None Can Excel

The second child, Beyond Birthday, was brilliant and deviant.

[beyondthebackup]

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[apocalyptiacs]

[text -> Kismet] I block you when I'm in class. This is why.

[txt] woooowww [txt] worried ur gonna get ur phone taken away? :( poor baby [txt] will they take away ur gold stickers next?? [txt] NOT UR PRECIOUS EXTRA CREDIT!! [txt] soooo sorry i didnt know i was talking to king DWEEB right now

[IMG: sent] Kismet is upside down on a table. The picture is clearly self taken, considering the awkward angle, but what you can make out is that he is shirtless, pants on but undone.

[txt] ur missing out [txt] dont you HATE missing out

[beyondthebackup]

apocalyptiacs

[...] [txt] don threatnining me w a good time [txt] betr hry [txt] that sunonds miiighty entici ng

Backup is grateful for his eyes at times like these. The pictures are shit, but not incomprehensible to him. And although it is a lot of trouble to drop his studying, slip through the gate, and make his way into the bowels of Winchester, the possibility that Kismet might climb into the vehicle of the next random is a very real one. Though he would not die, who knows what might happen to him. He might not be as fun when he came back.

Even with the pictures, it is admittedly not the easiest task to find him. The deadline is an utterly self-imposed aspect of the challenge that Backup nonetheless refused to fail.

K is an attention-seeker, and a talented one. He knows how to appeal to his audience.

[txt] I'm close [txt] are you conscious?

It's about 28 minutes in when Backup nearly stumbles over his prize on the sidewalk.

"Kismet."

[apocalyptiacs]

The boy wonder if one were looking could be found laying flat against the pavement, arms outstretched, world spinning. He had to have been waiting that whole time, considering he is not that far in perspective to the street sign he had posted up with previously. Laying in wait like an obedient puppy, or at least one that was waiting for the next person to call him over for pets. That could have been anyone. But he is in fact conscious. And he all but springs into action at the call of his name.

Oooh. Bad idea. Head rush. He stumbles a bit, gripping his head.

"B! You made it~! And'a whole," he whips out the phone, still miraculously in his hand, to put really close to his face to get a clear, steady look at, "two minutes early! Can you believe the two whole cars that passed completely ignored my thumbing?" He frowns, as if really hurt he didn't get trafficked today.

He approaches his friend, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Oh, yeah no he's going to need both arms around him to keep himself up straight. And lays a head on his shoulder. You know, for good measure.

"Fuck, man, I missed ya. Let's get you inside and properly slizzard, yeah?"

[beyondthebackup]

Smirking at the ridiculous scene, B has to admit this is already more fun than homework. Kismet behaved and is right where he said he'd be. This is the familiar beginning of another potentially productive evening wasted, and gladly, in his company.

"I said I would. Did you doubt me?" He's obviously pleased with himself. "And you're whole, too. I'm impressed."

Backup glances over to the flat Kismet must've stumbled out of. College age kids are filing in and out of the place with cans. He doesn't get the chance to comment before party boy throws himself at him.

It's mostly reflex to keep him from sliding completely to the ground. This happens a lot. B strokes the hair on top of his self-destructive head.

"What, no one felt sorry enough for you to come and ask you if you're okay? Stroke your hair, bring you water? You love that part," B pouts with pseudo-sympathy. "You must've been lonely...too drunk to pull. Poor baby."

Kismet shows no sign of letting go of B anytime soon.

"I know you missed me. You always do. That is, once again, why I block you when I'm in class."

Since K was able to stand up long enough to greet him, B figures he can probably walk. He takes a step back from him, still holding his shoulders in case he decides to fall over.

"Can you handle it? I don't want you passing out on me as soon as we get in there. Maybe I should throw you in a trunk and take you home."

[apocalyptiacs]

B petting his nappy little head brings goosebumps up the back of his neck in excitement. An angel might as well have just come down to kiss the crown of his head.

He is by the miracle of God’s great grace and B’s capably supportive arms, still standing. And he is staring at his savior with the most lovesick puppy eyes at a miracle standing before him, lids heavy with alcohol and lips spread wide in a light headed carefree glee.

B came for him.

K wins again.

But the good news for Backup is when he loses to Kismet, he still gets to win too. He licks his lips.

“I pulled you, didn’t I?”

He turns on his heel, latching his hands on to B’s wrist to pull him back inside to the house party at the tune of being dragged back to that house of drab. Kismet is not letting him go that easy, and he promised a party. No body cuts off his good time.

K scoffs, “can I handle it… You insult me, B. I’ll drink double you just to prove you wrong.” And works on keeping his march stable enough to make it back in through the door.

[beyondthebackup]

Backup can't complain too much, being the current target of Kismet's desire. It suits him. Though he's not sure anyone or anything remains there for too long. Drugs, sex, and violence all suit him. An open wound waiting for a blade. If he hadn't shown up, it would've been someone else, anyone else, even if he forgot who they were by the following morning.

Still, K always ends up stumbling his way back home and inevitably, worming his way into B's life again.

"Did you...?" he fights back returning the smile, losing that battle pretty quickly, too. Being with A feels like a neverending game of chess; intense, all-consuming, complex, cerebral, high stakes. Being with K feels a little more like Russian roulette. On nights like this, when he's exhausted from trying so hard to be good, be the best, all the while knowing his work won't be done until his opponent is buried in the ground, he's not sure which he prefers.

There's no resistance when Kismet drags him toward the party, but he's going a little too slow for B's taste. He's too sober for this, and K is too drunk.

B stops, pulls K behind him, kneels, and hikes him up onto his back like luggage.

