Realistic or Modern hollywood arts: main (open!!)

[Harrowhark]

MOOD: This night could've been better

OUTFIT: a fashion nightmare

LOCATION: Party

basics

MENTIONS:
Beel

INT:
Made in collaboration with the lovely jinxxes

tags

TL;DR Clean of vomit and now this is happening

tl;dr

Jacks + Julian

— Prescription Kid

Finally, how many rooms did a little apartment need? In reality there hadn’t been many, but in his mental state, he kept forgetting which doors he’d already opened.

The moment Jackson shut the door behind him, he peeled the vomit covered shirt off and tossed it into the sink. Sorry Audrey or whoever.

There was no easy way to go about this. No matter which way Jackson bended, water still leaked on his pants and shoes as he rinsed his chest off in the shower. But he was clean and that was the important part.

Now what should he do with the shirt? Throwing it way crossed his mind, but it came with the shorts as a set and he couldn’t go on with half an outfit, now could he? But the idea of ever touching the thing again made him feel sick. All that bile and alcohol and… he couldn’t even think of it without wanting to gag.

—----------------

Sometimes it was amusing enough to go out. When you went to a school like Hollywood Arts, there was always entertainment to be found. Julian wasn't a people person, but damn right he’d show up to where a bunch of flashy kids would go overboard for New Years, consume copious amounts of alcohol, and try not to wake up in a ditch who knows where. He was well into that second step so far.

Time for a piss break from his people watching.

Things would probably be settling soon enough that he’d be on his way for new entertainment….. which would probably be what would lead him to a ditch but never mind that. Opening the door (not knocking of course because if it wasn't locked then that's on the other them fuck you) Julian did indeed see he was not alone. Though instead of someone on the toilet he was left with someone half soaked in the shower.

“…You look like shit.” The words came out dry, like a pure observation. How could he have missed a fight here? The blond moved in further, shutting the door behind him and locking it, Jackson still in and all.

Zip.

What? It wasn’t like this was any more odd than public urinals. Well, maybe a little in this closer enclosed space but whatever! You do your business and don’t stare at other bitches dicks come on. Go on. Shower up, buddy.

Just a few moments later, unconcerned about what his bathroom buddy thought about that, he was zipping back up and rightfully washing his hands. “…Win or lose?”

—------------------

Jackson took a long moment to recognize that someone else was in the bathroom at all. He hadn’t bothered to lock the door, he wasn’t doing anything that needed locking and it was a waste of time. Time that he could be spending not covered in vomit.

Oh yeah, he did probably look like shit. Jack hadn’t even thought about all of the damage Beel had done to him. With the back of his hand, he wiped blood from his nose, which only spread it across his cheek. “Yeah.”

The lock confused him for a moment. If he gave a shit about privacy he should’ve kicked Jackson out. To each their own.

“Behind ya,” Jackson warned, reaching around the guy to fish the shirt out of the sink. Ew ew ew. He let it dangle from his finger until it was safely in the shower where it plopped to the ground. He sprayed it down, soaking it all the way through and trying not to let any of the water and vomit touch his feet.

”Win or lose?” Jacks eyes darted back up to meet his company, shower nozzle immediately straying from its target. Well, he’d gotten vomited on, but he hadn’t been the one who vomited. “I’d say win.” Not to brag, of course.

Fuck, that water splashed onto his shoe. Gross disgusting vile. This was why Jackson didn’t like public bathrooms. He couldn’t get out of that shower fast enough, jumping and dropping the shower head. Bad idea. He stumbled forward, reaching out to catch himself. One hand caught on the wall, but the other was directly on Julian’s chest, boxing him in against the door.

None of this was going as expected. So much for get in and get out. Bruises were forming on his skin and the blood on his face pulled with every expression. Yet, Jackson didn’t not like how this was going. It was fun to get back in the swing of things. This was how it was in Sacramento; wild parties, drugs, guys in bathrooms. This was his normal.

”Hey.” For the first time he actually looked at Julian. It was rare to find someone actually shorter than him. It was nice to feel tall around someone other than his mom. And he could certainly feel some muscle under that shirt. When was the last time he’d done something spontaneous? Sober Jackson would never do this, but sober Jackson was also an idiot who refused to take some legal pills because they caused “the wrong kind of high.” Newsflash asshole, all high is good high.

Outside the bathroom he could hear people start shouting, counting down the seconds. He was already out past curfew. “You busy?” That was all he could think to say to check if the guy was even up to this.

—-----------------------

If Jackson had been the loser, Julian would've ended any follow-ups right then and there. Of course, he could be lying. But liars were fun to catch in lies so that made it cancel out anyways.

Julian watched the struggle with the shirt, amused but not like that would show on his face. By expression alone, he seemed completely bored out of his mind. The only bit that might suggest interest was just the fact he wasn't leaving despite finishing his business.

Except vomit boy was now coming straight at him. Julian tensed himself up for contact. It wasn't too surprising as seeing Jackson trip around was pretty expected. So that kept him from shoving him off immediately or worse.

However, bastard didn't get off right away.

Julian just blinked as Jackson greeted him. Cheesy rom-com much? Well, okay. He liked some of those.

"No." He answered, letting a hint of a smile breach his face. Why not see where this went? No matter the end result, this guy would probably provide ample entertainment.... And possibly the reason he'd wake up in a ditch somewhere... Again. It happened a few too many times to not look out for it.

Reaching up, Julian smeared his thumb across the red smear of Jackson's face. "I was about to leave if I didn't find something to do." Digging his thumb in harshly. "Have I?" Found something, that was.

—-------------------

Everything felt so much more intense. And this was intense. Jackson’s skin stung under Julian’s thumb, but he didn’t hate it. If anything it reminded him this was the kindest touch someone other than his moms had given him since he’d been in Juvie. In that moment, it sunk in how much he needed this, how much he missed this. He missed his friends, he missed Tony, he missed everything about Sacramento. This was the smallest taste of kindness that he couldn’t help but devour.

3

2

1

The party erupted in cheers. Happy New Year! Jack pulled the guy in by the shirt, locking their lips together desperately. They didn’t even know each other’s names, but his need for some sort of human contact greatly outweighed all the alarm bells in his mind.

Eventually, he had the sense to breathe. “Jackson,” he muttered, compromising with that part of himself that actually had feelings. “You?” He hated that he cared. Every part of him itched to be touched, but he couldn’t shake this.

—--------------------

The answer seemed to be yes then. Julian had never kissed someone right on New Years before. Thought the tradition was stupid as hell. But following it for the holiday was different than just having the chance to kiss some pretty stranger. So why not? There was a hint of iron to the taste, he wouldn’t be complaining about it.

Breaking apart, vomit boy was speaking again. A quick flick of his eyes to watch the lips move. It was his name.

Ah, right. It did seem that they forgot that important piece of information. “Julian.” How lucky! Jackson didn’t get any ridiculous lie or game of chase to try and make him guess. Maybe it was how he was holding on that told Julian not to play that kind of game right now, or maybe just high expectations on what sort of entertainment Jackson would provide that made it worth it. Who was to say? Not Julian.

If the artist had any clue how desperate Jackson was for this he certainly didn’t show it.

“What’s the plan?” His voice had an edge to it, breaking through the silence left after sharing their names. “Get Jack-off-“ ha, funny pun, “or what?” Frankly, with a half beaten up bastard kissing him it was a toss up whether or not they would be occupying this bathroom or running off for who knows what. Chop chop, make a fast decision before he got bored!

—-----------------------

Julian. That was a nice name. He'd never known a Julian before. Hello first Julian, lovely to meet you. At least he was going with it and not dodging the question or making anything weird. Cool guy.

Right, Jackson hadn't exactly clarified anything. The plan was supposed to be extremely straightforward. Smoke, party, fireworks. Which had turned into party, smoke, fireworks. Now it was party, smoke, fight, _______, fireworks? Was it too late to do the fireworks? There had probably been enough to reasonably keep Ma convinced, but then he had a bunch of fireworks on the roof of Hollywood Arts for no reason.

Oh hey, that was funny. Funny and cool guy! Jacks let out a hoarse laugh as Julian attempted to fill in that blank with a little humor. "I'm down for that." If he hadn't taken that last hit or gotten in a fight, he might not have been, but if neither of those things had happened, he wouldn't be in this bathroom anyway. Who was he to question fate or whatever. So he pulled Julian in again, allowing cause and effect to take over.

code by valen t.

 

[dear.szmm]

MOOD: absolutely untethered

OUTFIT: here

LOCATION: nye party ↠ some parking lot ↠ home

basics

MENTIONS:
N/A

INT:
Rox ( Harrowhark )
Ash ( Winona ) Matt ( jazzyball )

tags

TL;DR lillian sees shit she wasn't supposed to

tl;dr

lillian kimura

♫ nessa barrett - i hope ur miserable until ur dead

Lillian left the party to the sound of fireworks exploding behind her as she flounced down the driveway, smouldering from her break-up with Rox.

Whatever, she did what she had to do. The anger came not from the break-up itself, but from Rox’s inability to change her abysmal behaviour when called out about it. She was as stubborn as stubborn could be, and totally inconvincible. She had no idea when to shut up or to call it quits, and therefore Lillian believed herself to be perfectly justified in putting an end to her whole attititude.

After ten minutes of aggressively stomping further and further away from the party and into the suburbs surrounding the manor, Lillian realised she had no idea where she was heading. She didn’t particularly care, she could fuck off to the moon right about now and be completely content, but she knew she needed to blow off some steam.

In one hand she produced her phone from her pocket, the other hailing an empty cab as it approached. She climbed into the back seats, directing the driver downtown.

Her frown didn’t lift as she tried to call Matt. Her jaw was clenched tightly, her teeth feeling like they could explode from the pressure. She watched the streets through the window with a critical gaze, her temper doubling and becoming exasperated with every crowd or couple she glanced upon. She had no idea where Matt was, what he was doing, who he was with – fuck, he was probably still back at the party having a grand old time. Selfishly, she hoped to God he wasn’t.

“Matt,” she started loudly, a nano-second after he answered. “It’s done. We’re done, I ended it.”

He replied with something confused, asking who or what she was talking about.

“Rox, man! Fucking Rox!” she cried, earning a look of concern, possibly disapproval, in the mirror from the driver.

“It’s whatever, long story, I’ll get into it later. Where are you?” she asked quickly, one hand rubbing her forehead as she became aware of a splitting headache building across her temples.

“Alright, meet me round the block, I need to pick up. Fuck dealing with this shit sober.” she added, ending the call and leaning back into the seat. Matt sounded equally dejected, though this was unfortunately the least of her concerns. It was okay, she would check in with him when she saw him. Right now, she needed to offload.

***​

After a welcome hug and a few joints, Matt and Lillian trudged back to the apartment. They walked slowly, Lillian going through the details of her altercation with Rox, Matt obediently listening and agreeing as appropriate, then vice versa.

As they ascended the stairs and approached the apartment, Matt motioned to the ajar front door with a quizzed expression.

That was strange.

A burglar maybe? What if they were still in there? Well, what a sad night it would be for them.

Slowly Lillian pushed the door further, extending one arm inside to grab the plush pink baseball bat Rox had strategically placed next to the entrance in a haze-induced paranoia. She had her moments.

Lillian looked to Matt, pressing a finger to her lips. Silently they crept inside, Matt closing the door gently behind them.

Looking around, nothing was out of place. Bongwater appeared from the hallway and meowed softly, rubbing against Lillian’s leg. Cautiously she lifted him, stroked along his back, and handed him to Matt. If there was someone here, the last thing Lillian wanted was Bongwater to become collateral damage.

“Listen…” she whispered, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting in concentration.

What the –

Was that…?

No. No fucking way. Absolutely not.

