"has my work ever broken your heart? now the doubt in your voice breaks mine." there's a shadow of an amused smile that curves up jihoon's lips, gone as fast as it appeared. he wouldn't be handing it over for testing if he wasn't sure of the end result he's aiming to achieve. and hawk's the perfect person for that. maybe speeding aimlessly would help them. the crew's loss had only pushed jihoon to work even harder than he already did on the racers' cars, experimenting more and more, like he got some burst of inspiration. it's how he copes with the loss, puts it into something meaningful and fruitful and productive. what he did was never merely a job for him, no, and at the end of the day, the competition and the thirst for winning is a push and a motivation, and at the core of what they do. he doesn't need to hop behind a steering wheel and directly engage in a race to feel like he's lost the race, too. and when the prowlers win a race, it means he's won. he does his part, the rest is in the racers' hands. "i think it'll impress you. it's almost done, if you're patient. you got somewhere to be?"
hawk exhales, something soft and near-silent, a breath that barely qualifies as a laugh. it's not that he doubts jihoon — he wouldn't be here if he did — but there's something sharp in the way they weigh the words, in the way their gaze lingers on the car like it can somehow answer him first. ‘ has my work ever broken your heart? ’ it’s a second of a second, the roll of his eyes, and the lightness that seems to seep through. " ‘course not. and i want to keep it that way. " patience. jihoon tells him to be patient, and hawk knows better than to rush something worth waiting for, but the thought of feeling the machine, of coaxing every ounce of speed from it, makes his blood hum. maybe jihoon understands that — the way driving is the only thing that drowns out everything else, the only thing that makes the weight of losing feel less like a wound and more like a reason to keep pushing.
their gaze flicks back up, something unreadable in the way he tilts his head. " nah. " he says, voice even, but there's something underneath it, something that catches like the edge of a smile before smoothing out. " i’ve got time. " they step closer, slow and measured, like they're already picturing the road stretched out ahead, the feel of the wheel under his hands. a test drive, jihoon called it. hawk thinks maybe it's something else — maybe it’s proof. proof that losing doesn’t mean stopping. proof that there’s still more to chase. and you don't have to ask him twice to slam his foot down on the pedal. " my only plans were going from here to birds eye. and then home. so big day ahead of me. " a semblance of a pause ensues briefly. " you stayin’ here all day? "
SHE WATCHES THE MILK SETTLE WHEN THEY MENTION IT, THIN & CLOUDY. cereal bloated with abandon and the neglect of unattendance, but she doesn't move to throw it away. just presses her palm flat against the tender of her thigh, grounded by the warmth of her own touch. they don't see each other for long, after a while she stopped bothering to look. she lets the quiet settle, tv bathing them like a bad signal; a gentle reminder that she too could exist without violence. she could just be. or at least try. it wasn't something lola was good at. she could almost reach for him⸺fingertips grazing his sleeve, testing the give⸺but she doesn't. they'd only flinch, stiffen like a thing cornered. so she stays still. watching, waiting.
when she speaks at last, it's soft. no give to it, " mm, " a beat, flick of movement as her weight shifts again. upended from the ankles and misplaced, nudging the ball of her foot against his lap. it’s not an invitation, not exactly, but it isn’t nothing. the contact is careful, the weight of her resting against him as if testing the edges of a wound. lola lets her ankle roll, pressing lightly into his leg. not enough to push, just enough to remind them she’s here. that he’s here, whether he wants to be or not. " i'm not hungry, anymore. " elbow perches up atop of the back of the sofa, giving herself a reason to almost look at them again. she's softer now, almost. " you've ruined my appetite. "
the weight of her foot is light, a ghost of pressure against their leg, but it might as well be a brand. not enough to startle, not enough to shake them loose, just enough to remind him that she's still here. that he's still here. like it’s a choice, like it’s something he has to acknowledge. their gaze doesn’t drop to it, doesn’t track the way her ankle rolls, but he feels it anyway, heat seeping through denim like a quiet insistence. it’s grounding and unbearable in the same breath. they should move. they don’t. ‘ you’ve ruined my appetite. ’ words land somewhere deep in his chest, heavier than they should be. hawk exhales slow, fingers pressing into the seam of their jeans, an anchor against the way his stomach tightens. it’s not an accusation, not really, but it settles like one. their mouth pulls into something unreadable, a sharp exhale through his nose that almost sounds like a laugh. almost. " well, don’t do that. " it’s automatic, an attempt at something light, something easy, but it comes out rougher than he means it to. regret catches at the back of their throat almost immediately, something small and sharp, because he knows exactly why she has.