"...You're lighter. Probably can't keep anything down when your stomach acid is 99% proof, huh? You're not gonna be able to throw me off next time we get in a fight."

When, not if. Spoken as casually as if he were talking about the next time they'd go out to a restaurant. When things are good between them, they're really good. When they're bad, they're really bad. Even now there's no telling which kind of night this would turn out to be.

The base of loud, droning party music, the contrast of dark rooms and electronic lights burning bright, the haze of smoke and stranger's bodies feel familiar and like a relief compared to the stern, dull wood of the orphanage hallways. Perfectly extroverted enough, B still has no interest in these people who live entirely different lives than him, with homes, parents and a future they could at least believe was of their own making. The truth is, he is here for Kismet.

Stopping short at a table with jello shots, he slides K off his back and sucks down three like it's absolutely nothing. He's ready to stop being Backup for the night. They can't hit him fast enough. He shoves one into K's hands. He wants to make him worse.

"You said something about a basement?"

[apocalyptiacs]

Limbs move like loose jello being yanked behind the body he was previously dragging along with him like a little girl’s favorite rag doll, and offer no resistance in being hiked up the muscular back of his on again off again bestest friend with benefits. Grateful for it, really, as walking straight and thinking and talking all at the same time was getting to be a bit of a chore. That, and he got some sweet, sweet close contact time with the coveted bad boy of Wammy’s House. He nuzzles his face into the mess of raven hair now right in front of his nose. B smells good.

”Ughh… Do not bring up vomiting right now… unless you want it running down your pretty back…” he groans, but still peppers the boy carrying him in graciously wet kisses into the side of his neck and head in gratitude for the lift. “I’ll jus’ be that more agile an’ nimble anyways. Heheh, can’t hit what ya can’t caaatch~”

Kismet giggles within his slurring at the thought of their next tussle, knowing just as well it’s inevitable. He looks forward to them almost as much as he does their hook ups. It’s just so exhilarating getting B all riled up, both positively and negatively. The passion behind his hands and eyes is always just as hot either way.

As he easily slides off his ride back in, he watches with glee as B knocks back three shots in a row and, not one to be left behind even in his head start, grabs another in addition to the one shoved into his hand to match his doubling word.

Lime. Delicious. They both slide in unison down the back of his throat with ease, much in thanks to his skilled practice.

“Oh, B—“ he nearly chokes then in his sudden excitement in remembering, “is there fucking ever! I barely wanna even spoil it for you, ya gotta see thisshit. Come on!” His usual grin turns a touch more sinister as he pulls the equally degenerate teen down the steps to where K had sent his original photo.

Sure enough is the array of spirits he had allured to mixing in his texts sitting on the table he had previously hung himself off of, as well as so much more. A litany of drugs, as well as tools and toys lay strewn about under the flashing lights illuminating the otherwise dark interior. In the middle of the floor sit five male individuals, all hooded and tied together. A sign sits at their feet, labeled ‘free use til sunrise.’

“I may have neglected to tell you…” his hands rest on the other’s shoulders, standing next to but a step behind him to talk into his ear above the bass, “this is a frat party. A frat initiation hazing party…”

[beyondthebackup]

That uneasy stomach doesn't stop K from grooming B like a cat. There's not even a shadow of shame shared between the two of them and that's why there are only a couple of ways their nights together tend to end.

B catches that devious spark in K's eyes like a cold. He's probably the one person B can confidently say shares his idea of an especially good time. Obelus will humor him, even egg him on, but he knows he's just as happy drinking himself into a stupor back at home. It's B that makes him dangerous; K is dangerous all on his own.

Expectations are high, then, when his companion ushers him down the stairs with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. It's not often that such expectations are met, much less surpassed. Yet here it is, on the floor of a college kid's basement - the perfect present all tied up with a bow.

The drugs and suspicious implements are all but ignored in favor of the five vulnerable bodies abandoned here, at the complete mercy of whatever drunken cruelties the strange party-goers filing in and out of this place might choose to inflict. Some sit still with their every muscle tensed, others slump over in resignation and the rest squirm against their binds in futility. They are all silent save for the occasional indecipherable grunt and murmur. They must be gagged.

As individuals, they are indistinct. Different trainers, jeans, and stuffy polos. Not much else. They must be a part of some prestigious academic or social club at the University of Winchester, with some questionable leadership. Fraternities and their hazing culture are an American phenomenon. Perhaps Kismet is just one of many degenerate influences that have traveled across the pond in the last decade.

These are a handful of posh boys around their age with families, money, choices, and most likely, quite good grades. All the ingredients for a bright future ripe for the ruining. That's all it takes to make them deserving of the hardly repressed malice pumping quietly and consistently through Backup's veins.

"This...is amazing!" B reaches out as if to take the entire scene into his arms. He turns to regard K playing cute behind his back with incredulity, his energy jump-started from blasé and noncommittal to pure electricity reflected off black eyes and a bright grin. "You... were gonna let me miss this just so you could rub it in my face later. Unless I dropped everything to come play with you, right? Fuck you, Kismet."

Abruptly and in the same breath, he takes his friend's face into his hands and kisses him. It's impossible for B to sit still under these circumstances, so the reward is enthusiastic but brief. He turns and approaches the other boys in the room with animated curiosity almost immediately.

"Universities here don't have fraternities. This is something even more fucked up!"

B kneels in front of the nearest stranger, notable only for his choice to wear a red polo out tonight. He's leaning in so close that the hooded boy recoils and nearly falls onto his back.

"Hey. What's your name?"

There's no discernable answer, but B isn't listening either way.