Her feet propelled her body down the hallway to what was her and Rox’s room. The door was closed, but this did little to stop the noise leaking out into the rest of the apartment. Lillian looked back at Matt, saying something or other about not going in there, with a look of disbelief.

Bat still in hand, she managed the handle and threw the door open.

Lillian’s eyes widened as they fell upon the two human-shaped mounds in the bed. Her bed. Under her covers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she unleashed, whipping the covers back, revealing her now ex and some blonde chick tangled in the sheets.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” she shouted again. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

She had no inner monologue. Her mouth was working faster than her brain.

“You,” she seethed, pointing the head of the bat straight at the anonymous blondie. “Get out. Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

The girl, staring back at Lillian in complete bewilderment, froze completely, mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping for air.

“I’m not joking, get the fuck out, I swear to God.”

She turned to Rox, her expression unidentifiable. She pointed the bat towards her. “You are un-fucking-be-lievable. You are honestly one of the most fucked up people I’ve ever met, you know that?”

Lillian shook her head, lowering the bat to her side. She wasn’t about to add a domestic violence or battery charge to her record, not for some random unidentifiable rebound, and definitely not for Rox.

“Are you on crack? Genuinely, have you smoked crack tonight? Because this is…” Lillian looked about the room, hoping to summon the words that gave due gravitas to the situation before her. “This is so fucking you, Rox! It’s you written all over it! Do you see it now?!”

She sighed an exasperated sigh, turning her back to the two red-faced girls now stripped of their dignity.

“I recommend you both leave in the next two minutes before I become absolutely fucking unhinged. I have nothing to else to say right now. You’re out of your fucking mind.” She spat at Rox once more, pushing past Matt who was lingering in the door frame, silently witnessing the shitshow unfold.

Fucking stupid women. Straight bitches had to put up with some shit, but Jesus, they never had to deal with the levels of shithousery that this apartment had seen tonight. Rox could go fuck herself. In fact, she was welcome to go fuck whatever loose bitch she could coax into bed with her next. She’d made herself perfectly clear. She could come and pack her shit in the morning – Lillian was over it.

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

It was crazy.

One moment, Ash was like... trying to live in the moment or something. Forget what had happened tonight, and the day before that, and the week before that, and just... everything. She was just trying to not get wrapped up in her own thoughts, and try to just focus on the girl kissing her.

Oh god, Ash West was kissing a girl.

Don't think, don't think.

She was so focused on this moment that she didn't hear anyone else enter the house, and she didn't hear the bedroom door creak open, until the covers were ripped away and a bewildered Ash pushed herself up, blinking in confusion for a moment at a blonde girl who had walked in with a fucking baseball bat.

In her drunken haze, Ash couldn't quite put two and two together. At first, she just assumed it was an angry roommate or something -- even though that didn't make much sense, but then the expression on the girl's face clicked with her. The anger, barely managing to hide the look of hurt behind her eyes.

Clearly, she'd fucked someone that had a girlfriend.

It was like a sucker punch to the gut, one that left Ash kind of breathless -- because although she'd never walked in on it, she'd been in this same situation just a few months prior. She'd been standing before her boyfriend, watching as their relationship crumbled in front of her due to cheating.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

The girl took off, and Ash's mouth felt dry. It was just her, this cheating bitch, and some dude.

She pushed herself out of the bed, her hands fumbling to grab her shirt and pull it back on, before fumbling to pick her phone up from the ground. Every time she stooped over, the alcohol felt as if it rushed to her head, and the world started to swirl and spin, so as she straightened back up, she took a moment to let the world return to normal before she headed out of the bedroom and out of the apartment without risking a glance back.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Her fingers fumbled with her phone -- there were tears stinging at her eyes and, as she stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind her, she finally slowed down. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her hands shaking. A sleeve was angrily rubbed against her eyes to try and dry the tears, but just served to mess up the remaining mascara. With a shuddering breath, and one last glance back, she walked forward.

To be honest, Ash didn't really know where to go. She knew that she should just grab an Uber and head home, but it was still early in the night, so her friends were probably still at the party. And sure, showing up at the party in this state was undoubtedly a horrible idea, but, well...

It was better than being alone.

mood
ahahaha

location
NYE party

outfit
clothes

playing...
I Need Some Sleep

by Eels​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Rox, Matt, Lillian

tags
Harrowhark jazzyball dear.szmm

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Dalton & Ash

New Year's Eve. Lights, parties, fireworks, celebrations. Only Dalton wasn't in a very celebratory mood.

He was in a murderous one.

He was going to kill Nathan Woods. The fucking bastard. Dalton winced as he shifted, where he stood against the wall.

Bruised ribs. That was the doc's diagnosis. The only consolation he got was the fact that Woods' nose looked like it got smashed by a truck.

He would truck him right now, doctor's orders and party festivities be damned if it wasn't for the fact that the party was being held at bitch manor. AKA Adriane's place.

If he made a mess of her party at her place... just imagining having to deal with the aftermath was... annoying to put it simply. Thinking up the words to properly describe it was too much hassle for him to be bothered with at the moment.

He wasn't in the mood for a party and yet here he was and now, after hours of standing around, watching people do stupid things and mocking a few kids for being the idiots that they were he'd forgotten why he'd even come in the first place.

What was the reason? Oh right. To annoy people, like the other co-owners of this place, and to help himself to the free food and drinks they provided.

He'd happily helped himself to the stash while he judged people but now he was pretty bored and it was basically midnight at this point. It was time to find another source of entertainment.

Dalton had no interest in being bored out of his mind to start the new year, so he helped himself to one last drink then headed out the door, annoyed at the slight pang of pain that gripped his side as he walked.

A constant reminder of the bastard that was Nathan Woods and the fucking shit he'd pulled with Crosby and the gym. If he hadn't lost his balance and crashed into the gym equipment, he would have beaten him to a pulp there and then. Make that face of his unrecognisable.

Fuck.

Dalton scuffed his shoe on the ground as he exited the lobby and walked to his car, the cold air blowing in his face.

Now, what to do next.

----------------------​

Over the night, Ash had... pretty much made what felt like mistake after mistake. Like, not that any of that was necessarily new, but since Winter Ball and what had happened with Trevor had happened, Ash just... yeah, she kind of felt as if she were spinning out of control -- and nothing made that feel all the more real than tonight's series of events, from like... a kiss that should've been nothing, that shouldn't have brought about any feelings, to fucking a girl who had a fucking girlfriend.

Like what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck--

Ash wasn't into girls, she wasn't. She just never had been, so the fact that what had happened had happened, it was like... it was fucking with her more than she'd like to admit. Plus then there was the whole thing with Rox's girlfriend fucking showing up, and then there'd been all the yelling, and she never handled yelling super well, and her chest was squeezing, and her stomach kind of felt like it was churning, and--

She'd come back to the party because she didn't want to go home and be alone with her thoughts, and she was pretty sure that Eli or Cap or Gen or Newt or someone still had to be here, and she could convince them to do shots or something with her, and the already very inebriated girl could get just a little drunker. And the drunker she got, the less of tonight that she would remember, and... that would just be ideal.

But now that she was here, the idea of heading back inside was just too much. So instead, she found herself down near the cars, leaned back against one that she didn't recognize, her eyes closed as she took in deep, shaky breaths of the cool night air.

Just to calm her nerves, of course.

----------------------​

Dalton's eyes narrowed as he approached his car.

What the fuck? Who the hell was leaning on it?

He muttered under his breath as he drew nearer and the features of the figure grew clearer.

Blonde, short, eyes closed, seemed to be breathing unevenly. Come on, his car wasn't some therapy vehicle for people to take a rest on.

He stopped next to her, hands shoved deep in the pocket of his jacket. She didn't look too good but more importantly, she was blocking the door and he didn't need anyone getting sick on his car or next to it. She also looked vaguely familiar now that he was closer. Not that, that was surprising or he cared, the place was crawling with kids from HA. In fact it'd be more surprising if she was a complete stranger.

He toyed with the idea of just pushing her aside and getting in the car but his side throbbed in protest.

Damn this was annoying. This stupid chic- oh right. She was the other West. Sister of Pissy West. No wonder.

Dalton's fingers latched onto his car key in the pocket of his jacket as he spoke.

"Move."

----------------------​

Yeah, she'd heard someone walking in this direction, but it wasn't like she'd expected them to come towards her. Like, come on, there were a million cars out here -- what was the chance that she was taking a breather on the car of whoever was out here? Low in her opinion, so she hadn't moved.

Until the steps had sounded as if they'd grown closer, and then Ash did bother to open her blurry eyes. And just as he'd tried to place her name to a face, she did the same -- except that it didn't take her nearly as long as to place him. Dalton Kirby. One of the fashion like... one of the kind of bad boy grr types that seemed to make up the majority of the male portion of the fashion department. She was sure she'd heard his name tossed around by Gen or Evie from time to time.

She'd watched him, assuming he'd keep going, except he didn't. Except he came towards the car instead. As he came to a stop by her, Ash's body tensed a bit, a little bit confused until he spoke and she remembered that, oh yeah, she was leaning against someone's car.

Woops.

She glanced back at the car, and then back up at Dalton's face.

Well...

He wasn't one of her friends, but he definitely didn't seem like the kind of dude to do a lot of talking, and... well, what could she say? She was bored, and she needed a distraction.

"Where are you going?" She asked, remaining where she was.

----------------------
​

Was it some kind of requirement that you had to be annoying to be a West?

Most people would just move and get but Pissy West's sister, either she didn't care or she'd screwed up her head. Whichever it was, didn't matter in the least, the only thing that mattered, was the fact that she remained parked in front of his car door and didn't seem like she was going to move until he answered her.

Which he didn't want to. Wasn't any of her business, and he didn't want to associate with Pissy West's sister. Yeah he still couldn't recall her name, other than the fact that it sounded rather stupid.

She certainly had more guts than her brother though, which on this deathly boring night, was fairly interesting. The standards were pathetically low.

"Somewhere. Now move."

As mildly interesting as she seemed compared to this pathetically boring night, he still had no interest in associating with a West.

----------------------​

God, he really was no fun, was he? Of course, he was still better than being alone, and maybe there was a little something about the clearly harsh attitude and snippy words that kept her stationed right where she was. Yeah, Ash had never been great with this -- she'd be the type to flee more when things were quiet and calm than in situations like now, and perhaps that's why she remained standing right where she was, unflinching and unmoving.

Consider her intrigued, to say the least. The quiet guys were always the most fun, and maybe some part of her was unmoving because he reminded her of... well, not Trevor, but past flames.

(Yeah, she was doing great.)

Instead of moving, she tilted her head to the side, studying him. Her eyebrows drew together slightly, lips pressed together as she contemplated for a moment her next action. The smart thing to do would be to step back, flip him off or something, and head inside to finish what she'd come here to start. Find one of her friends and waste away the remainder of the night taking shots or whatever with them.

But if the night had proven anything, she was a master of making the wrong decision every chance she got.

So instead of doing that, her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth, a deep breath filled her lungs, and then she exhaled with a bored sigh.

"You're no fun," Ash stated. "But..." she glanced in the direction of the party -- JJ's fucking party, and then back at the basic stranger. "Neither is this party. Want some company? It's, like, still really early."

It wasn't, but that wasn't important.

----------------------​

Of all the things he thought she might say, that hadn't been one of the things he considered.

Did he want the company? No, not really, she could turn out to be a fucking pain in the ass like her brother and he didn't want to babysit, but she didn't seem like she was going to budge.

...

Fuck it.

If she got to be a pain in the ass along the way, it wouldn't be too difficult to throw her out then. At least she seemed to possibly be capable of being mildly entertaining.

"Suit yourself." He said, jerking his head in the direction of the other door as he clicked the button to unlock the door.