knows that they’ve been impossible, wound too tight, a storm curling in on itself. they should apologize. say something. but the words are tangled up, knotted tight in the space between his ribs, and unraveling them feels like pulling out stitches before the wound has closed. they drag a hand over his face, through his hair, and it stays there a beat too long, fingertips pressing into their scalp like maybe, if he presses hard enough, he can shake loose whatever’s clawing at his insides. it doesn’t work. instead, their hand drops back to the couch, fingers curling into the fabric like they might hold him there. " it’s not you. " the words slip out before he can stop them, quiet, almost an afterthought. but they exist now, impossible to take back, suspended in the lowlight between them. a confession in its own way. not enough to explain, not enough to invite more questions, but enough to say: it's not you, i can't talk about things. it's not your fault. enough to hope she’ll hear the things they don’t know how to say. " there's just... there's a lot goin' on right now. i don't mean to be mean about it. "
rodani wheels has always been his go-to place ever since he joined the prowlers six years ago, and one of two places to look for jihoon when he inevitably didn't answer his phone or text back. sure, the place tended to be busy more often than not, but the sounds of the cars and machines and tools always drowned out the voices of people. he's got his head deep under the hood of a car when he hears footsteps getting closer. he could probably easily guess who it is from how quiet they are, there's not a lot of prowlers who are like that, and it's definitely not a customer or they would've said something already. he looks up, spotting hawk, his guess landing correctly. his stands back up straight, leaning back against the car as he faces the other, a slight tilt of his head. "keeping me company today?" he found an ease and a comfort in hawk's quiet demeanor. he's not planning on asking him about the race. if he knows hawk at all, it's a question he doesn't want to answer. it's easy pretending that the prowlers losing the first race of the year didn't faze him. but it did. of course it did. keeping things locked away is what he does best, after all. and really, what can he really do about it besides put his all into doing his part for the crew? he gestures to the car. "i do need someone to eventually test out the speed of this car. been working on something."
hawk moves like a shadow, footsteps light against the concrete. jihoon clocks him before he can even think about making his presence unknown, not that he was trying to. it’s just muscle memory, the way he drifts through spaces like a ghost. jihoon’s already looking up when hawk meets his gaze, head tilted, that familiar unreadable expression on their face. they stop a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, expression even. unreadable, if you didn’t know him. but jihoon does. kinda. they snort, quiet but there, like the smallest flicker of amusement. he doesn’t answer right away. instead, gaze flicks to the car, the machine under the other's hands, the kind of thing that makes their blood hum despite everything else. their fingers flex in his pockets. their mind’s already halfway into the driver’s seat before he exhales, tilting his head slightly. “ yeah? ” he drawls, eyeing the car with something like consideration. “ depends. is it gonna be worth my time, or is it gonna break my heart? ” it’s a joke, mostly... mostly. but there’s an edge to it, something sharp behind the easy lilt of their words. the weight of the loss still sits in his chest, but they’re thankful he doesn’t ask about the race. because hawk isn’t in the mood to lie about it, and the truth is an open wound. jihoon knows. he takes a step closer, eyes still on the car, then flicks his gaze back to homme. “ guess we'll have to wait and see. ”
THERE ARE THINGS YOU CANNOT OUTRUN. you can turn away from the light but you cannot hide from it. certain as death, it's one of the few assurances in life that comes for us all. a sun that will glint even the darkest corners of the world. it finds us all with forceful bask. all to say that you can turn away the sun but it will still warm you. the light will hold you as long as it can. the lukewarm porcelain is abandoned upon the endtable, the room is hushed enough to hear the night buzzing against the window. late night traffic flitting both ways, the buzzing streetlight someone should have reported to the city strobbing infrequently. bambi cannot exist in the quiet, she's discovered.