He can't see them. Their names. Or their lifespans. No matter how long or close or hard he stares at the holes and bumps behind the cloth, the letters and numbers are simply not there.

The same cannot be said for Kismet. B knows precisely and absolutely the moment when he will die, and that no interference on his part will change it.

B has no idea at all who these hooded boys are or when they'll die. They could die 50 years from now. They could die in a year. They could die tonight.

B's laughter bounces off the walls of the basement. Stuff like this never just falls in his lap. He has to work so hard to have any fun. K just hands it to him. Like he's made of the stuff. It's why he keeps coming back.

Warmth settles in along with the alcohol and mingles with his deep itch to see just how far a night of ignorance he's rarely afforded could go, and he stands to look back at his favorite person for the night.

"What did you do with them?" He smiles at K knowingly, playfully, like there is nowhere else he'd rather be right now. The rest of the world in an instant reduced to this tinderbox of bad decisions. They are the only two with minds and bodies that matter. The rest of it, all pieces to one big gameboard.

And they're both cheaters.

[beyondthebackup]

"Hey fuck face, can you stop cutting me off in traffic? I'm trying to be civil, but it seems like you're trying to piss me off."

-F (@fairweather-fangs)

"You're mistaken, F. I'm not trying to piss you off. I'm succeeding!"

[beyondthebackup]

Rat.

"Oh, you can do better than that, Drakey! I've been called worse by people I've cut off in traffic."

[apocalyptiacs]

This time, Hue is standing in Kismet's doorway, watching him in silence. Though the look on his face says he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

There's a notebook in his two hands, straining with folded yellow edges of sticky notes peeking out from between the pages.

He waits to be noticed before speaking, and even then, refuses to cross the threshold. A vampire that doesn't actually want to be invited in.

Hue isn't the only one feeling apprehension.

B understands that even the most innocuous interaction between them poses an existential risk.

Kismet is not like Obelus, content to match his energy and leave it at that. He's a whirlwind of ravenous hunger B has only ever recognized within himself. Whatever he wants, he is likely to eventually get, even if only through persistence alone. And like B, K has a bad habit of wanting everything.

Knowing this does not inoculate him from the temptation of the ghosts of his past walking alongside him in adult bodies.

"You got Saturn in your class?" Hue asks gruffly.

Destiny's Child's Lose My Breath blares from a CD run speaker sitting on top of the scattered desk that is the history professor's office. Textbooks all but abandoned at this point and assignment drafts half finished, clearly this song took priority to his ongoing drudging of actual teaching material. A pen swings in the air with the rhythm, much less conducting as it is 'feeling the music'.

Kismet's eyes are closed, head swaying while his expression reads one of deep relation to the song.

"Hit me hard, make me lose my hah, hah," he hums to himself passionately when his eyes open, and there is a figure that definitely was not there a minute ago.

He does a fast double take, make sure he isn't actually seeing things, and immediately hits the pause.

'No fucking way.'

It was K's lucky day. A grin is plastered all over his face. He really does get everything he wants.

"Depends, you gonna sit n' stay a while or bolt with my answer to go?"

[apocalyptiacs]

prev beyondthebackup:

"Comin' back to an orphanage for the 'crazy'. Sounds like rock fuckin' bottom to me. I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Please,” Kismet rolls his eyes as he kicks his feet up on top of the desk in casual leisure, “I’m as much of a target as they are, something I’m more than sure you’re privy to by now. I see no harm in providing a little returned attention where and when it’s due.”

The bite in his colleague’s words hold not much conviction against a man with such a love for degradation. In fact, he doubts much of anyone has even held any kind of conversation with cold Hue for this long, despite its contents. They’re even staring into each other’s eyes now. This is practically flirting.

Kismet is no stranger to aggressive, mean flirting anyway. That was most of the attention he got from his best mates B and by extension Obelus as kids, and it almost always ended in them in some entanglement of hot, close bodied desire; whether that be for violence or pleasure. Didn’t so much matter to him, both were physical enough and pulled the attention right where it always belongs—on himself, of course. Name calling, hair pulling, throwing punches, kicks to the stomach, or burns on his flesh and glass in his skin is all just foreplay. It is a language he knows how to speak quite fluently.

”Aww. Like me? I think I can arrange that for you again. I have a nasty habit of reverting people back into their worst selves. I think I’d quite like to meet that you, Hue. And I think you’ll let me. Eventually.” To say, he will wear him down, like a tiger stalking a running gazelle. Given the motive of never ending hunger, K is difficult to make run out of steam for his prey.

They are already a bit the same, after all. Two burn outs not quite dulled of spark enough to be ignored being called upon by the prestigious genius orphan academy that still held standard for both producing and providing the best of the best. And here they were, on equal playing field, both a head of their respective teams in a similar regard. An outsider and an inside man.

“I’m sure you’ll regret me too. Most people do. But you’ll have a ball in the meantime. I make sure of that, too.” Supple neck exposed, he can only think about sinking his teeth in the same spots an inked, buzzing needle had probed previously in coating his neck. K would coat it in bruising, blood, and saliva if given even the slightest opportunity.

Rock bottom. Yeah right. No one hits rock bottom when they live down there. This was Kismet’s chosen pit, and he chose to roll in it. He was thriving at the bottom; what does Hue know? What does anyone know?

“No need to wrinkle your pretty little head with sorry, don’t worry about that. The top is where the real suckers are at. I suppose you might know something about that too, esteemed art world savant turned esteemed high school teacher. I can show you the real pleasantries that squalor provides, trust.” Even just for a night. That is all he needs, really.

[beyondthebackup]

Kismet's audacity is as breathtaking as it has always been.

Maybe he hasn't been frozen in time all these years; maybe he actually came back worse.