"Other side."

----------------------​

There was a little part of her that was excited because, like, ha she still had it or... whatever. And also because the distraction she wanted? Here it was, in the form of... this guy. Dalton Kirby. Not something Ash had ever thought she'd say, or think, or whatever, but it was what it was.

With a smug smile on her face, the tiny blonde finally stepped away from the driver's side. Sure, she knew he could've driven away right there, he could've just been lying and refused to unlock the door, but... she was hoping that she actually did have some game and she'd managed to actually convince this dude that she couldn't really read (so like, she wasn't sure what he was really thinking) to bring her along with.

Stupid? Yes. Very.

Well, she didn't think he was, like, some kind of homicidal maniac, so chances were she'd be fine.

Ash headed over to the passenger side, hand closing on the handle and... a relieved smile spread across her lips when it opened.

----------------------​

The car ride? Quiet. Attempts at small talk? Met with more single word answers. The result? Rather boring, and she knew about nothing more about the guy than she had to start off with.

God, he was grumpy.

But at least he hadn't yelled at her or something yet, so really, he was still perfectly okay in her book.

When they'd gotten to his apartment, she'd hopped out of the car and followed after him. This... this wasn't something she normally did and yet here she was, on some stranger's doorstep for the second time that night. How Gen did this for as long as she had was beyond Ash.

"So..." she started as she stepped inside after him, glancing around the apartment. "Nice place."

----------------------​

How the hell had they ended up here?

Dalton had driven off intending to head, well... not back to his apartment.

It was the fucking ribs. Fucking Nathan Woods. The more he'd driven, the more his side had seized up and that had screwed with his plans of going for a long drive and made him even more quiet than usual.

So he'd ended up here, at his apartment, with an extra guest in tow.

He stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, not bothering to turn on the lights and paying little attention to the girl who had followed him home.

It was pretty obvious what she was thinking as she looked around the place.

A hookup hadn't been in his plans but frankly at this point, he wasn't opposed.

She was decently attractive, hot, whatever you wanted to call it and a hookup seemed a lot more attractive now that his plans had been screwed with.

He had nothing better to do anyway and well, her words made her seem mildly nervous which could make this a lot more entertaining.

He took a step towards her, swallowing up the distance between them in the dark apartment, a small smirk forming on the corner of his lips.

"Are you gonna just keep staring?"

----------------------​

No lights were turned on and in the darkness, her heart started to beat a little faster. The only light coming in through the windows from the street lamps outside, and the stars and moon illuminating the sky. She was thankful for the darkness, hoping that it maybe hid the nervous blush that was reddening her cheeks, or made it harder to notice how her chest was shaking with every breath.

She watched as he approached, until he was close enough that there was nowhere for her to look except to tilt her head up and meet his gaze. Her eyes flickered about, studying his expression. He was smirking, which just kind of made her both a little more annoyed, but also made her pulse pound. This was it, what she'd come here to do, but now they were actually face to face, alone and in a darkened apartment...

Was she panicking a little bit?

Definitely.

Ash didn't do this -- not with guys she didn't know.

His words pulled her out of her twisting thoughts, and she swallowed the bundle of nerves clogging up her throat. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, even as a faint smile was formed. She stepped forward until the space between them was completely gone, her hands reaching forward to press against his chest. She lifted up onto the balls of her feet so she was closer to Dalton's face because he was, like, way freaking taller than her.

"I don't know," she replied, "are you just gonna keep standing there?"

----------------------​

Dalton threw back a laugh, ignoring that damn shot of pain from his side.

West number two was full of surprises -- yeah he still didn't know her name -- which made this a lot more entertaining.

If the situation and him towering over her in the darkness of his living room unnerved her, she certainly wasn't showing it, and well, he had to admit it was a little more amusing than her simply jumping back like a scared little doll or anything.

"Do you want me to?" He asked, looking down to meet her gaze.

He was a lot taller than every girl he knew but with no space between them, she felt even shorter and as much as he enjoyed looking down on others, looking down this much, at this close a distance? Let's just say he didn't want to do that for too long.

So he reached down and put his hands around her waist, lifting her up to him so that her face was closer to his own. He fought back against the stab of pain that shot up his side in protest, mentally cursing it into submission. It had been over a week since he took that hit from Woods at the gym but the damn injury was persistent. Probably because he refused to rest as the stupid doctor said but he'd be damned if he had to act like a cripple or wounded soldier because of Woods.

"Huh, you're a lot heavier than you look for someone so small." The smirk widened as he spoke, a mask to help him try and keep any signs of pain or agitation from his face. The words were a lie of course. She was as light as he expected (yes, light, ignore the tiny strain it took for him to lift her, that's the fault of Nathan Fucking Woods) but where was the fun in telling her that?

----------------------​

His question was stupid because obviously, she was here, and obviously, the answer was no. The brief look of annoyance, the way her lips fell into a frown at his words was, honestly, probably something that he'd enjoy. Clearly, he was a dick -- like, she could just tell that from the little ways he spoke, how he acted. Yeah, she was like, ninety percent sure that she had him completely figured out by this point.

Daddy or mommy issues (or both -- probably both), some kind of issue with life, convinced that it was coming for him in particular. You know, those guys that just turned on everyone with a vengeance because they didn't know how else to deal with, like... well, with anything. He was clearly one of those guys.

And she liked it.

It was familiar.

Ash may not have known how to deal with guys like Trevor, but she sure as heck knew how to deal with guys like Dalton. She knew how to get what she wanted, she knew how to keep them from getting triggered, and she just... she knew them. So no, the little bit of nerves that she'd had started to dissipate when he'd spoken, and then faded entirely when he lifted her up.

Her heart was pounding in her throat, but for different reasons than before. She was eye level with him now, her arms moving to wrap around his neck. She studied his face once again, and yeah, she'd somehow gone from starting this entire interaction with this absolute dick unsure of what he was thinking to deciding that she had him basically completely figured out. He was straight forward.

It was nice.

He spoke again, this time with a slight insult towards her weight, which just caused a roll of the eyes from Ash. Normally, those words would've stung, especially with the girl that had ahh... well, not issues, but--

Unimportant. It was unimportant.

But she was drunk. She wanted to forget.

"I like you a lot better when you're not talking," Ash said.

And then she finally gave in, and kissed him.

----------------------​

Welcome to every romance movie ever made.

The classic lift and kiss. He now knew more about her than perhaps most people did. The feel and taste of her lips, how good she was with a kiss, the weight of her body in his hands, the smoothness of her skin, the list went on and was growing and yet he still didn't know the most basic thing about her.

Her fucking name.

Not that it mattered or made a difference. He knew who she was. Pissy West's as of yet unnamed sister who seemed to have quickly become comfortable with the situation. Shame. It would have been funny to see her react like how he imagine her brother might.

Actually no, scratch that, that would have been annoying. A nuisance really, and he didn't want to deal with a nuisance tonight, not one he had one already sticking right in his fucking side and reminding him every few seconds.

Fuck.

His lips still locked on hers, Dalton walked over to the bar stool parked by the high table and set her down, leaning into her so that her back was pressed against the table. His hands shifted to rest against the table, one hand accidentally knocking into a forgotten bottle of water that tipped over and spilled onto them.

He drew back and glanced down to assess the damage caused, a smirk still on his face.

"Whoops."

That, was a genuine accident.

----------------------​

See, now this was the kind of distraction that she actually wanted. Less talking, more just making out, and like... yeah, sure, he was a good kisser, and it was nice, and this was just... like... nice. For the first time tonight (or, rather, in a while), it actually felt like everything was going alright, and nothing was going to ruin it. If she just shut off her brain

He carried her across the room, setting her rather roughly on a stool, but it was whatever. She was too enthralled with the feeling of his lips on hers, her hands tangled in his hair, the feeling of his fingers on her skin to really think too much on that, or to be annoyed with the edge of the table digging into her back.

However, the feeling of cold water splashing across her did make Ash gasp, leaning away from him and breaking the contact as she looked to the side to see that he'd knocked over a water bottle, spilling water across the table and both of them.

And when she looked back up at him, all he could say was "whoops," that stupid smirk still on face.

Her eyebrows furrowed together, lips pressing into a small frown. "Dick," she grumbled, and then smacked the back of her hand against his chest.

----------------------
​

Fuck that hurt.

The suddenness of the blow which happened to catch him right in the area where his ribs got bruised, made him visibly wince.

Normally a hit like that wouldn't have bothered him in the least but thanks to the fucking bruise it stung.

He was definitely going to kill Woods one day, letting him off with a messed up nose was too light a punishment for the bastard.

----------------------​

There was no unneeded, smug comeback, no smirk, nothing that she had expected. For a moment, Ash just looked up at him, rather confused -- because either she'd suddenly grown, like, really super freaking strong, or there was something really wrong with the boy in front of her.

"Are you okay?" Ash asked first, but she immediately regretted that, because that was always the wrong thing to say. People... well, people like him wouldn't respond with an appropriate answer. She'd probably just get snarkiness back.

"What's wrong? Do you, like, need to go to a doctor?"

Better. Not much, but better.

----------------------
​

No, he did not need the doctor nor did he want to go to the doctor and the fact that she had to ask him that, well, it annoyed him.

He hated it, the fact that he'd shown weakness because of Woods' punch, and the fact that she'd noticed, though honestly, she would have had to be dead drunk or blind to miss it.

No reason to acknowledge it though and Dalton certainly didn't plan to, so as if he didn't miss a beat and nothing happened, his smirk returned to his face.

"Doctor?" He repeated raising an eyebrow as his hand wrapped around her wrist. He kept his eyes on hers as his hand slowly guided hers to the collar of his button up shirt, pressing it gently against the fabric.

"You don't need to create an excuse if you want to conduct a close up examination you know, if you want to play nurse, all you have to do is ask."

----------------------​

Of course, leave it to this guy, who'd said maybe ten words the entire night, to really only talk when it was something sexual. She was somewhat caught off guard, and that was made evident by the slight dropping of her jaw.

She recovered quickly, however, eyes narrowing slightly as he guided her hands to the collar of his shirt. Her tongue pressed against her cheek, her eyes moving to try and see the buttons of said shirt in the dim light. Her fingers started to undo the buttons, but Ash made sure to take her sweet time.

"I don't know..." she started absently, "like, are you really up for this? I mean, I wouldn't want to, like, hurt you, and I mean, you really looked like you were about to cry from just that little smack..." Her fingers slowed the longer she spoke, until they stopped with his shirt about halfway undone. Now, she lifted her gaze to look back up at him.

Curiosity was truly going to be the death of her one day.

"I mean, I'm just saying, I don't think you're alright if you can't even take a hit from me."

And to prove said point, she again hit him by the ribs, but this time harder than she had before.

----------------------
​

She took her time to undo the buttons on his shirt, that didn't bother him, nor did her little act of stopping halfway, but fucking hell.

What was wrong with this girl? That was twice now that she'd struck him.

Did she have a punching fetish or something? It hurt a lot more now but he certainly wasn't going to admit it.

So he played it off best as he could.

"Ouch." He said, making his voice as dramatic and sarcastic as he could manage and pretending, well not really, to double over in pain. And for the record, no, it didn't actually hurt as badly as he was pretending it did.

He seized the hand that had struck him, twice now, and held it up, his other hand pressed against the table, his body leaned in. No, he was not using the table to support his weight and ease the pain that was throbbing in his side.

"Well that's not how you treat a patient." He leaned in closer till his mouth was by her ear then whispered. "That's going to cost you doctor."

He wasn't joking about that. She was definitely going to pay for hitting him twice.