his arm snakes along the back of the couch to bridge the gap between them, she's tracing circles on the back of their hand by the time he looks back at her. gaze softens at the edges but the snare is not unwound, they're still very much caught in it. she leans back against the weathered plush of the couch, legs pulled from beneath her weight. one moment she's watching him and the next he's watching her. now they're both caught in something.
there's a facetious beat that flits across her visage, brows tweaking absently so he knows that when they finally see each other, she isn't just trying to pick them apart. she just wants to be made real. after all, bambi didn't exist if she wasn't being looked at ⸺ a performance was nothing without an onlooker. and that's not what this was: a production, places taken on this lowlit stage. but goodness, the regalia was there. " i didn't bet on you, hawk. " because she knew better than to put her money where her heart was. a beat, to assess & also study the manner in which the tv refracted sharp angles along the side of their profile. " and you don't have to talk about it but⸺ " he's the first to look away, which is a funny thing because bambi was used to being the leaver. it unsteadies the score so she retracts her touch back into her lap. an eye for a finger. " you're acting like you lost more than the race. "
the air in the room thickens, humming with something just shy of unbearable. the weight of it presses into the fabric of the couch, into the spaces between them. they exhale slow, measured, but it does nothing to smooth out the static crawling under his skin. she says their name like it’s something fragile. something worth holding. something she won’t let him outrun. hawk’s fingers twitch against the upholstery, a half-thought, a hesitation that never makes it to completion. they don't look at her. can’t. not when she’s saying things like that, not when she’s peeling him apart without ever lifting a blade. eyes stay on the tv, unfocused, letting the shifting glow cut across his face like a mask, a barrier, a lifeline.
‘ you’re acting like you lost more than the race. ’ jaw ticks. the words catch in his throat, snag on something sharp, something unspeakable. she’s not wrong, but they won’t give her that. won’t let her see the places where the edges don’t quite meet, where the seams have split and left something raw, something real. it’s a millisecond of hope, where their mouth opens and there’s a half glaze over his eyes that isn’t quite full yet. one that nearly says: here’s the truth. but the glaze finishes and his resolve strengthens. “ i’ll get over it. ” the words are flat, scraped hollow. a shrug follows, practiced, dismissive. they lean further into the couch, the space between them stretching, widening, a slow retreat wrapped in feigned nonchalance.
but she’s still there. warm, unmoving, watching. his fingers drag through his hair, a restless motion, a distraction, before dropping back to their lap. the ghost of her touch lingers, faint as breath, and they swallow against the way it settles under his skin. “ you should finish your cereal. ” he mutters, like it matters, like it’s enough to redirect, to shift the conversation into something small, something harmless. it isn’t. their tongue runs over the inside of his cheek as they finally chance a glance at her. just for a second, just long enough to see the way she’s looking at them — soft, sure, like she sees through every flimsy wall they've put up between them. he hates it. he doesn’t.
#NEWPROMPT — describe how your racer's typically drive. do they have good starts and start to stagger towards the end? or maybe they purposefully stay towards the back only to make a surprise recovery? do they rely on luck or are they super technical?
you and the car are not separate things. the moment you slide into the driver’s seat, you disappear. it’s not metal and glass beneath you — it’s sinew and bone, an extension of your own body. the hum of the engine becomes your pulse, the vibrations through the steering wheel a second heartbeat. every shift of the gears is a twitch of your fingers, every tilt of the wheel as natural as the turn of your head. it’s symbiosis, the kind of connection that feels sacred in its intensity.
you don’t just drive the car — you are the car. you feel the seconds stretch and contract, the tick of time slowing as the race unfolds. the world outside the windshield fades, and all that remains is the road and the roar of engines chasing you down. you can sense them without looking — the way the guy in the mustang two cars back is going to veer left, trying to force you into a tighter corner; the way the girl in the evo beside you hesitates for a fraction of a second too long.