How much worse? B would be lying if he said he wasn't itching to find out.

The difference is that K is no longer the teenager he once was. The foolishness of youth, tragic upbringing, boys-will-be-boys, and other such excuses for his bad behavior he weaponized so effectively back then are forfeit.

He is the adult now, a professor with the authority to pass, fail and punish, encourage or degrade - to mold any young mind misguided enough to take him seriously. As ill-suited as K is to power, influence and responsibility, here he is, lounging on the other side of the desk as blithe and poised to kill as any carnivorous animal. All sanctioned by this oh so reputable institution, nonetheless.

Not a single thing about Kismet implies professionalism or good judgement. One look at him or his classroom with everything haphazard and half-assed makes Hue out to be a square in comparison. Still, constant rumors of indiscretions aside, Wammy's House sees him perfectly fit to assist in the grooming of their freshest batch of juvenile tools.

B supposes this should be reassuring to him.

Hue can serve his purpose, poke and prod around, gather the information he needs about the declining second generation and the up-and-coming third so that B can effectively sabotage them both. Wammy's House will produce nothing but failures again, and with a scapegoat like Kismet around, it doesn't even look like B will need to be on his best behavior to pull that off.

It seems they're still using each other, even now.

Someone else weighs on B's mind. Whether he can be anything more than a liability now is questionable.

"You and Obelus both, right?" Hue sneers, apparently giving up on debating ethics with someone who has no interest in examining his actions in the first place. "I've heard the rumors. He isn't even bothering to hide how much of a hopeless drunk he is these days. And he seems to think you're the best of friends. You come up with this bullshit together? It's an even playing field 'cause you used to be them? Does he quote Freud?"

B stops himself there. Hue thinks they're repugnant enough to cut into with such mockery, sure, but he has to be careful not to let his own jealousy bleed through. Kismet would smell it like a bloodhound.

"Wow...you are persistent, I'll give you that; delusional, too. You think I'd give up my sobriety for community dick? Bet you never worked hard for something a day in your life," Hue lets out something resembling a laugh, dry and gravelly as it is. "If anything, being around you losers just makes me wanna give up cigarettes and booze, too. Go full teetotaler and just be done with it all so we won't have a single fuckin' thing in common."

Hue drops his arm and lets it hover limply over the ground, creating distance between himself and the cigarette as if to prove his point. He watches it burn, basking in the waste. Eventually, though, he fails to resist turning his eyes back on his peacocking counterpart.

'I have a nasty habit of reverting people back to their worst selves.'

His worst self has a few ideas about what he'd like to do to him right now. It wouldn't be that hard to wipe that cocky look off his face and make him pathetic and yielding again. A little attention is all it takes to make K soft and amenable. Obedient, even. At least to a point.

He misses those desperate little puppy dog eyes. Who does he think he is, playing like he's the one in control here?

Hiding and fleeing do not suit B.

Would it really make any difference? One night, call it a drunken mistake, go back to ignoring him at every available opportunity. It would be fun. He knows it would be fun. Why be so worried about something so inconsequential on its face? In fact, giving in might just get K off his back. He'd become another name in that little black book of his. He'd lose interest.

He'd lose interest.

B's blood runs cold. It's in his best interest if K loses interest in Hue. Much like Obelus deciding he wants nothing to do with him. Less eyes, less attention from people who knew B well enough once to recognize something familiar in Hue. More freedom, more focus.

It's in his best interest for them to lose interest.

Yet the thought makes him want to put out this cigarette right on Kismet's pretty face.

'I think I'd quite like to meet that you, Hue. And I think you'll let me. Eventually.'

B bites down on his tongue, setting Hue's jaw as a consequence.

"That me is long fuckin' dead, Kismet. Sorry to disappoint. I don't think your little boyfriend would appreciate that, anyway, and you two really do deserve each other. I'd hate to get in the way."

Does B regret Kismet? Does he regret Obelus? Does he regret refusing to leave with one, only to leave the other behind in that all too familiar cycle of abandonment? Does he regret coming back for revenge and looking them both in the face again behind a disguise?

No. Of course not.

Hue smirks. He and B are both being rewarded for their efforts. The change in tone is imperceptible to the average person but impossible for B to miss. K has been a wonderful sport, taking Hue's worst like a good boy without swiping back in earnest. This is his first proper jab, light as it is. It means he managed to get under that thick skin even if only for a moment.

This is still so much fun.

As if he's finally decided to get comfortable in Kismet's presence, Hue stretches out long and lazy into his chair.

"Everyone's a sucker for something, Kismet. Some are just better at hiding it than others," he yawns, pinching the burning stick between two fingers and holding it above his face for inspection.

He watches it burn and watches it burn and watches it burn.

"...But you're not wrong. The people that bought my art were at the top; vapid parasites who didn't know or care about a thing. It was about tax evasion or blowin' smoke up their own asses in front of their friends. Suckers."

Finally, Hue pops the nub back into the corner of his mouth and takes one last puff before it's snuffed out. It hangs there, limp and ineffective as a bad habit.

"And I was a sucker, too. Doin' my little song and dance for 'em. Artist from the dirt. I was for sale. Nice thing about these kids is that they can't buy me. If the old man doesn't like how I do things, I walk. But you? This is home for you,"

He shrugs.

"Maybe this is all you know."

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[xrphansrevival]

PREV

Beyondthebackup

He gives him a once over. "Do you need help?"

Obelus mirrors Hue, now resting his cheek against his fist, too. Therapy isn't really his area of expertise. As a psychologist, he's more into the study of people and their problems, not so much in the habit of fixing said problems. When Hue tells him to stop again, Obelus decides that he's had enough.