----------------------​

Ope. There was a small squeak from Ash as he grabbed her hand and held it up so she couldn't smack him again. He leaned forward, and she was pressed further against the table. Her heart was pounding, again for different reasons than every instance before, as she watched him. He leaned in closer to her, and her free hand instinctively reached out to touch his chest again, her hand grabbing the fabric of his shirt.

He leaned in closer to her, and Ash's heart picked up speed. Fuck, she felt as if she almost couldn't even breathe.

Well fuck.

She tilted her head so that they were face to face again, her breath coming in shaky little gasps. It was... she didn't really know. Weird or something, having him pressed so close to her, but not like a bad weird or anything.

For the second time that night (or maybe eighth or whatever), she decided to say fuck it and again pressed her lips to his.

----------------------
​

She kissed him. Hmmm. Could she not do anything besides throw her hands and lips around?

Whatever. A kiss was better than her trying to hit him again with her one free hand which was instead latched onto his half unbuttoned shirt.

As Dalton indulged her in the kiss, his eyes flicked back to look at the pool of water on the table behind her. He'd clean that up later, or actually... she could clean that up.

Letting go of her hand and taking her by the waist, Dalton hoisted her up the short distance from chair to table, maintaining the kiss the whole time as he leaned in to her, effectively pushing her back until she was lying on top of the table, her already damp clothes soaking up even more of the spilt water.

Perfect. He broke the kiss and pulled back, hands pressed against the surface of the table as he hovered over her, one hand making sure to keep the offending arm that hit him twice in place.

His little smirk was back on his face as he looked at her, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Consider that a little payback."

----------------------​

Things were growing great, or so she'd thought until she was laid down on the table, and she let out a gasp as cold water soaked into her shirt and touched her skin. Once the shock had subsided, she found herself glaring up at Dalton.

Payback. Jerk.

He was lucky he was hot, otherwise she probably wouldn't still be here, entertaining him.

"You're an asshole," she breathed out, shaking her head against the table, her tongue pressing against the front of her teeth. Yeah, there was a little part of Ash that couldn't really believe that she was here right now like this with a literal stranger, but ummm... well, the rest of her? The rest of her was understanding what Gen and Evie had always been on about when it came to, like, not dating or whatever.

This was way more fun.

So, with her free hand, she fumbled with the last few buttons of his shirt, and--

Uhh.

Well.

Ya know.

Fade to black.

playing...
You Look Better When I'm Drunk

by White Tie Affair​

this post was made in collaboration with
@Xed

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º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

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Chas Marino

Stoop to mine, I'll stoop to yours.

"Goodnight, Hollywood Arts.

It was always my intention to change the world. Now, I won't lie—it was mostly to create an ideal reality to sip cocktails by the pool and read rave reviews from my robust literary fandom. But what they don't tell you before entering high school, or the industry, or any setting filled with strangers that give you dirty looks, is that the world changes you. And then—get this—you find out that this little microcosm, this speck of dust clinging to a vast, cosmic blanket of pitch black, was just a bubble all along. There are more options than conforming and rebelling.

I went to coffee a few weeks ago with a friend.

Actually, I lied. I was with Alex, and we hit a burger joint. I still ordered a hot coffee, but after about a dozen fries off her plate, I caved and flagged down our waitress. I asked for a veggie burger in true Malibu style. And I loved it. What may be more astonishing to learn is that not once did I take any calls, snap any photos, or even pull up a celebrity's Instagram and call their top unflattering. It was a great day, and I don't think she even knew how much it meant to me. If she did, that's embarrassing and I don't want to know.

Had I known that life after a fall from grace would be so liberating, I'd have done it all a decade ago. No one turns into a saint overnight (as a matter of fact, sleeping with one will do quite the opposite), but that day I lost my presidential position and, subsequently, the people who stuck with me through every last dig, argument, and selfish act... I came too close to rock bottom.

So long after the fact, as I sat and chatted over burgers with someone whose forgiveness I really didn't deserve, something awakened in me. Watching the edges of her cat-like eyes turn up in a smile, her lips spread cheek to cheek with laughter, and the hearty rise and fall of her living, breathing chest, a pang of guilt thumped into my own like the blood-hungry thrust of a knife. And it twisted, until all I could perceive was the sheer agony of living in the shell of none other than my former self.

I've always been my own biggest fan, but for the first time, I couldn't stand to sit alone with myself. I had begged, wallowed, admitted defeat, and given up everything to make up for the person I once was. But living in a façade like that, there's never an end. People carried on, even Charlie Howell, whose future I nearly dashed on a whim. Even Nate and Evelyn, the poster children for people who don't love themselves. Even Ezra, who I pushed away because he had the smug, self-gratifying audacity to look after my well-being. I think I owe the most thanks to Casey, but I think we're all familiar with that one by now.

I thought everybody hated me. And maybe they did—or do—but, somehow, it was me who had yet to move on. I was so alone. But we all are. Every day we learn to live with ourselves, but the greatest battle is learning to live with our true selves: the good, the bad, and the super duper ugly, looking at you, Dalton. In fact, this year, I learned how to swallow my pride without spitting it back up. If Auguste can admit he's better suited as an assistant than a dancer, then surely I can admit framing my best friend was a little mean.

I'm awful. And I'll never concede that side of me. One time, I told JJ to swallow lipstick because it'll finally make her pretty on the inside. And then I almost fed it to her dog, who peed on Adriane's brand-new Balenciagas.

There's no point to that story. I just thought it was funny. Anyway, standing up on this podium, feeling the hot, burning hatred of my peers melting onto my skull, I can't help but smile. Because I regret nothing, and I never will. I know I'll get by fine; there's always a place in Hollywood for me. It's an ugly place, and that'll never change, much to my benefit. So get used to hearing the name Chas Marino on the headlines, doing what celebrities do. Maybe one day, you'll be able to brag that you watched this live. I mean, do you people know how much a story about an A-lister's high school drama would sell for? Imagine telling the internet an international celebrity knew your name once.

I actually had this whole thing written years in advance. Every writer I consulted gave me the perfect formula for a viral graduation speech, no matter who the speaker was. But I deleted it. Erased it, tore it up, rid every last word from my files and personal memory. Because nothing matters. People with the resources I have always make it far, so it doesn't really matter what I say anymore. I'll bounce back.

So, with all said and done:

All of you suck. Fuck you, fuck the industry, and especially fuck this stuck-up, elitist high school. You'll never get rid of me. So goodnight, Hollywood Arts, and thank you for everything. You'll never know how happy it made me to meet you all."

And so it goes. Was it dead silent, or was the crowd roaring with an unprecedented round of unified applause? Even if they booed and threw whatever they could manage onto the stage, Chas could hardly care. It was a trembling, dizzy walk off, each step weightier and shakier than the last. It was all over, but the glistening tears in his eyes said this feeling would never end.

"Au revoir."

code by valen t.

 

[hery]

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Veronica Crosby

It was just a kiss!

It's summer now, if that isn't obvious enough from the blistering heat combined with an overflow of sun-kissed tourists dotting the street. I'm still a tourist, in a way, having only been a habitant of Los Angeles for a little under a year. It was an entire year, but I still can't really say I know what to make of it.

Where most love, and then lose, I totally did the reverse. Sure, I was never without friends and fun and oh-so-gorgeous boys to tease, but it all felt superficial before I came to the one, the only: Hollywood Arts, Where Stars are Born. Inconsequential. If someone had told me I'd get the guy of my dreams—and then find out I totally didn't want him—I'd have laughed so hard I snorted. Because, like, what?

I don't like being pitied, even when I have to. My mom tells me I have a way of putting myself in those positions, mostly so I can toy with people and get my way after a few crocodile tears. But then that would render every actual trip, fall, smeared eyeshadow, and moment of weakness null. I do cry a lot, and most of it is over stupid stuff, but it means something to me. It meant something when I had to find out Nickie Abrams, a girl who I thought I could lean on, actually couldn't stand me. I sobbed so hard I couldn't even discern my running nose from the rivers rushing out of my eyes.

So I laughed when she failed. Anyone who says to "act, not react" has obviously never set foot in a theater before. I took her ex-boyfriend out on a date, then I played with his heart until I got bored. I don't think I'll ever know if Hunter fell for me, or for the show I put on for him. I admit my blunder there. Something about being so close to happiness and to love was inspiring in the most painful sense there is. I'm freaking Taylor Swift, guys.

I know I haven't always done the right thing, but one thing I will never say is that it was for nothing. Zeph taught me that part, in a kind of backwards way. I don't think he knows it, at least. I do wish he knew that, of everything I've been through, he's the one exception. He's my only regret.

Hurting him gave me nothing. As in, it didn't make me sad at all. Or happy, obviously. Maybe a little mad that I couldn't be sad, but my point stands. In the hundred-act play that unfolds in every waking moment of my life, there were few times the chorus shut their mouths. I thought that made Zeph special for a little while, because maybe his eccentric little head had something no one else did, something that made the voices subside.

Little did I know, I was projecting it all right onto him. There was always a tension that hung between us as we caught up in the halls, clearing things up when I knew the fog in Zeph's mind would never truly dissipate with a simple apology. I think I regret him so much because he didn't seem like he belonged in my play, though he still somehow managed to get all jumbled up in the plot. It felt like one day, he just stumbled along into my life and got in my way enough times that he wrote himself a role.

So, when I kicked him around and tossed him side to side, he had nowhere to go. There's no purpose giving screen time to a character who won't break your heart back, or tell you why you messed up, or make you pay in some twisted, psychological way. That's kind of why it hurt so much to watch Stella walk away from him that night. I may be a vindictive little she-devil, but god it was a punch in the gut having a front row seat to a pure example of why the world isn't made for good people.

Anyone could see the pain in Stella's eyes, even as her silken locks, gorgeous dress, and perfect lips fruitlessly attempted to command all attention. They were a perfect couple. Selfishly, my heart sank because it scared me. It scared me because a girl so perfect, so beautiful inside and out, couldn't stand a chance trying to make it worth a guy whose intentions were nothing but the purest. It was supposed to work!

But love stories are longer than a few chapters. Most of my life kind of felt like a prologue until Homecoming. It was like my soul was being dipped in ink and splattered onto paper, words gliding page to page until I realized the meaning to life didn't have to be so obscure and unattainable. It was right there in front of me, crystal clear for my mind to read. Drama like that played back in my head often, and I'd be lying if I said it still doesn't.

As much as a shy, apprehensive girl like Kelli bewildered me, it came from a place of understanding, like a therapy circle or oddly-specific browser ads. I realized that she was just me, but a few years back. She was a perky flower bud, not daring to open up and spread its petals for the fear of being blown away in the wind. How could I tell her, in good conscience, that it was safe? How could I convince her that the risk if worth it?

The real play, Pippin, was a good enough example. Everybody loved Fondy, a surprise that sent a surge of prickly guilt up my spine. He was a better actor than many of the kids I know who've been doing this for years. I'd like to say it was my allure as a literal and theatrical love interest that sold it for him, but even that would be underselling the brilliance of everyone we got to play with. I was so happy they took a chance on me and the show. I couldn't stop the tears on closing night, and I know they were real because my face burned bright, hot red as they trickled down my freckled cheeks. Being able to switch it on and off for so long, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to truly experience a sudden rush of emotion.

With the stage lights shining in my face, the beady eyes of the crowd weighing on me, I could sense tons and tons of pressure sitting on my shoulders, but I stood up with everything I had, and a smile to boot. I was particularly proud of that night. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could really hear the crowd as they cheered and clapped and whistled for all of the oversized marionettes bowing onstage. I could have sworn I even saw a certain short, stocky model with the hint of a smile standing in the doorway.

It felt so, so good.