you know it before they do. it’s instinct, sharp and unrelenting, honed by every mile you’ve ever driven. you don’t need to see the moves — they’re telegraphed in the vibrations of the road, in the split-second flicker of brake lights, in the way the air shifts as a car creeps up behind you. you don’t react to them; you anticipate them, moving as though the race has already played out in your mind.
you feel the drag in your tires when you take a corner too tight, but you know exactly how to counter it. a subtle tilt of the wheel, a feather-light tap on the brake, and you’re gliding through the curve like you planned it that way. the road is alive beneath you, shifting and breathing, and you know how to ride its every undulation.
the start is all about control — dominating the chaos, harnessing the raw power of the car. you know this, feel it deep in your chest when the light turns green and the world narrows to the rumble of engines and the split-second choices that make or break a race. you’re fast off the line, always. not because you’re impatient, but because you understand momentum, how to harness it like a weapon. it’s not about getting ahead — it’s about making a statement. but you don’t stay there. not right away.
but the middle? that’s where you thrive. that’s where you play. you’ll let someone pass, just to see what they’ve got. you’ll hang back for a second longer than you need to, feeling the tension coil in your chest, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. because you know the race isn’t about being first — it’s about being better. but you strive for first nonetheless. if you're anything but first, you've failed.
and when the moment comes, it’s like a symphony in your head. every move, every decision, every shift of the gears is precise and perfect. you thread the needle between two cars with millimeters to spare, the roar of their engines fading as you surge ahead. you’re not reckless — you’re ruthless. there’s a difference. it’s instinct, honed by years of pushing yourself to the edge and then a little further, just to see if you could. you take risks others wouldn’t dare, threading through gaps that seem impossible, cutting corners so sharp they might as well be razors.
but it’s not luck. never luck.
it’s control. control over the road, over the chaos, over the millisecond decisions that make the difference between glory and disaster. you don’t drive to survive — you drive to win, and that's the distinction.
the finish line doesn’t call to you; it taunts you. dares you to push harder, faster, to take risks that make your heart pound and your palms sweat. the final stretch is where you leave everything on the road — every ounce of skill, every fragment of instinct, every shred of control.
and when you cross it, it’s not relief you feel. it’s vindication. it’s the undeniable truth that you and the car are one and the same, a machine made for speed, for the unrelenting pursuit of victory. you don’t just win — you claim the road as yours, a fleeting kingdom where you reign supreme. because the road may owe you nothing, but you’ve taken everything from it anyway.
★ ꒰ 🦋 ꒱ the silence that encompassed the vacant area somehow felt so loud and bothersome. she wasn't great with silence, she hadn't been since losing her parents. there weren't any races that day, nothing remotely exciting had taken place, really. she didn't have a shift at body, she had only gone earlier in the day to get a little bit of time outside of her apartment, but her ipod had died and she was left with nothing to do but sit there. she didn't mind it when she had the music to drown out all the silence, but when she was forced to sit in it, that's when things hit her the hardest. she didn't want to think about her parents, so she decided it was time to leave. if she started thinking about them, she'd start crying and ruin her makeup. chrissy sighed as she rose to her feet, prepared for her walk home. she knew she could've called a friend for a ride home, but she didn't want to bother anyone. what she hadn't been prepared for, was running into hawk on her way out. she blinked in surprise, staring at them with a perplexed look.
she didn't think anyone would show up there on a random weekday when nothing was going on. “ i was just heading out, ” she stated, though the information didn't feel necessary to share with them. “ nobody's around today and my ipod died so i don't really wanna be here. ” there she went again, sharing more inessential details. “ anyways, uh … i won't be in your way or whatever. ”
hawk hadn’t come to birds eye for company. it wasn’t a place meant for conversation — not for him, anyway. it was where the hum of the city faded just enough for their thoughts to get louder, a quiet corner carved out for those who knew how to sit with themselves. but when chrissy’s voice cut through the stillness, they didn’t bristle the way he might’ve with someone else. they stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, gaze skimming over her like they were trying to figure out how she kept showing up in front of him. the light above the lot cast soft shadows on her face, catching on the shimmer of her makeup, and for a second, they wondered why someone like her wasn’t somewhere louder, brighter — but there was a sort of softness to her fit so perfectly in a place like this. so it made sense... not that he'd think too much about it.