"Sigh," he sighs.

Being sober absolutely sucks. With his little fun and games over, Obelus feels the irritation seep in almost immediately. His friendly demeanor drops in an instant. He stops mirroring Hue to put away his fake glasses, to open his poorly buttoned flannel again, and to grab a can from a drawer. No matter how much Yoriko tried to restrict his drinking, it wouldn't work. Obelus has many, many tricks. If shotgunning a beer has a world record, Obelus might as well get his name on a plaque. It's gone in an instant.

The notebook is closed and tossed carelessly onto the desk. "I don't really do the feelings thing, Tint." Buuurp. Classy. "Oh, praise God, I'm alive." He taps a lazy cross on himself. "I have a more than stable job, surrounded by people that also are here and alive. I have more help than I could ever need."

Obelus suddenly hits his palm against his forehead. "Duh. And I have a friend again. Raised from the dead, back from hell, none other than Kismet. Between him, A, and B, I definitely thought B was most likely to return. I mean, I watched After die, but shit. Guess we learned to find the body."

Obelus looks miserable, but only for a moment.

"Haha. I bet B would've had something funny to say about it. Fate 'nd all. Must have been Kismet that he returned, right?"

Obelus looks sad, but only for a moment. He looks away, gaze almost as if he's staring into another world.

"I'm sure doc is alive. I don't know what his plan was, but I always thought he could do anything."

He looks at Hue. Obelus looks pissed.

"I don't need help from someone like you."

[beyondthebackup]

Hue makes a face. Verbalizing nonverbal sounds. Awful table manners. Stupid fucking nicknames. Neuroses, addictions, and compulsions for days. Wammy's House orphans must get masterclasses in being unbearable.

B being rather unbearable himself understands completely.

"Uh huh. Then what possessed you to try and stick your nose into mine, then? Kicks?" He cocks an eyebrow. "That's a real high bar you got there. And you suck down beers like a vacuum cleaner, too. What more can a guy ask for."

Hue crosses his arms and watches Obelus with some curiosity. He feels utterly alienated from him, Kismet, and the other so-called geniuses here. It's not like Hue cares much; frankly, he prefers it that way. It's B that cares. His ex-best friend is impenetrable and yet clearly spiralling, but his ex-mistake shows up after being ran through the gutters of the mean streets of New York City like nothing ever happened. He's missed out on so much of their lives and now he is in the dark. They used to be wrapped around his finger. The lack of control makes him itch.

B shouldn't be bothering with either of them. Maybe he has a couple compulsions of his own.

And since when has Obelus ever considered Kismet a friend? As far as he knew, he despised him. Those two give it up to everyone, so it's not as if sex is any indication of positive feelings. He wants to know what changed. Was he really the only reason? Was Obelus really that jealous all that time?

"So you're friends. Since you were kids? Did you really think he was dead, or are you just bein' a drama queen?" A strange half-smile worms its way onto the wayward artist's expression. He's never smiled at Obelus before and it's debatable whether he ever smiles at all. It doesn't last. Appropriately, it fades as his counterpart continues to open up to him, even if only accidentally.

A. Hue averts his eyes. The flashbacks come to B like it happened yesterday. He never forgets. He never stops thinking about it. Apparently, neither does Obelus. He grasps his bicep a little tighter, to stop himself from reaching for him.

"...Yeah. I've been there. That is one of the many reasons why I am an asshole. ...I'm sorry."

The kindness seems genuine even if the cold, detached professor declines to meet Obelus's eyes for a while. Eventually, he turns back to him, his own stare just a smidge softer. Any rounding of his edges at all stands out in a character so consistent.

'I'm sure doc is still alive. I don't know what his plan was, but I always thought he could do anything.'

A flash of warmth in those hazel contacts that B rushes to try and bury.

"Sounds like you cared a lot about 'em."

It's a relief when Obelus shuts the door on Hue. This is a mistake. He keeps making the same damn mistake walking down memory lane and for what? He left Obelus, Kismet and the rest of this behind for a reason, didn't he?

A bloody undeniable fucking reason.

"Wasn't offering. Just wondering. I can't help you or anyone, really," Hue glances over to the classroom door. "...Don't act like you know what you mean when you say 'someone like me'. You gifted kids stick together. But you don't know anything about me. And lucky for us, you don't have to. All coworkers have to do is tolerate each other, yeah?"

[xrphansrevival]

Something isn't quite right.

Obelus spent years following around one singular person, B, Backup, Doc, and at the start, B couldn't give less of a damn about him. He hadn't proved himself yet. He hadn't shown B anything worth noting. It took what felt like ages to get even a crumb of B's attention without the context of A being part of it. Obelus has heard plenty about Hue, the grumpy artist that doesn't open up or smile for anyone.

The sudden change makes Obelus sick. It's not that people can't be nice or polite, but something about this interaction has gone from Obelus making a shitty joke, to something almost unsettling. The idea that the gifted kids stuck together pulls a scowl from Obelus. They were all competing against each other, even the closest friends. It drove wedges between anyone and everyone. The idea that there was some kind of little orphan club there to make everyone feel better was ridiculous. It's also not what Hue said, but still, Obelus was mad.

Joshua was upset.

Joshua had to help himself, time and time again. Backup was his only real lifeline. He poured all his blood, sweat, and tears into gaining that one single friend. It shaped the trajectory of his life. Maybe he could have been a better person, maybe he would've been much worse. It's not out of line for him to assume Hue is fucking with him. The vetting process for professors from the outside has to be quite an ordeal that no ordinary person could get through. Hue had to be special, more than just a burnt out artist.