Even as I stand on the hillside, all of these wonderful, awful, unbelievable memories swarming around my head, I can't help but smile and shed a true, genuine tear. It races down my wooden, ornately painted cheek, dripping onto the string of fate that keeps my joints suspended in the air. I raise a finger to my cheek, swiping the water away from the glass eye nestled in my carved-out eye cavity. The other toy hand flips my bright red, twine hair to the side, readying myself for the puppet show that must go on.

I'm meeting someone here today. It's another guy, and he's bringing cheese and wine, because some things never change. And I don't think they should, not when I have two more years to become what the divine, untouchable Gen Johannes promised me I could become. Everyone who gave me the time of day, bad or good, silently urged me to go on, as every bit of criticism and praise built a shell strong enough to withstand the test of Hollywood. And worse, high school.

It is with a bittersweet smile that I say, "See you soon, Hollywood Arts!" I'll keep the seats warm while you're gone.

code by valen t.

 

[hery]

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Javier Cervantes

Break my heart, why don't you?

April 1st, 2021, I was told I no longer had a place as a student of Hollywood Arts. Not two months from graduating, not seven since I first arrived at the school, and not fifteen from when I was kicked from my last school. As believable as it was in the grand scheme, I first thought it to be a joke. What kind of sick bastard drops a bomb like that on April Fool's Day? A fool, I tell you.

When the vice principal stepped into my math class, his stern frown and hollow eyes pointed straight into my skull, I knew the news would be anything but good. I stood up quietly, slung my backpack over my shoulders, and kept my head down. A shadow was cast over my face, which was stony in its resting state. No matter how often it was, I could never get used to the sensation of having about six dozen eyeballs scanning every feature of my sturdy, hunched form. It was suffocating.

"Here goes Javi again. Wonder if he broke someone's nose this time." I knew what they were thinking. "How'd he even get into this school? I bet Ricky took pity on him." The teacher quickly resumed his lecture, but I was aware of the whispers that would ensue; the butt-end of schadenfreude has plagued me for all my life.

When I stepped into his office, a cold, eerie place I knew all too well, I noted that the vice principal's composed mien was lacking any and all traces of animosity. If you'd met the guy for a second, you'd know he had a tendency to let it slip even through the professional way in which he carried himself. He asked me to take a seat. I called him a pinche careverga. A fucking dickface.

Then I sat down. My calloused hands balled into tight fists, furious that we had finally reached the inevitability I swore that I would prove wrong. The vice principal began to drone on about public image, laced with prejudiced hearsay about my behavior at school, because I'm somehow worse than the other kids punching each other's teeth out in the halls as we spoke. He began to insinuate that I was giving out something I shouldn't. What, did he want me to produce a seller's permit? It was all very routine, and not a drop of sweat formed between the two of us as he went on listing my infractions.

I wasn't really listening. As though blown out like a candle, the resolve I held onto drained from my body like the blood that rushed out of my blanched, indignant face. The exuberant life that rattled my angry, trembling fists slipped away, leaving my fingers to unclasp and fall to my sides. It was hopeless, but as the word escaped his lips, I let out a sigh of relief, a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in for so long.

Expulsion.

I didn't even ask what this one was for. I'm sure he said what they caught me for; they're legally obligated, after all. I was familiar with the process. I'd be suspended, get a hearing, and a lawyer if I wanted one. I imagined myself standing before the school board again, feeling so puny and declawed by the giant, fountain pen-wielding administrators that towered over me in their stand. Just like last time, the light would be nauseatingly bright and artificial, washing the color out of my already-drained form.

I imagined Maddie, Dorian, and their mother in that stand, laughing and ridiculing me for being the violent dropout I am. Was it due process if everyone involved already knew the ending? Not once did I ask for a second chance, not when I didn't even have the first one. These are things they don't put in permanent records: the subjective—but just as meaningful—truth.

What that record doesn't contain is the pain in my chest when I had to hear from Angel and Lin that a baby was on the way, forever intertwining our fractured, disjointed families. This nightmare of being the black sheep would never end, setting my failures under an even larger magnifying glass. A nagging voice in the back of my head said that this was my divine punishment, a chain locked to my ankles for the crime of letting my brother drift away until I could hardly recognize who he was anymore. My wrists came together, locked in a pair by a tighter chain. It whispered sweet stories of love, informing me of things I had known for a long while. I wasn't so much of a fool to forget that the closer I came to finding my whole, the easier it was to rip it away and throw it on the next flight to New York City.

My brother was at the hearing. So were my mom, my dad, and my aunt cradling the baby all over tabloid headlines. It was the first time I found myself in the same room as her. Though I wanted so badly to burst into tears and writhe in agony for the dashed future this child represented, I couldn't help but let a faint smile stretch from my lips. She was just a baby. She didn't know how important she was. To every. Single. One. Of us.

I turned back toward the board, most of who were tapping their writing utensils on their surfaces with boredom. The woman in the middle sounded like she was reading a dictionary, her words cold, clear, and monotonic. I knew I had something they didn't. I knew, no matter what, that I was a performer. I may be losing the most significant opportunity of my lifetime, but at least I could keep a crowd awake.

JBN reminded me of that. When the music room door locked, or when we stepped onto the stage and poured our hearts and souls out to the audience, I nearly forgot who and where I was. I felt more than equal. It felt like, for the first time, I had something people didn't. In their rigid, heartless scoring system, I had somehow managed to scrounge up some value for myself. When I screamed, strummed, and hopped around center-stage, the energy radiating from my form colossal and powerful, it was electric. I would glance to my sides, grin wider than the Pacific, and give every fiber of my being to my performance.

I relished my spot on that pedestal, but I never felt raised sky-high. I thought to myself, if I wanted to, I could reach out and graze Ash's hand, which waved and extended toward me as I danced. She never missed a show if she could help it. It made my heart race, but it also grounded me, subduing the tempest raging within. I would often find myself grappling with the truth of that girl's identity. Did she know the effect she had on me? Did she get off on teasing me, or was it the last thing on her mind?

I came to realize, still shrinking away before the panel of district officials gathered before me, that I had no regrets. I'm a bad influence. Everyone I came into contact with, even Kali, Jojo, Zeph, the Johannes twins... for better or for worse, some of my most stupid, insignificant actions changed the trajectory of their lives forever, no matter to which degree. We're often told that our actions have consequences, but does anyone really stop and ponder on the meaning? Does anyone actually consider that our existences are so fleeting and absurd that a simple touch contains the temporal power of a thousand universes?

The hearing ended as one would expect. I decided, finally, that it was maybe time to retire on the whole "school" thing. So long, Hollywood Arts, you've served me well. No one has to agree with what I've done, or where I choose to go from here, but it's my choice and mine alone. I stepped out of that building with a smile on my face, but I hid it. The last thing I needed was for my family, who could only stare at me with conflicted disappointment, to accuse me of insanity. I don't want to know what the loose gears in my skull look like. I already know I'm fucked up, and maybe a little lacking somewhere in the brain.

Now I stand in my apartment, my roommates out at real jobs, contemplating my next move. Thank the lord the school didn't find anything in my possession, otherwise I'd be stuck strumming tunes with floss in juvy. Again. The only regret I harbor is not stealing a nicer bass while I had the chance, but I'm sure Kian will find it in himself to lift one for me.

The band is coming over soon. I should probably put some pants on...

code by valen t.

 

[Kitsune2202]

mood :

It's been a long Night

location :

The roof

outfit :

Tags:

@Xed

interactions :

Spencer & Maggie

Collab Post

Spencer & Magnolia

"Hey!"
"Watch it!"
"Woah! Dude!"
"Ow! Jeez! What's wrong with him?"

Normally Spencer would have followed those angry shouts with an apology and a bow of his head, maybe even an offer to make it up to them, but right now?

All he wanted was to get out. To exchange this suffocating room drunk with the scent of alcohol and hard partying for somewhere he could breathe. Where he had space to himself.

The move to LA was supposed to be a good thing. He was better, he'd gotten better, but memories, ghosts of the past had dogged his every footstep since he moved here, as if reminding him - warning him not to forget. That he couldn't forget.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he shouldn't have returned to dance at all.

As much as he loved it, could he really dedicate himself to a life of dancing when it was effectively what killed Sheryl?

He knew it was stupid, that, that wasn't the case. The arguments, words, they'd been drilled into his head countless times but at the end of the day if he hadn't been so obsessed with dancing...

He couldn't shake it.

Even if it wasn't logical, even with all the other pieces in the equation that caused it - his brain kept dragging him back to one conclusion.

His decision to choose dancing over Sheryl led her to take her life.

A cold blast of air hit Spencer square in the face, snapping him out of his trance. His feet had just kept walking and walking while his mind did tailspins, and carried him all the way out of the apartment to... the roof.

A surprisingly quiet and empty roof, away from the chaos and the noise of the parties happening down below and throughout the city. Only the moonlight and cool night breeze for company.

He hadn't planned to come up here but maybe he'd just stay a while, just sit against the wall and breathe.
____________________________

How long had Maggie been up here? When did she get up here? Both very good questions that she definitely didn't have the answer to. From the moment she arrived at the party she'd been drinking and heavily. She'd indulged her friends, talked to a super hot blonde even though that went sideways real quick and after that? She honestly had no idea what happened. But she was here now kinda sobering up? The fresh air help. Did she doze off at some point? Nobody but god knows she supposed.

This wasn't how she should be and she knew it. She was going a bit over board and she liked to chunk it up to her image, and trying to console Josie, but there was a nagging feeling in the back of her head that told her there was more to the story. There was always more to the story when it came to her, but up here right now...it didn't seem to matter.

Her story or the reasons behind it didn't matter. The life of the party, the expectations where all a distant foggy memory in this very moment.

She opened her eyes to gaze at the beautiful starry night and her mind began to wonder. Wonder what she was really doing anymore. How lost she'd become in all the chaos both self inflicted and out of her control. She was still too drunk to even begin to make sense of it and it made her want to laugh, but not out of joy. Self pity maybe? Thinking about all the mess that always seems to lay in her wake.

The only thing that snapped her from her thoughts was the sound of foot steps. She was to drowsy to put much effort in figuring out who was now up there with her so she just closed her eyes and called out to them, "Best seat in the house is still open if you're wondering." and she patting beside where she was laying but she didn't even know who she was talking to. "Don't worry I don't bite unless you want me too." She joked with a light giggle. "But really it's great out here, take a look." She grinned pointing up towards the sky.
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Scratch the part where he thought he'd only have the wind and moonlight for company, someone was already up here and inviting him to join them.

Not that he was really in the mood for that. The only thing that kept him from refusing the offer and heading off was the exhaustion bearing down on his shoulders and the faint familiarity of the voice he heard.

He looked over and under the dim lighting of the night sky, he faintly recognized the individual. Maggie. He had to admit he was slightly surprised, she didn't seem the kind to shy away from the party from what he had learned, if anything she was probably the type to thrive at the center of one. But then everyone had multiple sides to them and the first time they'd met at the arts festival, there had been hints of something else hiding behind her usual bright smile and cheer in her words.

Music was the one place where she felt her voice was heard.

They'd stuck with him till now because they had reminded him of how he had never truly listened to Sheryl. The pain of not being heard, of feeling like your voice didn't matter, he had never been a victim of that but as the perpetrator he knew just how crushing it could be.

"We seem to be running into each other a lot lately." Spencer remarked softly, his voice slightly strained as he closed the distance and sat down within her vicinity but still leaving some space between them.

If she was up here maybe she was like him, looking for an escape from the suffocating chaos of the party and celebration. Maybe he wouldn't be pressed to have fun like everyone else, and the sky, it was pretty, the tiny stars and faint silhouettes of clouds against the dark night, there was always something calming about it.

