behind. To pick up his girlfriend for dinner his dad will have to drop this, rely on moody silence to show how he really feels and his own fakery, in this woman's company, for what he thinks he should. They all know how to handle the first, years under their belts, and the second idea's even more temporary. Fuck it. Jimmy could make a single cigarette last longer than his dad's current relationships, and had done, sometimes. Not this one though. Nah. He wasn't the dickhead to keep his girlfriend shivering while he pissed about blowing smoke in the dark. He took a final drag before flicking it away to meet Janis's contact with his own, using his now free hand to gently brush a loose curl from her cheek.* Yeah, mate, you? Janis: *Janis scrunches her nose up, batting his hand away, mix of bashfulness and banter, blown with a raspberry. Turns out, sex is alright, stunning review there, indescribably better than alright obviously but- its the smaller, everyday moments of intimacy, that had flown under her radar when she wasn't receiving them, that she still finds herself flinching from, or covering up said flinch with some kind of bullshit she finds it easier to wear, to shoulder.* Fine. *She blurts out, flustered and being a little sharp with it. Get it together. More jokes, forever skirting around serious, not getting too real or too deep 'cos they both know there's no coming back and why ruin it and- She peers at him, like he's a dog in Crufts, pretending to shine a torn in his eyes, checking his teeth, that kinda shit.* Hmm, healthy enough specimen. Gonna give me anything else to give to your Sister though, like? Dunna if 'yeah' is gonna get her off the phone in a hurry, to be honest. Not that I give a shit, or nothin', don't get it twisted. *She grins, turning to the door and then back again, lingering, reluctant to open the door yet, knowing they'd get descended upon by someone almost immediately. All fun and games. Still, there wasn't a world in which she was gonna turn him down and have him out on the street, like. No way.* Jimmy: *He plays along as though it's still a game and why not? He's just admitted to himself how used to fakery he is, being a family trait like, with both of them for him to thank. Not that he's sparing a thought for his mum, first or second. Not now. He told himself no more slips with the girl beside him and meant that just as much. More. It's easier to stick to on every level, and he does, ruffling her hair fully when he gets the chance. Eyebrows raised and an expression of his own ready to wear. This, he can keep up all night, same as the exaggerated huff that he let's escape, like a Twix snore, into the night along with the shrug that follows.* Use your skills, throw in as many hashtags as it takes to put her at ease. Throw in a selfie if she still isn't convinced. Me sleeping sound should do it. * He's joking but not wrong for it, not able to remember a time when he fell asleep before the other two. Cass'd be beyond 'shook' to even see a fake out of him getting a good forty winks. Jimmy smirks through the thought, forcing it to pass.* You got this, girl* He retorts it in the best mimicry of how Mia and that crowd speaks that his accent can do, wincing slightly both at the impression and idea of them being around. Still, he claws some of his 'clout' back with a challenging look that adds 'What else have you got.' 'cause who are they if there's not a challenge ongoing. As if to emphasis this, he goes towards the door himself, pushing it open with more daring than he actually feels. * Gonna invite me in then, or what? Janis: *She kisses her teeth angrily, full on 'boy, if you don't stop-' vibes, planting a balled fist in his stomach, gentle warning like, no need to assault him before the family saw to it with their over-the-top nature and curiosity. She knew it would but it was getting to her more than she imagined even. The cooing and awwing or the piss-taking and wink-wink nudge-nude of it all, whatever approach they took, why did they have to? What business was it of theirs? Of anyones? Why did there always have to be a song and dance about everything? The hot takes she'd never ask for. Ruined everything. Why did they care? About this? About her? Just fuck right off. Messy. Too messy. Family, feelings- fuck it all. She used to kid herself, couple of years ago, when it happened, that she'd move out as soon as she could and that'd be it. They'd leave her alone. And she could just exist. Run, sleep and repeat. And that is all she'd have to do. No thinking or feeling ever. But she knew better now. They weren't just going to disappear, even if she changed postcodes. Even Edie couldn't manage that. And she had really tried. The others didn't want to. So she was stuck. Here in the land of the living. Forced to participate, like it or not. Then Jim had come along. Made her like it, a little bit, like. And he'd made her think maybe she could add to her shortlist of approved activities. But let her think about that for too long and she always came to the same conclusion; that she was a fucking idiot and it'd all end in tears. She sighed, overexaggerating it last minute to pretend it was in reply to his showy huffing and puffing.* Not my skill-set, kid. You were always better at it than me. Not just the snappin', like. Right up until you jumped ship for a pretty face, #commitment. *She laughs.