Obelus' demeanor has shifted. It's not about his anger anymore, but his entire disposition is something that oozes distrust. Everyone has secrets. Everyone has something to hide. Joshua is suddenly extremely uncomfortable with this man worming in and fucking around with Kismet. Being a dick and acting like Kismet isn't worth his salt.

A friend. Joshua's newest only friend. What could Hue possibly get out of Kismet? "I didn't appreciate him before. Now, he's my best friend." He leans forward, folding his hands together on the desk and resting that way. "I don't like you. There's something about you... it pisses me off, haha. Don't be nice to me. Don't pity me. Don't apologize to me! It's a waste of time, don't you think?"

He grins, but there's nothing nice or joyful about it. It's a grin that B gave him many times over the years. His teeth bared more as a sign of aggression than anything else.

"Be an asshole. Anything else... you'll make me sick. Nice doesn't suit you."

[beyondthebackup]

"Your best friend?"

Obelus, are you fucking stupid?

It comes out before B can stop himself from breaking character. Hue looks at Obelus like he's insane, his fingers flying to his lips to half-cover the sardonic grin on his face before it evolves into a full-on fit of sadistic laughter.

FUCK.

It's fine. Hue has a mean streak. Obelus just happened to bring it out. It's what he wants, anyway. Fucking idiot. Pathetic fucking dog off his leash humping the first leg that stops within petting distance of him.

"I don't think he has any friends. And I'm not sure you do either, Obelus. Guys like you just bounce from one good time to the next, don't ya? But hey, call it whatever you want. It's none of my business."

Hue stares back at him in silence for a long time. He scratches away the remnants of the change in his expression until he is once again little more than utterly unamused and unimpressed.

B is burning with a cold rage that made him want to sit here and watch Obelus suffer. He wants to hold his hand on a stove burner until his fingers turn black. He told him to move on before he left, but of course, he didn't mean it. The fact that all it took was a familiar face and some dick for him to plunge into the kind of delusion he once reserved only for B is sickening.

Kismet doesn't care about him. Kismet doesn't care about anyone. Kismet cares about Kismet, and if Obelus thinks he's going to let him hang on all the time, play boyfriends under the veneer of some especially intimate best friendship, or hold back his dogged pursuit of his next conquest (which is, apparently, Hue) to spare his possessive feelings, he's got another thing coming.

B will just sit back and watch his heart break a second time and he will fucking enjoy it.

Weak. Pathetic. Traitor.

"You're all fuckin' psychotic."

Hue stands up and grabs the recycling bin, resisting the urge to break a few of the glass bottles over Obelus's delusional head, and leaves the room without another word.

B is seething internally all the while.

Maybe Hue should be a little nicer to Kismet after all.

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[xrphansrevival]

PREV

Beyondthebackup

He gives him a once over. "Do you need help?"

Obelus mirrors Hue, now resting his cheek against his fist, too. Therapy isn't really his area of expertise. As a psychologist, he's more into the study of people and their problems, not so much in the habit of fixing said problems. When Hue tells him to stop again, Obelus decides that he's had enough.

"Sigh," he sighs.

Being sober absolutely sucks. With his little fun and games over, Obelus feels the irritation seep in almost immediately. His friendly demeanor drops in an instant. He stops mirroring Hue to put away his fake glasses, to open his poorly buttoned flannel again, and to grab a can from a drawer. No matter how much Yoriko tried to restrict his drinking, it wouldn't work. Obelus has many, many tricks. If shotgunning a beer has a world record, Obelus might as well get his name on a plaque. It's gone in an instant.

The notebook is closed and tossed carelessly onto the desk. "I don't really do the feelings thing, Tint." Buuurp. Classy. "Oh, praise God, I'm alive." He taps a lazy cross on himself. "I have a more than stable job, surrounded by people that also are here and alive. I have more help than I could ever need."

Obelus suddenly hits his palm against his forehead. "Duh. And I have a friend again. Raised from the dead, back from hell, none other than Kismet. Between him, A, and B, I definitely thought B was most likely to return. I mean, I watched After die, but shit. Guess we learned to find the body."

Obelus looks miserable, but only for a moment.

"Haha. I bet B would've had something funny to say about it. Fate 'nd all. Must have been Kismet that he returned, right?"

Obelus looks sad, but only for a moment. He looks away, gaze almost as if he's staring into another world.

"I'm sure doc is alive. I don't know what his plan was, but I always thought he could do anything."

He looks at Hue. Obelus looks pissed.

"I don't need help from someone like you."

[beyondthebackup]

Hue makes a face. Verbalizing nonverbal sounds. Awful table manners. Stupid fucking nicknames. Neuroses, addictions, and compulsions for days. Wammy's House orphans must get masterclasses in being unbearable.

B being rather unbearable himself understands completely.

"Uh huh. Then what possessed you to try and stick your nose into mine, then? Kicks?" He cocks an eyebrow. "That's a real high bar you got there. And you suck down beers like a vacuum cleaner, too. What more can a guy ask for."

Hue crosses his arms and watches Obelus with some curiosity. He feels utterly alienated from him, Kismet, and the other so-called geniuses here. It's not like Hue cares much; frankly, he prefers it that way. It's B that cares. His ex-best friend is impenetrable and yet clearly spiralling, but his ex-mistake shows up after being ran through the gutters of the mean streets of New York City like nothing ever happened. He's missed out on so much of their lives and now he is in the dark. They used to be wrapped around his finger. The lack of control makes him itch.

B shouldn't be bothering with either of them. Maybe he has a couple compulsions of his own.