Normally he would have said a little more, made conversation but tonight he felt wrung dry.
____________________________

Maggie was pleasantly surprised by the slight delight she felt hearing the familiar voice. There were definitely only a few people whose voice brought her genuine happiness and oddly enough Spencer had slowly become one of them. How? She wasn't sure. Maybe because he always seemed to be around when she needed someone. Even know she was enjoying being alone up on the roof in a daze, but maybe the events the lead her their were the proof she was still in need of something more.

"I know right?" She giggled as he sat down she didn't ever look at him tho. He was there and that was enough for her in this moment. "I don't know about you, but I like it." She chimed softly.

Perhaps deep down she hoped the same could be said for him. that these little moments they've been able to randomly have together have benefited him to in some way. That maybe just maybe she is the source of something other then ruin, calamity, and chaos for someone.

"You know, you also seem to catch me when I'm..." She paused not quite sure how to phrase it. She wanted to say when she wasn't herself...but that wasn't true. If anything he usually caught her when she felt most herself. Right after a performance, sober for a whole night, and even now just waiting for her buzz to die down so she could think straight, so she could think like herself and not some crazed party animal.

That's what everyone else thought she was. Or as JJ so eloquently liked to call her a 'whore'. She didn't hold it against her, or any of them because that's exactly what she was supposed to be. That was her reputation. That was the image set before her to life up to, so how could she get angry at a truth she created? (w/the help of her family of course)

"Unusually myself..." She finally decided that was the closest she could get. For a lyricist you'd think she'd be better with words. Maybe only if music accompanied them could she accurately portray herself. "What about you? Have I met Spencer, or the Spence that's for everyone?" She hummed before closing her eyes a moment to relax, "Whichever the case...thank you." She didn't know why she felt compelled to say so, but it was genuinely from her heart. She was thankful for him in her life no matter the capacity and maybe he deserved to know that.
____________________________

Spencer stared up at the dark night sky as he listened to Maggie.

If only it could swallow him whole. The thought flashed in his mind as he pondered Maggie's question.

It was a good one and frankly... he didn't know if he knew the answer. The real Spencer or the Spence that's for everyone...

Now that she brought it up, his whole time here, he'd always been the Spencer that was for everyone. Not that he wasn't being himself in his interactions but rather... the curated version for lack of better expression. There were moments when that mask cracked of course and the parts he normally kept hidden away slipped out. Had any of those moments occurred in Maggie's presence?

Possibly, probably. He wasn't really sure, his brain was running on fumes, still a mess from earlier recollections and he just wanted to sit and not think. Just sit there and let the sky swallow him up.

Beside him Maggie continued to speak and the last words that left her lips made him pause before a bitter smile eventually crossed his face.

'Thank you'

He'd heard the words many times before for all kinds of things but somehow tonight, they sounded a little different, or maybe that was just the turmoil talking. If his mind had puzzled through the words right, she was thankful for him. Not for something specific he'd done or said, but just him...

"You shouldn't thank me." The thought slipped out of his lips in a quiet whisper before he realized he'd said them out loud. He'd never meant for her to hear that but then again, it was probably for the best that she knew.

"I'm not the kind of guy you should be thanking or grateful to know," he continued quietly, as his gaze dropped from the sky to the ground, "so you really shouldn't thank me, for anything."

If anything she should probably try to keep her distance, since the worst of him always found ways to slip out and hurt the people he knew, like his family and Sheryl, and probably Beth as well with the way he treated her just moments before.
____________________________

Maggie was prepared to continue after her lil spill to just sit in silence and enjoy the night with him. After all it didn't seem like he was in quite a talkative mood and she could respect that. She didn't want to babble too much and say things she shouldn't either.

Lord knows when she talks too much, or gets into her feelings for better or for worse things always wind up a mess. Truly a talent of hers to be so luckily unlucky in the areas that it counted.

Lucky enough to survive all the shit she puts herself and her body through...unlucky enough to survive long enough to watch it all burn to the ground around her.

But then his words slipped...and they struck a chord with her considering where her thoughts were roaming towards. Where they always roamed towards as she sobered up. that people should want her around, or in their lives. That she does nothing but ruin things, and peoples. She felt like Eris so powerful, so destructive, yet...so unhappy and envious of those who were and could be. A beautifully disastrous goddess.

"The fact that you think that? Probably means you're exactly the kinda guy who deserves to hear it most." She commented with her eyes still closed. she spoke assuredly because there was no doubt in her mind about that. Perhaps that was why she found it so easy to be herself around him? Maybe that's why he was able to witness the cracks in her armor...because he was used to wearing a similar brand.

"Especially from someone like me, who let's face it. Is a pitiful excuse of a human most days." She chuckled bittersweetly to keep her voice from cracking at the truth. "Maybe that's why...why I...feel seen with you. As more then a harbinger of chaos and destruction or a slut."

She placed her hands over her face to try and hide the mixed emotions yet smile on her face. She wanted to smile, she wanted to laugh, but she also wanted to cry. "Which is totally weird because you don't actually know me and I don't really know you, but...I feel like even if you did? You wouldn't be scared. Like you might be ok with me being exactly who I am, whoever that may be. Good, bad, somewhere in between, neither!" She took a deep breath to calm herself before moving her hands and opening her eyes to finally look at him.

"I'm sorry that is a lot to put on someone. You don't have to do any of that honestly. You don't have to be any of that. Whoever you are or wanna be? I like. You deserve the same saving grace you've given me after all. Even if we never speak or bump into one another again." She smiled for the first time tonight genuinely, and warm.

"Sorry...I was rambling again." She giggled scratching the back of her head, "Let me know if I'm ever talking your ear off ok. Trust me it won't hurt my feelings." She said now falling back into her trademark behavior with a playful wink. She could go back to playing her role now...now that he knew what's been on her heart this whole time. Yay for liquid courage!
____________________________

The words were kind. Kinder than he deserved. And they held a confidence he couldn't help but feel misplaced. It was comforting but conflicting. There was something about the words, the delivery, maybe because it was coming from Maggie, someone who held hints of scars herself, that made them feel less like curated speeches tailored specifically to try and steer him away from doing anything stupid or dangerous. It felt like he could believe what she was saying, like her words were real, but there was still that part of him, that voice that told him it was not the case, and that left him conflicted.

He listened quietly as Maggie continued, and his heart ached in sympathy at some of the words she said. He wanted to tell her that wasn't the case, that she was wrong and she wasn't a pitiful excuse of a human, that he didn't deserve the credit that she was giving him, but the words were lost to him.

Again he found himself stricken with that same feeling, that mix of warmth and guilt, comfort and conflict. Maybe he was capable of doing more than hurting those around him, but things always had a way of looking rosy at the beginning, the phrase honeymoon phase existed for a reason, and it didn't just apply to romantic relationships. The way she felt now, she could only say that because she didn't know him, didn't know the kind of person he could become.

Her words about him not being scared to know exactly who she was, the confidence she expressed, it put a bittersweet smile on his face. She was giving him way too much credit, he wasn't that good of a human being and if he could face her in her entirety without fear, it would be because he was far worse than because he was good or kindhearted.

"I'm sorry that is a lot to put on someone." It's fine.

"You don't have to do any of that honestly. You don't have to be any of that. Whoever you are or wanna be? I like." That's because you don't know me.

Then again, where she was giving him too much credit, he probably wasn't giving her enough.

"You deserve the same saving grace you've given me after all. Even if we never speak or bump into one another again." Even if we never speak again.

If he could speak to Sheryl again, what would she say now? Would she forgive him? Did he even deserve to speak to her again? And saving grace...

"I don't deserve any saving grace..." Spencer whispered under his breath as he fidgeted with his fingertips.

"You're fine." He told Maggie quietly as he pondered over the question.

...

...

...

No. He couldn't. Trying to imagine what Sheryl would say... it felt like a cop out... he couldn't...

"Thank you... for saying all that..." He paused, should he tell her? ...No. She didn't deserve to be burden with that, with the knowledge of his past, with the obligatory task of speaking words of comfort that came with it, "You're a good person Maggie... everyone has their faults and scars... that doesn't make you a monster or a pathetic human being," if only he could believe his own words when it came to himself. "I don't know everything about you... but I know you're a good person."

Too bad he couldn't say the same about himself
____________________________

Maggie heard his words, but what do you say to that? Most would say, "oh don't say that" or "you're wrong, don't talk about yourself like that" or blah blah blah. But Maggie wasn't most people.

She wasn't going to be dismissive of what he felt or what he thought. Like she said... she didn't actually know him, and he didn't actually know her. He didn't know the awful things she'd been involved in, and she had no idea the skeletons in his closet that were making him say such things. Even if contributed to this oddly unspoken connection...it wasn't enough on it own to determine the truth.

So no, she didn't push away his words, but she knew she couldn't fully embrace them either. Because to embrace them would be to dismiss her own feelings, which...she was tired of doing. "I guess for now? On both counts... we'll agree to disagree. What's the saying? Time will tell. What do you say? Do you mind sticking things out with me for a bit longer?" She hummed.

She meant of course not just tonight, but every night. The rest of this year, going through their senior year together and figuring things out. Figuring out if they really are bad as they believe themselves to be, or was saving grace actually an option for them?

Maybe she was terrible, or maybe she was like he said. Maybe he was wasn't deserving, but maybe he was like she said. For better for for worse she wanted to find out, and she wanted to find out with him. Worse case scenario? They are both the monsters they believe themselves to be and maybe just maybe even in that? Their demons play well together.

"Plus, you're still my friend right?" She asked a bit shyer then she originally intended, but honestly...she's never had to ask that of someone. She's never usually cared who came in and out of her life outside of Josie and Lucky and in those cases either their was clearly no need to ask and the other made the decision before she even got the chance to ask.

The fact she'd rambled so much, and felt this strongly, and comfortable around him meant she needed to know. She needed to know if he even wanted to know her, wanted to stick around...or if it was best not to expect anything else after all that. If at the end of it all she was just too much for him. She wouldn't hold it against him. She wouldn't hate him for it, or treat him any different. After all she'd come to terms with the fact she was simply too much for most people. It was of no fault of his if that was the case.

"Promise I won't get you into too much trouble." She joked playfully trying to lighten back up the mood. It was New Years...while she wasn't happy, she didn't wanna bring in the new year thinking the worst of herself. She could hear faint ruckus from inside the loudness had to mean it was almost time. She looked at her phone and the clock struck 11:59pm. "It's almost time!" She chimed excitedly turning her attention back to the sky.

This would be the first New years eve she'd remember in the past three years. She had to admit...she liked it. Of everyone she was probably around in the past? She was glad she'd remember this, she'd remember him. "Fireworks are the best part hands down of this silly holiday. Well this and 4th of July."
____________________________

"Do you mind sticking things out with me for a bit longer?"

He could ask her the same question. If she knew he was a guy who could say things he didn't follow through on, make all kinds of pretty promises and then turnaround and backtrack on them repeatedly with maybe no more than a meaningless bat of an eye, would she mind sticking it out with him at all? Every person had their limits, even when there sometimes seemed to be none.

Still, the question she asked, the implication that she didn't mind sticking things out with him, didn't mind his presence, it provided some comfort, and the temptation to sink into the warmth, the brief respite the words provided, even if only for a few seconds, overcame him. Until the voice came clawing back with a vengeance as he knew it would.

"Plus, you're still my friend right?"

He should have said no. Before he became too deeply involved, too deeply entangled, he should have pushed her away, keep a comfortable distance and just focus on dance like he had planned when he first came to LA. It wasn't that he was not going to have friends or that he didn't think of Maggie as one, but somehow in this moment, saying yes felt like it would tear down that comfortable distance he tried to maintain. And so he'd planned to say no, in order to maintain that distance, but when he turned to look at her, to say that word, a different one formed on his lips.