* But for Cass, I'll see what I can do. *Cringing at the accent-attempt and gasping in mock-horror at the invocation of Mia and co. (as if say their names three times and they'll appear to tell you your outfit is ugly) she puts a finger to his lips, pushing him behind her at the same time so she can lead the way in too.* Ta-dah! *She flourishes, with a shrug to say 'you asked for this' 'cos there was no hiding now. The downstairs open-plan, parentals unconvincingly 'busying' themselves in the kitchen. Iggy, Diego, Gus and (thank fuck, 'cos we know who's the likeliest to be a prick here) Pablo so far unaccounted for, Grace watching telly, curled up with her phone as per. Janis was ready to bolt up to her room, not so much as a hello but reckoned Jimmy wouldn't want the rep of being her 'rude boyfriend' (as concerned as he was with opinion clearly, bless) so she shouts out 'Jim's here', eyes on the stairs, giving them five seconds to respond before she was up 'em, like.* Jimmy: *The house makes him feel the same as it did the first time he was here once he's through the door again, thankfully though the urge to whistle is muted today, full of sobriety as he is, in every sense. He knew her family weren't renters in over their heads like his from day 1, it isn't just that like. He isn't just some reverse snob, it's everything here they haven't had to buy, and he couldn't if he had armfuls of cash. The 'vibe' he'd probably call it if he was Grace or her crowd. Still, he nods at everyone about as if it's common place for him to him to be greeted by a warmth that's nowt to do with temperature.* Evening. *He's got his smile back on but Jimmy's hand is scratching the back of his neck before he can stop it giving him away and all he can do is 'reckon' on Janis being too caught up on her own family dynamics to call him out for his lack of. That's the real #goals, isn't it? He thinks to himself, trying to shake these feelings off him without moving. Or sighing. You massive dickhead. Grace waves at him without looking up from her phone screen, a slice of his home life #relatable enough he can follow her sister's gaze with a decent smirk and a readiness to deal with what's gonna come down. Need's must had him here in the first place, alright, but now he's made it as far as asking to be let in, he'd like to stay. Not only be a grumpy twat Janis is stuck with, but a laugh she wants to stay about. In her gaff and out of it. When nobody immediately appears he heads up himself, not forgetting her insistence to lead the way before, he looks over his shoulder at her, obvious with it that's there's nowt for her to do now but keep up.*  Unlucky, mate. You're not getting off that easy, we've got a whole night ahead. Janis: *Janis is holding herself rigid, eyes fixed as tight and strong on her parents letting them know in no uncertain terms to behave...and they did? Leaving it at cheery hellos and promises of dinner being done in about half an hour if they fancied it. Hm. First time for everything. Letting disbelief at their ability to be normal for once in their friggin' lives (where had this been all the other times she'd begged them/the universe for it?!) carry her up the stairs behind Jim. She let him flounder in the burrow-like corridors of upstairs, so different to the openness of the downstairs, that'll teach you to go ahead, boy, she thought with a smirk, now pushing in front with arms wide open.* Pick a door, any door! *She laughed, heading to her own before he actually did, not knowing who was in.* Welcome to my humble-abode... *She added, as they were over the threshold, kicking her gym bag, over-spilling with laundry, aside. She sat down on her unmade bed to assess, from outsiders, from his, eyes. Not here enough anymore that it was critically messy, that was good; old posters covering up old holes in the plaster from older anger, nothing cringe, thankfully but- It was a bit sad, to be honest...bare, lacking...anything, personality, life. She sighed. Red-faced from embarrassment and redder still from anger at feeling that embarrassment. She didn't care about herself, yeah. And what? And what is that her room said as much in no uncertain terms and having him see it was just- well. Shaming. Time for a joke.* If this setting don't get you in the mood, I don't know what will. Jimmy: *10 kids, he reminds himself, when he reaches the top and is met with an upstairs that belongs to a different house. That disconnect continues, growing, when Janis opens one of the doors in the maze. Hers. He's got no room to judge, none of his house looks lived in yet, as if Cass can protest having to by refusing to help unpack, knowing he doesn't have (or want to make, 'cause there's enough stuff in there for it to be boring, but then there's what's missing too, which is worse. Depressing.) the time to tackle the unopened box on his own after months. He isn't. Judging, that is. But he can't stop himself looking about, eyes focusing again on what there is, and isn't. What it means. And doesn't. Fuck. What a pair, they are like. Jimmy has to say something, silence will have her thinking all kinds of shit that isn't right. Least of all that he's a twat. Which, sort of is. He's equipped to be that though, which is something. He can easily grin at her, fall into simple, old habits. Banter by numbers that'll be #nodrama for her to throw back at him. 