And since when has Obelus ever considered Kismet a friend? As far as he knew, he despised him. Those two give it up to everyone, so it's not as if sex is any indication of positive feelings. He wants to know what changed. Was he really the only reason? Was Obelus really that jealous all that time?

"So you're friends. Since you were kids? Did you really think he was dead, or are you just bein' a drama queen?" A strange half-smile worms its way onto the wayward artist's expression. He's never smiled at Obelus before and it's debatable whether he ever smiles at all. It doesn't last. Appropriately, it fades as his counterpart continues to open up to him, even if only accidentally.

A. Hue averts his eyes. The flashbacks come to B like it happened yesterday. He never forgets. He never stops thinking about it. Apparently, neither does Obelus. He grasps his bicep a little tighter, to stop himself from reaching for him.

"...Yeah. I've been there. That is one of the many reasons why I am an asshole. ...I'm sorry."

The kindness seems genuine even if the cold, detached professor declines to meet Obelus's eyes for a while. Eventually, he turns back to him, his own stare just a smidge softer. Any rounding of his edges at all stands out in a character so consistent.

'I'm sure doc is still alive. I don't know what his plan was, but I always thought he could do anything.'

A flash of warmth in those hazel contacts that B rushes to try and bury.

"Sounds like you cared a lot about 'em."

It's a relief when Obelus shuts the door on Hue. This is a mistake. He keeps making the same damn mistake walking down memory lane and for what? He left Obelus, Kismet and the rest of this behind for a reason, didn't he?

A bloody undeniable fucking reason.

"Wasn't offering. Just wondering. I can't help you or anyone, really," Hue glances over to the classroom door. "...Don't act like you know what you mean when you say 'someone like me'. You gifted kids stick together. But you don't know anything about me. And lucky for us, you don't have to. All coworkers have to do is tolerate each other, yeah?"

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[beyondthebackup]

xrphansrevival

"[...] Does Kismet remind you of yourself? Or someone you know? You could be displacing your feelings onto him. You can work through that."

B had been fixated on the pen in Obelus's mouth before he laid eyes on the notebook. He recognizes it immediately; these are the very same O used to carry around when they were kids, the ones he wrote notes about B in. Pages and pages of notes, all about him.

Of course, B has been missing for years at this point. He can't help but wonder how many of those notebooks Obelus went through between now and then. Who he found interesting enough to write notes about.

He wonders if Kismet is in them.

But to come full circle and try and shrink B while he was disguised as a completely different person is impressive in its own right.

He'd picked up some broken German in an attempt to read his notes before.

Hue, of course, is convinced he's being mocked.

"What are you- I don't need fuckin' therapy from you, asshole!"

He leans over the desk, craning his neck to try and make out what Obelus has written so far.

Hue cannot read German.

Patient trauma something.

Very astute, Obe.

"Stop writing shit. You're pissing me off. Fuck!"

Hue pushes himself off the edge of the desk and begins to pace about the room in frustration.

"You're right, you don't know my past, or anything about me for that matter, so why are you speculating? You have no fuckin' idea what you're talking about. That's what's wrong with you and Kismet and the rest of the snot-nosed brats here, you all think you know your asses from your elbows and you don't. You wanna know what my problem with him is?"

He seems fed up enough to finally spit out.

"The drugs, the gutter, the gangs, I did it. I did all of it. I surrounded myself with people like him. I got to watch them fuck me over, die, or both. I'm not doin' that shit again."

B had decided that Hue once cared for someone that was very much like Kismet. After a whirlwind of sex and drugs, he overdosed suddenly, plunging Hue into a depression that eventually resulted in his semi-sobriety.

Any disguise one plans to wear for this long needs a backstory, something to give the personality shape, to guide your reactions in the moment. But as B is reciting this thing that he made up,

it dawns on him that it really is not so made up after all.

Kismet isn't actually dead, but he did disappear, didn't he?

Hue is silent for a few moments, then returns to the recycle bin, dropping the seaglass bottle inside with the rest.

"Don't tell him I said any of that."

[xrphansrevival]

Obelus is successful. It doesn't matter if he's accurate or not, he can talk about whatever feels even remotely relevant for hours. What matters is finding a way to get the patient to talk. In Hue's case, enough bullshit works. He opens up. Again, he nods thoughtfully, jotting down another note.

'Patient will open up when angry. Potentially sees too much of himself in Kismet.'

The scene feels much too sober for Obelus. He's itching for another drink, but he's at least semi-professional, so he'll wait. The pen taps against the notebook, Obelus clicks it on and off a few times. The noise hurts his hungover head, but that's alright. He watches the bottle clink against the cans.

"You should keep that," he waves his hand toward the recycling bin. "You don't want to look your past in the face, but it can be crucial to healing. It also sucks, haha. Sometimes you have to wade through the shit to get to where you want to be. You gave yourself a chance to get out of that life. Maybe you should give him a chance. It might not seem like it, but maybe he needs help."

Well, Obelus is pretty certain Kismet doesn't want help, even if he does need it. In his opinion, K is fine to self destruct whenever and wherever he feels like.

"Making something out of that bottle could be a good exercise, too. Transforming something that reminds you of things that hurt you, into something that could make you happy... There are endless ways to positively cope. Don't quit before you start. Just remember, if you hate it, it's okay to stop."

Dr. Jailer takes off his glasses and folds them over the collar of his flannel. It sits weird, because he buttoned the flannel poorly. He makes one last note in his notebook.

'Patient is pretty hot when he's pissed off.'

Yeah, that one's for himself. Totally off the record.

"How you feelin', Hue?"

[beyondthebackup]

"Ohhh, he needs help. Right," Hue scoffs, incredulous. "He needs help like he needs a bullet to the head. Probably wants it about as much, too."