"Yeah..." He couldn't say no. "We're friends." Not to someone who seemed to be hurting under the surface, to someone who had offered him comfort. He didn't want to hurt her, hurt anyone, but he was setting her up for pain. He wasn't a good friend, his track record proved as much.

A weak chuckle escaped Spencer's lips as Maggie promised not to get him into too much trouble. If only she knew the kind of trouble he had caused before. Then again, maybe she wouldn't be that surprised.

He looked up as the fireworks exploded across the sky in a brilliant array of colours and lights, and it brought a whisper of a smile to his face as he watched them take over the sky and flame out almost instantaneously in succession.

"Thanks." He whispered. Talking to her, or really listening to her, if he had been alone, the voice and the memories would have probably overwhelmed him, but sitting with her, being in the presence of another scarred soul who understood, it made the night more bearable.

coded by reveriee.

 

[hery]

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Angel Cervantes

Head in the clouds...

I think, of all the approximately ten people present for Javi's expulsion hearing, I can recite the most of what was said, verbatim. I sat in my creaky, dinky seat between my dad and tía Isabella, hands folded in my lap. I tugged at the collar of my shirt, anxiously fiddling with the buttons lined down my torso. I listened attentively throughout the process, and anyone who's known me for more than, like, a day knows how crazy that is.

Isabella seemed preoccupied with baby Lacey, who cooed affectionately as she was rocked gently in the young, beautiful woman's arms. I thought it unfair that, amid all this misfortune, she had the ability to remain so cool and composed, peaceful enough to form a passive smile on her face. It didn't look like she was very concerned with what was going on, but it still meant something to me that she'd made the effort to attend the hearing. Probably more than it was worth to Javier, who kept his eyes away from where his family was seated.

He made his peace with severing our ties. I don't know if I'll ever understand why or how he mustered the courage to do something like that, but I can't spend the rest of my life trying to peer inside his scowling, pensive head. I don't think the two of us were ever meant to understand each other. But I can say this with certainty: he knows this blip in history is going to change his life forever. It's the culmination of every single one of his sins and virtues, every choice made in vain and for something greater. As he finds himself before this metaphorical judge, jury, and executioner, it is now that he may face his Last Judgement.

All I ever asked was to be his Michelangelo. I thought, maybe, if I did things just right, I could paint him a path with my own feeble, powerless hands. A path leading straight to me, the brother who could never admit his jealousy for the other. I've been selfish, naïve, and oblivious. I think a part of me knew the way I was being, but I wasn't unwise enough to forget who I am for a false ideal.

And that was our downfall.

"Goodnight, Mr. Cervantes," the chairwoman of the board spoke flatly, straightening the stack of papers in front of her, "We hope this decision gives you the opportunity to reflect on your conduct and the future ahead." I wanted to stand up and direct an angrily pointed finger at those cold, calculating, horribly nonchalant adults. They don't even know him! All they did was read a file, dictate some rules, and send my brother away. Why hadn't he asked us to speak? He knew it was in his rights. He's done this before.

There he sat, eyes fixed on the floor, so many thoughts behind those glazed eyes I could never hope to read. His brows were furrowed and his lips pouting, his entire body frozen like a Greek statue sculpted in a frenzy of despair, grief, and frustration toward the world. I wanted so badly to run over and be with him, hug him, and promise that something could be done.

But my legs were frozen still and my lungs squeezed tight with a phantom grip. Javi didn't want my pity, our military dad knew how to rid him of that necessity. And then, if I did somehow manage to pry a moment of off him, I knew that there was nothing for me to say to him. Sorry I half-ruined your chances with Maddie? She was a nice girl. Not that she's dead, but... you know. I always thought Mikaela was a nice girl as well. Maybe he could have been girlfriend-boyfriend with her. Or Newt, but then I think Javi would end up with a shaved, bleached head, and I'm too jealous of his curls to let that happen.

For some reason, it took me by surprise when his body reanimated, his head lifting over his shoulder with the heavy pace of metal being dragged across pavement. I can't say I know if he stared a while, or if time simply slowed in my head, but he looked in my direction. I squinted, scraping up every square nanometer of my brain to scrutinize the arch of his brows, the pace of his breaths, and the story the wrinkles on his face told. It was then that it hit me, crashing into my chest like an arrow made of pure ice.

Javi was looking at me, capturing my gaze with that intense, commanding glare of his. Suddenly, I understood it all, a conversation that lasts a millennia condensed in all of a quarter of a second. He was clearly hurt, but this time, I didn't feel ire. I didn't raise my guard, or flinch, or quiver with fear. I simply returned his stare, fighting tears. Call it little brother senses, but I think he knew the effect this was having on me. Forgiveness was absent from the air, yet so was malice. Somehow, it came to me that I am a brother. I always was. I never knew that he knew that.

Take a breath, Angelito... you look like you just got wedgied. I could hear the coarse, playfully deriding words like they were as real as a song on the radio.

Time sped back up, and Javi gave a curt glance at my dad, my mom, then cut it off there. Isabella and the baby were in their own world, and perhaps he wasn't ready to step into that quite yet. I don't think I was, either. I'm still not.

With the hearing over, there was no point in sticking around. Javi stood up, slipped his coat on, and rushed out of the room before anyone had a chance to catch his eye again. I didn't get a look after that, but a fragment of my intuition tells me he, too, was holding back tears, flooding the dark, cloudy storm roiling on those warm, brown eyes.

That was the last time I saw him. It's August now, with the next school year just around the corner. It feels a little wrong being in a higher grade than Javi now, and it almost makes me want to drop out to keep things even. I wish cultivating consistency was that simple, because then I'd at least have quite the solution for renewable energy...

I'm hanging with Kei, Cami, Avery, Kelli, and Ava, who's standing kind of sourly in the corner, but I know she's secretly laughing at Kei's jokes. I don't know where his sister ran off to, but I'm pretty sure she thinks she's too cool for us anyway. I'm a little jealous of their weird relationship, for some reason. Bella's on her way, but I think she's got some stuff going on. Kelli told me she's having boy problems again, which baffles me because the school year hasn't even started yet. Geez! Sounds like another case for Ronnie the Matchmaker. And if what Avery told me is true, then... hm. I wonder what it could be about.

I told her to invite Amy, because I know they're kinda sorta friends, and I think she'd be a nice girl to get to know. But maybe I'm being ambitious—I've never had a friend group this big, outside of the neighborhood kids back when me and Javi were in elementary school. Cappie used to tell me all the time to stop losing sleep over him, but it's hard to heed that advice when he hadn't met the chubby, ridiculous little kid my older brother used to be. Sometimes I think he just said it because Chanel especially didn't like Javi and it impressed her.

My face is beet red, because it's Kei's turn to share an embarrassing story. I know what he's going to say, because he's looking at me with a mischievous smirk. Kelli's smiling too. I'm glad we're past the point of it being awkward, so I don't really mind that it's out in the open.

"So, get this—on New Year's Eve..." he starts, practically plucking my toenails with how acutely suspenseful this is, "Angel and I kissed, totally sober. It was no big. But then he ran away and begged Kelli not to think we're dating 'cause she didn't know how into her he was yet." Somehow, it sounded even more embarrassing retold with a London accent.

"AGH!" I cried instinctively, covering my head like the ceiling was about to collapse. The room was near-silent, quite the opposite from the uproar of laughter I expected.

"I think that's adorable," Cami confessed with a quiet chuckle. Ava, on the other hand, started to howl with laughter, which singlehandedly drenched me in a cold, shameful sweat. I can't believe I really did that.

Kelli's smiling wider, too, because Kei left out the part where I blurted, "I'm a virgin!"

It's getting late by this point, so we all say our goodbyes and ready ourselves to get home. Kelli and I are riding our bikes to meet a friend interning at the local news station. I think they'll get along well, if Kelli remembers all of the Spiderman trivia I quizzed her on.

When Kelli walks away to hug Avery goodbye, I get a moment alone. I watch the hazy shades of the sunset blend into a darker, cooler dusk. I know it's corny, but with the knowledge that Javi is somewhere in this city watching the same sky, I can be at ease. I wonder if he's reminiscing all those Friday afternoons out on the block, playing street hockey and accidentally breaking the Perez family's front window. Twice.

No one's going anywhere, Hollywood Arts. No matter when, where, or who... something tells me we're all still here, forever entangled in the web of fate that hopelessly and hopefully ensares every last soul that crosses my path.

code by valen t.

 

[hery]

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Callum Richards

Sleep it off...

I can't stop looking at Oates. Watching his merciful eyes, sweet and golden like honey, I notice that he can't stop looking at me either. When I am with him, I am alone. When I am without him, I can feel his cozy presence right by my side. Thinking of him fills me with hope, but also with dread, for when I recall all the times he made me laugh, I can't help but to remember the times he made me cry.

A chill permeates throughout the room. I immediately recognize this sensation, which sinks its claws into my pale flesh and sends a spear of ice up my veins. It surges with a rhythmic shock that beats alongside my heart, thumping dully and pricking my nerves all at once. I feel like I'm on fire, but my pain receptors give no response. My head says my body is convulsing, but I look down to find that I haven't moved.

Nate's eyes are narrowed, and I observe without surprise that they are dilated as well. They're a telling sign that renders the artist's guard more or less transparent; all I see are the throes of fight or flight hastily scribbled all over his face. I should be mad that he's trying to fuck my boyfriend, and I think I will be in a moment, but in this fraction of a fraction of a second, I'm both above it and below it, beyond but not quite past yet.

Maintaining my focus on Oates, I find that Nate is little more than an object with a face of consternation. I'm glad he's suffering. We are caged in this bathroom, our perceptions walled off from all realities besides the one I have collided into. I know that in a few moments, the hand soap will still be half-empty, the towels will be hung neatly, and Oates' tee will still be strewn across the floor like a beached squid. But I will not be the same, nor will Oates.

Something bad is going to happen. I don't know this, but I do. At least, from a loosely intuitive perspective tethered to the future we have begun to converge into. I want to pull away, tug with all my might to rip the bonds that limit me to space and time. It strikes me as amusing that I feel compelled to negate the will of the cosmos, but I can't find it in myself to quit smoking yet. The depths this boy drives me to...

As my thought process continues, it becomes less and less important that I'm standing in the bathroom, a little drunk, surrounded by more people and sounds than I would ever care to encounter. I may have my issues, but I can grasp the concept of object permanence. I don't need to be aware that I'm currently confronting my boyfriend and our shared friend, is all. I don't need to be stuck on the fact that it's the last day of the year, or that I need a stick of gum, or that everything in my life is on a steady, downward trend.

I just want to keep looking at Oates. And think about him. Flip through every possible scenario, past and present, like an encyclopedia. What could I have done differently? What can I do now? All 366 days of the year led up to this point, this petty judgment day that may grant my salvation just as easily as it can tear it away. Fate has always been a bit of a tease, but nothing has been more sobering than staring it square in the eye.

Based on the crestfallen look Oates is giving me, I can be fairly certain that this isn't the version of tonight that's going to save me, or rather, us. If I could learn to reconcile with the past, one would think the future would be just as forgiving. In this split second, I realize that this is existential dread, to which there is no easy solution.

Somehow, this provides me a sliver of comfort. This moment is terrible, but I can sense the desire to stay in it forever with more certainty than anything that's ever crossed my mind. I feel it rising in my chest like steam, flushing me with a fervent wave of assuredness. I wish I could tell Oates all about it, but my consciousness says that he already understands. He's right here with me in just about every sense, which is more than any satisfaction I could ever receive from reaching out and caressing his delicate, rosy cheeks.

Together, we are trapped in this moment, my hand on his wrist begging for him not to trudge onward. Our hearts beat in tandem, producing a disorganized cacophony of gentle thumps. It's cruel how close we are, only to be pulled by a mighty force in opposite directions. I hold my grip, my trembling fingers digging into the flesh of his forearm. I want to shout, plead, and cry out desperately for him to resist the current of time, even knowing how selfish it is. But at the same time, I'm a meter away, my mouth shut and my eyes glaring.