'Cause whatever his dad might think right now, he's not the dickhead trying to make everything harder. Why would he? The day to day shit already has that covered. So he aims his biggest 'heart eyes' at her, from the earliest days of their fakery, hiding any real expression in the over-the-topness of it all, for her as much as him (he tells himself, without needing much convincing with the blush spotted. It isn't thanks his charms, they both know. But in a second they can pretend it's his cringe factor.)* Only got eyes for you, babe. We could be anywhere. *Still, even as he's mocking himself with mimicking throwing up in his mouth, before she can, naturally, passed that, somewhere real he's deciding that should she suggest getting out of here to elsewhere tonight he's not about to fight it. Wherever they end up. #nocringe. It'd be too much of a lie to act like asking to come here was too much and everything that's come after, as a result, is too. He shouldn't have done it and there's no wonder everything's been off since. Her room could be the same as downstairs and he wouldn't wanna stay there, would he? It's his 'vibe' fucking things. Cheers dad. Jimmy sighs, throwing himself on the bed, and turning it into the appreciative whistle he didn't do at the door. Fucking hell.* Janis: *The eye-roll comes so hard it has her reeling, spinning out in her own head. At least, its better for them both if she pretends that's what's got her feeling dazed and disorientated. Sick with not knowing how to play this. No 'oh my, a boy in my room!' giddiness, fuck that shit. It was 'oh my, having to spend time in this depressing pit'. And his hand forced to spend his time here too. It'd be different if he had wanted to. Maybe. Okay, probably not. But if he had wanted to then they really wouldn't care where they were, paying no mind to anything but each other, not like his car was a lambo or like she'd given two fucks then, so it might've been tolerable. Ignorable, at the very least. But he HAD to be here. Nowhere else to go. That paired with how this room inadvertently showed all her cards had her feeling as bare as their surroundings, #exposed as they would say for the craic. Not that she was mad at him for not begging to sleepover just 'cos he wanted her so bad, again, fuck that shit hard. Not that girl. Everything was just weird and off and it didn't lend itself to a good night's sleep for either of 'em, she was willing to bet. She shrugged, those muscles so overworked, never skipped, massaging at the tension there in vain. Bounced from the dramatic way he flung himself down, she rests herself down on her elbow beside him, face to face.* If you want, we can go to the Barn. Its kitted out, like- *She pauses, thinking back on the times when it had been a place they all made Diego's films together, the times it had been Edie and Rio's bedroom, sneaking in there with them, leaving Grace alone in the dark of their old shared room. Now, well- She spent even less time in there than she did here. Only venturing when it was so dark and she felt so alone, it just felt right to hide out in there; harking back to all those many nights she'd sneak out, praying Edie would be there again, and to the one night, she was. Tucked up in her bed as if she'd never left. As if she wasn't really there. But she was. She was. And she'd gestured for her to get in with her and they'd just held each other...Janis holding on for dear life, determined to NEVER let go, so she couldn't leave again. She thought she felt the same desperation, in the way her big sister clutch to her too, almost hurting her but she would have never of complained. Determined to keep her in sight, eyes wide open and staring into hers, barely visible in the dark but there. She was there. Of course, she had fell asleep, and of course, when she awoke, the sun was up and Edie was gone. She was just a fucking kid, like. 'A fucking failure is what you were. And are.' She shook her head. At least the barn HAD memories, more than you could say of the box room she'd relegated herself too. No longer able, or needing to share with anyone. Not Grace. Or Rio and Edie. They'd all gone. Empty rooms to fill.* All mod cons and a comfy bed, like. But you can keep that between us and add to your sob story, yeah? *She mimics the tiny violin he was always sending, #IRLShade like, hoping the piss-taking would distract from the disjointed nature she'd made that offer in. Ghosts refusing to let her go, let her be with him fully. She never could be. It was the sad kind of hurt when you just know, know that whatever you're doing, or want to do, won't work. And knowing this and knowing you're gonna hurt the other person, so far so clueless. Oh, Jim. Why do you think I was on my own when you met me, boy?