“ no one’s usually around at this time. which is why i come. ” they said finally, their tone dry but not unkind. the words came slow, like he was tasting them before letting them out. eyes flicked to her ipod-less hands, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of their mouth. “ yeah, i guess i should’ve figured silence wouldn’t be your thing. ” their posture was easy, casual, but there was a weight to the way they looked at her — like he saw more than he let on. “ you don’t have to rush off. ” was added, almost as an afterthought, their gaze dropping to the pavement for a moment before finding her again. “ place is big enough for two. long as you don’t expect me to play dj or something. ” the smirk returned, faint but steady, though there was something softer underneath it — an unspoken understanding, maybe. birds eye wasn’t for everyone, but it was for him, and they couldn’t quite bring themselves to send her away.
# INT. TOO LATE. TRACKING CONFETTI & MISCOMMUNICATION AROUND THE APARTMENT. @2vain
THERE IS EASE IN RITUAL: KNOWING THAT YOU COULD RETURN TO SOMETHING ⸺ SOMEONE AGAIN, AND AGAIN. that they would not turn you away, not immediately. it's a terrible thing to be kept like that: in rotation. because again, this was not a constant. they were ships in the night, this was merely the procedure of a tide raise. pushing them closer & higher, further from dry land. even so, this tableu is one of all the trappings of domesticity, though they each remain suspended within this frame, ever off-kilter yet wanting so desperately to fit together. too comfortable, they exist in their most organic state: in the dark ⸺ front-lit by the soft violence of a magnum p.i. rerun on the television screen. bambi sat in the spot she'd made so usual that a slight dip had worn into the cushion, cross-legged & half dressed, cereal bowl balanced in a palm while the other held a spoon tracing slow deliberate circles in the milk. she wasn't hungry. and she wasn't watching tv either ⸺ no matter how short tom selleck's shorts were this episode. she was watching hawk. " you're quiet. " because feeling her watching him had not been enough. it was an observation: he was not only being watched but they were seen. " it's not the race ⸺ is it? "
there was a flicker in his chest, faint but insistent, like a loose wire sparking behind the walls. her voice cut through the static, soft and deliberate, the kind of quiet that demanded attention without ever raising itself. hawk didn’t look at her right away. their eyes stayed fixed on the screen, the glow painting sharp lines across his face, but the image didn’t register. they knew this would happen. not the race — hell, not even the loss — but this. her. perched on their couch like she belonged there, legs tucked beneath her and gaze drilling into him like she could see past the layers he kept throwing up. she’d already taken the remote, her bowl of cereal, and the damn spot on their couch. now she was coming for the rest.
his jaw worked, a small tic in the muscle as he bit back the immediate instinct to spit venom, to draw the curtains shut and leave her staring at a blank wall. but she was right — she always was — and the weight of it pressed down harder than they wanted to admit. it wasn’t the race. it wasn’t even about coming in third. it was the way they let himself slip, the way she’d crept in like exhaust through a cracked window, unnoticed until it was too late to breathe anything else. hawk wasn’t built for this, for her steady gaze and the way she carved out space in their life without asking.
“ long night. ” their voice finally broke the silence, low and frayed at the edges, rough like gravel under tires. he leaned back into the couch, arm draped lazily along the top, a performance of ease that didn’t match the tension coiled tight in their chest. their gaze stayed locked on the tv, a lifeline he refused to cut. but her eyes were relentless, and he could feel them pulling at him, picking apart the threads of their composure. she wasn’t going to let this go. “ don’t worry about it. ” he echoed shortly after, the words a bitter laugh, hollow in the quiet, a silent challenge filling the room. their hand lifted, brushing through his hair in a restless motion before dropping back to their lap. they finally looked at her, and the way her eyes caught his made him wish he hadn’t.