I would take back everything I said to Nikolai tonight. I would drop onto my knees and beg Kian and Niamh for forgiveness, for holding onto Oates so tightly that he sank down with me. I would tell Ash it wasn't her fault. I would look Jace in the eye and tell him he's worth something, and maybe stop playing into his other delusions. I would step into dance class, first thing in the morning, and admit to Eli and JJ how deeply I respect them as dancers. Not as people, but it's a start. Even further, I would let Liv beat me at Penguins! I could say, "I'm sorry, Hollywood Arts, for the crimes I have committed against your student body..."

And I know I can do it, because another Callum somewhere out there already has. It brings me no surprise, because I would do it all for the annoying, endearing, kind, cruel, endlessly perplexing boy in front of me. My heart aches because, eventually, I'll have to admit that I'm not the Callum who did all those things. I'm not the one who gets to end New Year's hugging, kissing, and squeezing the one who drove me to this.

Now it's almost over. I want to believe in our future, because I know there's a reality where Oates and I are one, but the unspoken truth has always been that I'm not the Callum who lives out that ending. Not only is it paradoxical, but it's debilitatingly hopeless. My future encompasses every single ending as long as I have not reached it. And, with every fiber of my being, I object to that. Why, buried under the burden of infinity, am I to bear the consequences of predestination?

In a moment, I'm about to shout some terrible things to a boy who loves me. Who, in another life, I loved. It's all about to come crashing down, leaving only my walls standing high. I'm not really thinking, because a single microsecond isn't enough to send even one electrical signal in my brain, but I could almost swear that in this slice of time, I've communicated more with Oates than I have in my life. In every life, even.

I want to stay here with him, so I can have him all to myself before I become the me who succumbs to his bitter fate. I think I would like, actually, if I could quit reading before the last chapter and remain suspended in a permanent state of calm. Every atom in my body heaves a heavy sigh, releasing more tension than I knew I had in me. It feels nice; nice in an indescribably mellow, neutral way. I don't feel overwhelmingly euphoric or mindlessly at ease. Just content where I am.

I could exist in this state forever, if I could. I didn't write the rules to existence, but I feel a mysterious authority over my own. It's mind-numbingly unremarkable. I haven't even begun to notice that, being separate from the passage of time in this very moment, I haven't grown bored of hearing myself go through this. The rational side of my consciousness wants to ask who I am and where I've gone, or when I have to play out the final act.

But as long as I'm here with him now, I'm okay leaving out the ending. Now can be a long, long time.

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Casey & Mikaela

That. Was. Wild.

Mikaela was still slightly winded from that whole fiasco with Jojo and the stranger's car.

That was so much fun. More than was probably legally allowed. Heh, legal. No wonder they made so many things illegal.

Would she and Jojo bear become illegal now?

Hehe. Could you even make a person illegal? Would that make them aliens? Aliens. Heh. They would be a pair of very hot, very sexy aliens who would - woah!

Mikaela almost tumbled head first into the ground, but thankfully her hands managed to grab onto a something that was starting to feel like a someone before that disaster could happen.

"Baaaad legs," she slurred, "I told you itz not bedtime yet. Stop sleeping!" The volume of her voice went up and down like a roller coaster as she scolded her limbs, all the while clinging onto the poor stranger she had latched onto for support.

"Oh helloooo," her hands moved from his chest where they had grabbed onto his clothes to cup his face and jerk it closer to her so that it stopped moving so much, there much better, now the lines were all less wobbly, "youuuu, you look soooo familiarrr." her hands pressed together, squeezing the poor fella's face which was clapped between them. "Do I know you?"

---------------------​

It probably came as no surprise that Casey wasn't much of a drinker -- but something about this whole school thing had, well, it had really started getting to him. So he'd stumbled his way outside, bottle of whiskey in hand, and he'd been sipping from it. It also probably came as no surprise that the boy was a bit of a lightweight which meant that by now... well, he was somewhat inebriated.

Not drunk drunk, but not sober sober.

Tears stained his cheeks, his eyebrows were drawn together, and his forehead was wrinkled with confusion. His lips were pressed downwards into a frown and he was grumbling to himself, probably small Casey-style curses that had to do with this whole stupid school thing that he was... not vibing with.

All he was really thinking about was how he missed the road, the familiarities, and only interacting really with his sisters, and Mikaela on occasion when suddenly, someone fell into him, and the slightly drunk blonde nearly found himself toppling over, but managed to keep both upright.

He blinked.

Oh.

"Mikkkyyyyy," he said, drawing out her name with a lopsided grin, followed by a giggle as the girl grabbed his face, pulling him closer. "Issa me, Casey!" He stated proudly, hoping that the girl would recognize him. "What're ya doin?"

---------------------
​

Ohhhhhhhh. Casey. Look at what she found. Baby Casey Clairmont. A squishy Clairmont Casey, also...

"Wrong!" She declared, one hand pulling back and waving about a cross finger. "It's Issa meee, Mario!" Thwack. Her hand found its way back to Casey's cheek after its little dance as a giggle escaped her mouth.
"You silly sillyyy boy." Another giggle. "Get it right dummy. Haha dummy."

A hiccup escaped her lips as the giggles stopped and she stared long and hard at Casey, eyes narrowing and smile turning into a frown as she squished his face further.

"Where's my pwesent Casey," she slurred as she shook his head with her hands, "why haven you give me my birthday present. Baaaad Casey! Bad doggie! Gimme my present!"

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​

"Ow," the thin blonde whined, a hand coming up to rub at his cheek. His eyebrows drew together as he glared down at Mikaela. From what he could tell, she was very, very messed up, and he knew that his sisters were going to be very, very mad, even if they were very, very angry with her, which meant that he probably needed to umm... watch her or something. Yeah. Keep a little eye on Mikky.

Wowee he was a genius.

He snorted.

"Why'd I get youu a gift?" He asked, his voice drawn out on the u. "It's not your birthday."

Oh shit, or was it?

He didn't actually know.

He giggled in response to not knowing.

Stupid Casey.

---------------------
​

Casey's words put a massive pout on Mikaela's face. "Not my birthdayyy?" She exclaimed. "My birthday is TWO," a pair of fingers were shoved in his face, "days long! Yesterday and... today!"

She moved her hands to sling them around the back of his neck as her legs went to sleep beneath her, putting half her weight on his shoulders.

"Did you not get me a present?" The pout on her face deepened as she stared up at him.

"You forgot!" The accusation shot out accompanied by angry eyebrows and a whine that progressed into a sob. "You forgot my birthdayyy! My present! I hate youuu!"

Her legs sunk even further beneath her as she whined at Casey while continuing to hang from his poor neck.

---------------------
​

"Ohhh," Casey said slowly, his words trailing off as he stumbled a bit, his arms around Mikaela's sulking form to keep the poor girl somewhat upright and off the concrete sidewalk. Woops... well to be fair, he forgot his sisters' birthdays all the time.

That was a joke -- because they were triplets. Hahaha.

Oh and jeez oh weez, was she actually crying? His eyebrows kind of furrowed together in confusion, as he tried to figure out if he'd really hurt her feelings or not.

Huh.

Oh wait, right! Casey was going to be a good brother (completely forgetting Cami's current distaste for the girl hanging from his neck) and make sure that she was a-okay.

"Hey Mikky, wanna come over?" He asked, voice slightly slurring as he spoke.

---------------------
​

Casey forgot her birthday. Cue one emoji sad face and add in some tears. Now cue an angry face with little bits of steam coming out of the ears and head. And then the little grinning imp and back to the sad emoji face again with more tears.

How could he forget her birthday. Was she that forgettable? No Casey was the bad one. Baaaad boy. Should she make him feel worse? She should.

She let the sobs drag out even longer and swung herself around as she hung from his neck when he cut in with a suggestion that made her eyes light up.

"Come over?" She repeated. Oooh. Was there a present at his place? Fun? Games?

"Yessssss! I wanna! Lessgooo! Take off!"

Mikaela couldn't remember how they got to the Clairmont's. She spent most of the time getting there singing like she was in a karaoke bar. At least... that's what she remembered.

Anyway, she was here now and everything looked oh so fancy. As expected of the Clairmonts.

"HEL-MMPH." OW. Casey had slapped her hard on the mouth and stopped her greeting. Rude.

---------------------
​

She'd agreed! See, he really was the best brother ever, and there was a kind of smug pride that he held as he got the two of them home -- via Uber, of course. And he just kind of laughed and told the dude "Casey Clairmont who?" when he recognized him, because ha ha ha, he certainly didn't want this getting out or something. So he also asked the dude to drop them off down the road from the beach house which meant... well...

Stumbling along the street with Mikaela in tow. He tugged her along until they'd made it home, and he kind of fumbled with the lock, and decided to just leave his keys in the door for the night (aka he forgot to pull them out) as he tried to get the two of them inside without making too much noise. Sure, he was obviously doing a really good thing right now, but that didn't mean he wanted to wake up his sisters.

So when Mikaela started to yell, Casey wasted no time in slapping his hand across her mouth.

"Shhhhhh," he hissed, "sh sh sh. If we wake up Nellie she's gonna come down here and yell," he explained in a harsh whisper, although well... he himself was probably not all that quiet as he tried to explain to Mikaela. "C'mon, c'mon, we'll just umm... just shhh." He said as he started to lead the very drunk girl through the dark house -- and he only hit his phone twice on things in the way.

---------------------
​

In her drunken little haze, all Mikaela really heard from Casey that her brain could make sense of was 'Shhhhhhhh'. Was he peeing? Wetting his pants as a teenager? Ohhh wait. He was telling her to be quiet, not peeing his pants. Oopsies.

Mikaela raised a finger to her lips and imitated Casey. "Shhhhhhhh, shh." She repeated as she followed Casey and tried with very uncoordinated and tipsy footsteps, to tip toe as he lead her through the house. A giggle escaped her lips when Casey knocked into a couple of things along the way.

"Hehe! We're super spies!" She whisper shouted, which was really more shout than whisper cause she was too drunk to really control her volume. "It's like a movieee! I wanna be the red one! The leaderrrr! Hehe super spies!" She mimed looking around the house like a spy best as she could and her wildly swinging hand smacked right into something painful that dropped right onto the floor with an unceremonious little crash.

The darkness of the house and her drunken state left her completely unaware that the thing her hand just batted to the floor was a picture frame bearing a Clairmont Family photo.

---------------------
​

His gaze traveled down to the family picture, and there was a little twinge in Casey's heart. There were the five of them, huge grins, standing in front of the tour bus at who knows where. He'd been missing the bus plenty over the last few weeks, but... now... today... he found himself missing it more than ever.

"We'll just ahh... say Cami did it," he decided with a sure nod of his head, and then pulled his fellow super spy along. They stumbled up the stairs, to many shushes from Casey's lips, until eventually they finally stumbled their way into his room. Fumbling with the door, he tried his best to close it as quietly as possible, and let out a sigh of relief once they were mostly in the clear.

Of course, his stumbled steps away from the door just took him falling down onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

---------------------
​

Mikaela was basically relying on Casey to stay standing at this point so when he fell onto his bed, she went tumbling onto it with him.

A giggle escaped her lips as she lay there, body half on top of Casey's. "Saaaafe! We made it!"

She giggled again, as the she sunk into the comfortable bed and Casey's surprisingly well built body.

Under the influence of alcohol and the adrenaline that was pumping hard through her veins, he was suddenly looking very attractive where he lay, half under her and well, she just acted on her impulses in her hazy state of mind and kissed him.

​

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