* Jimmy: *He's fucked it instantly, looking at her too hard, all the bollocks stripped back and away by how close she is, suddenly, though he should have expected it. Not like her bed's big enough for anything much else, but he never does, somehow. Still. Ever. Breathing hurts but he forces himself not to keep it shallow, refusing to swap places so soon when she was meant to be the one swooning. Fake or not. And there's so much real shit he wants to say, but can't. Again, too much. It leaves him only inhaling and sighing, brooding like the kinda poser he isn't trying to be on any day. Least of all this one. Does it matter though? It doesn't feel like it when his hand drops before it can reach out, touch her in any way, jokes as out of bounds as anything. He isn't meant to be lost with her, but tonight doesn't give a fuck about that, does it? He jumps on the offer a change, nodding, frantic for a kick that'd have him behaving like less of a dick. Please. The fucking break he hasn't asked her for is there, inching closer to letting itself be said, and he's scared of that, going there like.* Alright. *He wants to give himself a smack for how quiet he sounds. Serious. Okay knobhead, calm it. Good luck following that through when you know you've got none though, Jim. He's up and taking her hand before he can dwell on it, moving to take the lead as far as retracing their steps and being out. He can handle that geography. Jimmy does allow himself a pause small enough only to draw a cross over his heart playfully once she's played the violin for him. Thanks, mate. It's almost spoken aloud 'cause of the relief the familiarity of it , brought here and now, comforts him. Alright, calm it again, tosser. But yeah, that works, letting him. He walks stretching their linked hands as far as possible while staying connected, laughing genuinely, still soft but out there. He draws a quick tick over the same space, hurriedly.* Done. Janis: Alright. *She confirms with a nod as serious as his close-to-silence was. Couldn't accuse him of being a man of too MANY words usually, like, but still, spoke volumes, didn't it? Could write friggin' volumes on how badly she was fucking it up with him now. That's what you did after break-ups, right? Write wanky (in all the ways) poetry. Fuck that. Get the fuck out of your own head, fucking eejit! Now! He's still here yet. She seized the conversation by the balls, 'fore it got away from her grasp again, immediately adding-* Alright, alright, alright! *Matthew McConaughey style. 'Cos Christ, someone had to cut through the tension and she weren't about to invite the fam up to give it a go. Fuck that, too. Even if it was awkward as arse, to say the least, and the dead and buried past was unearthing itself just to try drag her under tonight- she still wanted it to be just them. Him and her, fuck the rest. And that was something. Even if that was all she could get, all she still had. She'd cling to that with bleeding, broken nails, jaw clamped, teeth sunk deep in the flesh of it. It was something. She was so fucking used to, so fucking sick of, nothing. A promise, or a prayer, she repeated it over and over, 'til she near believed it herself. With this in mind, she pulls on the hand that is leading her, pulls him back, understanding his rush and only wanting to slow it for one thing. She mimics shooting him where he had been tracing, where she wants to trail her own fingers badly, as he draws in, she puts her fist over his heart, thumping up and down, up and down, before exploding out- And with that, she kisses him, as desperate as he was to take up her offer and run, she needed this more. And she had never known anything she needed more than to run. But she did. She did.* Done. *She mirrors, drawing her lips away from his, with a smirk. Ahead again, one foot on the top step.* Jimmy: *He's about to descend back into mockery, the words 'all about the obscure refs, you' there, ready to go if he's willing to release them, thoughts already going backward, onto the typed convo where she tried to give him an artsy education, school him about muses, all of that, but before he can take the step she's pulling him, literally to where she's forced a stop. In the first second he's tense, thinking it's a full one, that she's done with him and the company he isn't being tonight, but before he can fall further into his pit (he's in there enough, prior that she's tried to dig at him with her best McConaughey, for fuck's sake) he all but floats out. There's no # that could cover this in his stunted imagination, he thinks, before his brain shuts off. The kiss is more than the break he didn't have the balls to ask for (though it lasts about as long as the one he'd gave her, standing on some twat's marble floor). It's a separation from all the shit that's been running him ragged for days, forcing him to run here in the first place. Jimmy knows then that he'll stay, has to, not 'cause there's nowhere else to go, but 'cause nowhere else exists when she kisses him like that. Fuck. It basically escapes, not as the word, but in sound that he can't escape either. Doesn't want to. The only thing he cares about is keeping this close to her and knowing she's alright with him being there. More than fucking alright like.* Nah mate *He retorts breathlessly, clawing back some strength back only as his hands find her hips and use the grip he's found there to spin her body round to face him. He isn't done yet, there's no chance. Not now she's given him one to erase the last few days and land him back into decent ones with her. Jimmy's an echo of how he was after running from Mr Lucas and he's not letting go of that. What for? 