‘ it’s not just the race, is it? ’ sat in their ears, a pounding against his head as if hammers were being struck down. “ what do you want me to say? ” the words came out before they could stop them, slipping through a sliver of vulnerability he hadn’t seen coming; tone was tight, sharp. their gaze dropped, fingers tracing absent patterns against the couch cushion as he fought the urge to look at her again. “ just a really bad race. ” but even he didn’t believe it. not when the weight of her presence made it impossible to ignore what was clawing at him. “ hope you didn't bet on me and lose your fortune. ” they added, softer this time, attempting a semblance at normalcy. he was never very good at that.
SHE'S VELVET PETALS IN A CLOSED FIST, FRAGRANT AND PERPETUALLY CREASED WITH A CERTAIN FERITY. its a reminder that she can't go long without flashing the points of her teeth, just to maintain the notion that she still had her bite. because after all, a girl can take herself out the street but you can never truly pry her from the asphalt. " staying is where all the conflict is, " it's all cannon fodder, volleying these mouthfuls of nothing at each other. poking little holes in the other's facade like pulling your hands through a beaded curtain ⸺ everything you've done unfurls the moment someone lets go.
you didn't have to come.
but oh, hadn't she? bambi had been deprived in the past, but this year would be one of nourishing herself until she no longer had the need to. " you can say it you know, " mind trapaises distantly into the lamp-lit cavern of her oceanside condo, she'd left the balcony door agape when she went out into the night ⸺ wonders if he'd preferred her to have stayed there ⸺ a pretty thing lit up by the shorelight, waves lapping hard enough to forget herself. it poses that she should have been anywhere but here, as if to protect herself from the calamity that incurred whenever they found orbit of one another. as if she did not ache for collision. and then, all too pleased: " that you're glad i came. that you wanted me to come. "
she is not sorry for the space she takes while they remain before her, makes herself comfortable. women were always meant to be sorry for things. bambi could not simply bend to that expectation: the apologetic woman. no apology for the way she drapes herself across the lounger enough to meld into it, absolutely radiant with a debauched sort of elegance & only slightly tipsy. rather, she contorts enough to allow them further into her velvet dominion ⸺ should he dare. " come sit with me, " svelte legs cast back over the ledge of the chaise, manicured digits patting where space had just then been alleviated for them to join her.
" i'm even better up close. "
hawk’s jaw ticked, the muscle flexing just slightly as her words settled in the space between them, a loaded pause he wasn’t quick to fill. it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to pin him down with something real, but it was the first time in a while that they hadn’t brushed it off with a snide remark or a deflection sharp enough to cut through the tension. no, with her, it felt different. the air between them wasn’t just heavy — it was charged, a live wire stretched taut and waiting for the inevitable snap. their eyes, sharp and restless, tracked her movements as she sprawled herself across the chaise like it was a throne, daring him to approach her kingdom. she always carried herself like that, like the room bent to her will and she was kind enough to let everyone else linger in her orbit. maybe it did. hell, maybe he didn’t mind.
" you’re real good at putting words in my mouth. " they said finally, voice low and edged with a dry humor that didn’t quite mask the unspoken truth beneath it. the smirk that tugged at the corner of their mouth was faint, fleeting — more reflex than anything — but it didn’t reach his eyes. those stayed locked on her, studying, weighing, like she was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he could ever solve. they could feel the weight of her invitation hanging in the air, the soft pat of her hand against the chaise like a beckon and a challenge all at once. for a moment, they hesitated, his hands finding the comfort of his pockets as if grounding himself in the familiar. this wasn’t their terrain, not the raw vulnerability that lingered in her gaze, nor the ease with which she commanded the space around her. he was a racer, built for speed and chaos, not this. whatever this was.
with a slow, deliberate motion, they crossed the space between them, sinking onto the chaise with a practiced casualness that didn’t quite match the subtle tension in their frame. he leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the edge, but his body angled just slightly toward her, like they couldn’t help but be drawn in despite himself. " are you always... like this? " they inquired, his voice low, rough-edged but not unkind. the question was more observation than challenge, the kind of thing someone says when they’re trying to make sense of what’s in front of them. his gaze flicked to her, catching the faint glint of amusement in her eyes, and his lips tugged into a smirk that didn’t quite hide the softer edge underneath. " i mean, like... "
the words hung in the air, he didn’t know what he wanted to say. their words caught in his throat and what was only a few seconds, a weighted silence, felt like an eternity stretched out in front of them. his eyes lingered on her, pointed but thoughtful, as if he were trying to pick apart the layers she so effortlessly presented. " you make it easy to do what you say. " they added after a beat, the smirk tugging a little wider, tone easy but not dismissive. " and you know i hate listening to people. " the words were easy, nonchalant, but there was a tension in the way his hand brushed his knee, restless energy they couldn’t quite shake. for all his bravado, all the armor they wore so effortlessly, she had a way of slipping through the cracks, and maybe that’s what made it so hard to look away.
smile curving into a full blown smirk, feet pulling her to stand at their side on the wall. the smell that coated them both, that would seep into the faux leather set, did little to deter her from the spot. hawk was best like this, alone and relaxed. sharp claws retracted enough that the touch didn't nip at skin, third eye - lid that closed as if recognizing there was no need to hunt in the moment. feels the heat of his gaze on the side of her face, head turning to catch their eye. she holds the eye contact for a moment before it flickers away.
“ nah, ‘s been quiet, ” as much as it could be with the two crews in the same space for an elongated time, and either way, “ the night is young though. plenty time for elbow throwing or a fight, or two. ” the way she says it almost makes it sound as if she wants to see a fight explode, the night too calm to feel alive, “ don't worry, it won't be who goes around starting the fight. wouldn't want you stressing, ” palms tapping against the wall behind them, a soft tune to mimic that which would filter out each time another body left the club.
their eyes narrowed slightly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it was more reaction than intention. xile's smirk & that little edge to her words — like she’d welcome the chaos — was amusing, if nothing else. ❛ you’d be the type to sit back & enjoy the show, huh ? ❜
their voice was low, threaded with the kind of dry humor that made it hard to tell if they were teasing or just making an observation. leaning further into the wall, their shoulder barely brushed hers — an unintentional gesture that lingered just enough to acknowledge her presence. ❛ not stressed, just... prepared. you know how it goes. give it long enough, & someone’ll say the wrong thing, step the wrong way, & then it’s a shitshow. ❜
their glass tilted in their hand, watching the last traces of liquid swirl before it disappeared with a quick sip. ❛ not that i’m in the mood to throw punches tonight. or watch anyone else do it. but hey, if you’re itching for some action, maybe you should head back in. see what happens. ❜
there was a glint of something playful in his eyes, but his tone remained steady, neutral enough to keep her guessing. ❛ or don’t. i’m not complaining about the peace. ❜ it was an almost offhand comment, but it carried a note of sincerity — soft, subtle, & deliberately left open for interpretation.
HERE, IN THE WARBLING LIGHT A LESSON IS MADE. heed: it is made not learned, a precedent in exactly how not to proceed with caution. let's be clear, this is an intrusion & julian does not care to be slick about his grievances in the dark. man built of god, guilt and greed. julian could not be faulted for seeing hawk as a challenge he could move through fist first. he's laughing about something when he happens upon the barside, brushing through a throng of shoulders just to check hawk's. " just havin' a drink s'all. " proceeds to order one of whatever they were having from the bartender, only then does julian cant his gaze over to the other. " not tryna' ruffle your feathers or nothin' birdie. "
the collision of words & weight — a shoulder brushing his — wasn’t unexpected. predictable, even. the kind of move that screamed look at me, like julian was holding court instead of just another glass. hawk’s drink hovered halfway to their lips, a pause stretched long enough to let the silence sting before he set it back down, slow & deliberate, like every second was a statement. ❛ funny, 'cause ruffling’s really all that you’re good at, ain’t it ? ❜ his voice was low, a blade wrapped in velvet, cutting but casual. they didn’t bother to look at julian at first, letting the words land on their own before finally turning, an eyebrow ticked up briefly like they'd just been asked to watch a parlor trick.