'Cause his dad wants him to. Fuck that and fuck him. What was he done with was feeling like shit. So of course he kissed her again, sinking only into the depths of that, trying to say everything with it that he couldn't verbally. Needing to have a go even though it meant hearing Janis' clatter into the beginnings of the banister with the force of everything he was desperate for her to know, 'cause if he pulled back then that'd be it and he's not having that. Fuck no. He's lost enough, tonight's bed being the least of it. Janis: *If she was going to complain, (she wasn't), he doesn't give her the time, or space, to do so. Exactly what they both needed; and she didn't need to reckon that. Crashing together, crashing into the wall, like. No room for anything to come between 'em, not their thoughts or past or any of that bullshit; all blurring into background nothingness, where it belonged. In these moments, there was nothing but them and their need. And it was good. Really good. The kind of good she didn't need to second-guess or overthink. Just be in it and soak in every second, every touch, the heat and feel of his skin against hers, alive, human, real. The violence of the urgency, the competitive one-upping- Not only keeping it interesting (to say the fucking least) but keeping it as something she could understand, something that didn't scare the living shit out of her, frankly. Easy as breathing, this; Though both theirs was heavy now, laboured from the control of letting some of said go, whilst not losing themselves to it so wholly that they alerted someone to it, spoiling their fun for the second time in a week. A game of meeting every kiss of his with more, and then some. Biting, tugging at his bottom lip in, trying in vain to make the kiss even deeper. Nails dug into his shoulders, pulling him down with her as her back slid down the wall, him sat at the top of the stairs, her on his lap. 'How did you stop yourself though?' A faint voice in the back of her mind pondered, with no intention to found within her. Clearly, they needed the Mr. Lucas' of the world or they'd never get anything else done. Clearly channeling the man himself, Pablo chose this time to appear out of his room, quite literally stumbling onto the scene, and them, Janis sticking out an arm (and jumping off Jim's lap) with lightning reflexes so he didn't topple down the fucking stairs.* Oops, watch it... *She didn't have time (nor desire) to be embarrassed. Her older Brother's mumbly, half-asleep grumbles of 'a-fucking-gain? Really Janis?!' and promises to 'have words with you, later!' to Jim, had her creasing. When Pablo was out of sight, and out of mind as soon as, she rested her head on the shoulder she'd left nailmarks in, kissing it gently though she wasn't particularly sorry about it.* Jimmy: *It isn't until she has to save him from hitting the bottom of the stairs with a thud that he even sorts out in his head again where they are, beyond the abstract bollocks of 'together' and all that. It takes that much to get through to him, but he isn't sorry, 'cause he isn't alone in it. If he's falling, figuratively as well as the near literal, then she is too. And that's alright by him. More than fucking alright, as per like. Jimmy can laugh through this interruption, at what it takes to pull them apart now (unlucky Mr Lucas but you probably won't cut it next time) adding to it himself with the breathless whisper of 'fucking hell, mate' that finds only her ear as he shakes his head affectionately at the pair of 'em. Janis' brother's appearance (along with anything he might have said) forgotten as soon as it's happened, same as before. If they'd been any room for it he might have felt bad for the lad, keeping mugging him off like that, but he still wants what he wants. Needs, honestly. There's no forgetting, or ignoring that any 'itch' has only been scratched so far as to make it more 'itchier', more noticeable in the first place. It's a crap analogy but it's what's there as he pulls her down the stairs and back towards the door, rougher and noisier that he would if he could make a string of thoughts or words fit together properly to promise her that this still isn't done. Jimmy 'reckons' in a semi coherent idea that he'll barricade the barn door with any or all manner of shit, once they are there,  to guarantee no more interruptions tonight. Bet on that, mate, his expression says, as they go. Jinx. Fuck. He almost kicks the door in frustration upon hearing the shout for dinner, her dad's head catching them as 'ready' for it. Pfft. No chance. It smells good, yeah, but there's no contest. Janis feels, looks and smells incredible like. Meals can wait, they always did at his, even when he had his mum there to do his job of moving a tray of something from freezer to cooker, or his pop's of fetching a takeaway when in from work, there was no sitting down at a this or that time. No table to eat at either, just the sofa, or his bed when he was being the type of utter dickhead that only a certain age manages, whenever it was put in front of him. Here at Janis, that time, was right now. And worse, ('cause of course there's worse with his English luck) before he can do a dash that'd have that school day looking like slo-mo, his stomach rumbles, sealing the deal and their fates. His girlfriend has never let him go hungry yet. Shit. To be continued then.*