the nickname didn’t hit a nerve, not immediately, at least. hawk had been called worse, & the fact that julian thought it was clever only underscored how he shouldn't react to it. ( shouldn't being the operative word. ) still, there was an itch under his skin, something raw & restless that wanted to dig deeper than the surface. they resisted. ❛ guess i shouldn’t be surprised you’d go for a copycat order. not like originality’s your thing. ❜ their mouth twitched, not quite a smile, more a dare. hawk leaned back against the bar, arms crossing in a lazy kind of defiance. the tension hung there, thick as the bass thrumming through the club, & for a moment, he let it.
★ ꒰ 🦋 ꒱ “ maybe most people feel that way, ” chrissy surmised, nodding slightly to acknowledge their words. “ but it’s not like that for me, ” she said, shrugging. “ i’m interested in hearing about what a lot of people have to say. i like listening and learning about people. i don’t care if there’s anything in a conversation for me. ” she was just a curious person and had been her entire life. chrissy never bothered trying to hide that, either. she wanted to know about the people she spoke to, but she’d never push for more details. she would respect it if people didn’t want to share details with her, it was okay.
at least they didn’t seem too bothered by her rambling tendencies. she knew other people might’ve felt otherwise, but that was just something she was prepared to deal with. chrissy pursed her lips, nodding at hawk’s words. “ yeah, it’s a little weird when people don’t say anything at all, ” she stated. she preferred being around people who enjoyed having conversations, even if they weren’t deep or meaningful. chrissy loved being around people in general.
she hadn’t meant to say those words out loud, knew that they could bring the mood down. it just slipped out, because it was the only explanation she truly had to offer them. chrissy still felt that loss every day, silently carried that burden with her everywhere she went. femme didn’t enjoy speaking about her parents, not when that loss was still so fresh despite years passing. she swallowed thickly, a slight nod following as she tried to center herself. she took a shaky breath, blinking back tears she’d never wanted to invite in. teeth sank into her lower lip, desperate to try and regain control of her composure.
“ sorry, ” she said, shaking her head as she gained some semblance of self control. “ i didn’t mean to bring that up . . . it just sorta came out. ” it wasn’t like she’d intended to dump her troubles onto them. hawk asked, and she answered. she furrowed her brows, head shaking in confusion. “ i don’t really know what that means, but i guess i’ll take it as a compliment, ” she told him. tolerable was better than insufferable, she supposed.
he flicked the lighter open & closed again, the rhythm steady, like it was grounding them while she talked. he didn’t interrupt, letting her speak as much as she wanted. at least she wasn’t one of those people who talked to fill the air but never said anything. ❛ listening without needing something in return... that’s rare. ❜ the words came out low, almost like an afterthought. they weren’t mocking her, though; it sounded more like they didn’t quite believe it was true, or maybe didn’t know what to do with it if it was. genuineness. what a concept.
her apology pulled his gaze back to her, sharp & quick, like he was surprised she thought she needed to say it. they studied her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed a little too tense, her voice a little too tight. ❛ you don’t have to apologize. ❜ the words were simple, but there was a weight to them, like they actually meant what they said. he shifted his stance ( something they do often without realizing ) their gaze fixed somewhere past her.
❛ loss like that... it doesn’t just stay in its lane. comes out when it wants to, not when you want it to. ❜ they exhaled slowly, almost like the thought alone was heavy enough to press on his chest. ❛ not like there’s a rulebook for handling it. ❜ he didn’t meet her eyes after that, didn’t push or pry. instead, his tone slid back into something more neutral, the tension easing slightly. ❛ & yeah, tolerable’s about as high as my compliments go. don’t get used to it. ❜ there was the ghost of a smirk, like they were trying to pull the conversation back to safer ground, away from the cracks that had started to show.
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