Hue finally leaves the noisy bin alone and sits back down across from Obelus, apparently a little calmer, now. B can tell when his ex-best friend is bullshitting and the platitudes are becoming truly grating.

'If you hate it, it's okay to stop.'

Said like someone with no ambition.

Maybe he just wishes he could have a real conversation with him again.

"Look. I already told you I don't wanna be psychoanalyzed. Especially not by you. I'm pretty sure you don't have a license and even if you did, you're fuckin' hungover, man. Give it a rest already," Hue props an elbow up on the desk and rests his cheek against his fist. "I feel like you're probably the type of guy who does this sort of thing to avoid dealing with his own shit. How are you feeling, Obelus?"

He gives him a once over.

"Do you need help?"

[apocalyptiacs]

This time, Hue is standing in Kismet's doorway, watching him in silence. Though the look on his face says he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

There's a notebook in his two hands, straining with folded yellow edges of sticky notes peeking out from between the pages.

He waits to be noticed before speaking, and even then, refuses to cross the threshold. A vampire that doesn't actually want to be invited in.

Hue isn't the only one feeling apprehension.

B understands that even the most innocuous interaction between them poses an existential risk.

Kismet is not like Obelus, content to match his energy and leave it at that. He's a whirlwind of ravenous hunger B has only ever recognized within himself. Whatever he wants, he is likely to eventually get, even if only through persistence alone. And like B, K has a bad habit of wanting everything.

Knowing this does not inoculate him from the temptation of the ghosts of his past walking alongside him in adult bodies.

"You got Saturn in your class?" Hue asks gruffly.

Destiny's Child's Lose My Breath blares from a CD run speaker sitting on top of the scattered desk that is the history professor's office. Textbooks all but abandoned at this point and assignment drafts half finished, clearly this song took priority to his ongoing drudging of actual teaching material. A pen swings in the air with the rhythm, much less conducting as it is 'feeling the music'.

Kismet's eyes are closed, head swaying while his expression reads one of deep relation to the song.

"Hit me hard, make me lose my hah, hah," he hums to himself passionately when his eyes open, and there is a figure that definitely was not there a minute ago.

He does a fast double take, make sure he isn't actually seeing things, and immediately hits the pause.

'No fucking way.'

It was K's lucky day. A grin is plastered all over his face. He really does get everything he wants.

"Depends, you gonna sit n' stay a while or bolt with my answer to go?"

[apocalyptiacs]

beyondthebackup

PREV B has to focus on the distrust and apprehension Hue is supposed to be feeling when their eyes meet.

"Just seems kinda... random. You seein' him or something? I mean. No judgement here. Again, he just doesn't really seem the type." He's teasing, but maybe he's pushing it. He'll pull back a bit. Make him want to stay. At the least for a few minutes more. Just enough to be able to pull him back in later.

The notebook falls with a slap onto his desk. It is begging to be ignored and pushed to the side with their adult bodies taking its place.

But clearly this holds some sort of importance, at least to the situation at hand, so he gives it a proper glance. Oh yes, the silk road conundrum. God, Saturn was annoying about that one. Does he even know how hard it is to make a cohesive syllabus with his demands? But he's willing to give the boy more work if it means getting him off his back for a few days. Besides, builds character or whatever.

Still though, no matter how irritating, he can’t help but see just a small piece of himself sitting across from him during class. Not just in looks either—though that was its own can of worms—but a young smartass with a little flame of passion he keeps hidden away inside himself, lest he lets the harsh environment around him snuff it out of him. Real light like that is hard to come by.

Plus, he was fun to pick on.

"Yeah. Real bright, that one."

The actions glide through his reflexive memory like butter: one for him self, one for the mate, Zippo from pocket to palm and flipped open with a flick of his wrist. When Hue finally breaks the invisible wall and apprehension meets pining, Kismet can't help but follow suit with a winning smile, leaning in himself just close enough to light both sticks at the same time. Sharing the same flame. So romantic.

He takes a drag as he leans back into his chair comfortably.

"So where ya headed? I could use a recommendation out of here. Everything in town’s the same old shit it used to be.” And the college parties aren’t as fun when you’re actually in the right age group for it this round.

[beyondthebackup]

Hue visibly winces.

"You seein' any of your students?" he hits back, although he almost immediately regrets it, because Hue gets the feeling that there's a good chance K is and he really doesn't want to know.

B wouldn't mind knowing.

Kismet was the first person B told after sleeping with a Wammy's House professor for the first time. Knowing the others would shoot him some concerned look, it's nice to simply get credit where it's due. It's not easy tempting someone into doing something that might cost them their job; which is why he and his equally self-destructive friend turned it into a bet. To his disappointment, K beat him to the punch just a few hours prior - with the same teacher.

They laughed about getting that professor fired for days.

"...He's a nice kid, so I'm doin' him a favor."

Hue watches Kismet's face as he flips through the notebook, keeping an eye out for any sticky notes fluttering free. He and Saturn almost look a bit alike when they read.

B, and - as a consequence, Hue - has been told there's a certain sharpness in his eyes when he's taken in by intense focus. S and K, in contrast, almost softened their gazes when they became engrossed in their history books. The way you soften when taking in the sight of something that brings you joy.

"Yeah. Bright."

The first time B saw it in K was during one of their very few and far between 'study sessions'; he learned to refuse these misleading invitations. There was hardly ever any studying. Not that they really needed it.

In a house full of young prodigies that Backup sat (mostly) comfortably on top of, he was always starving to be impressed. Even with the drugs and devil-may-care attitude, B realized very quickly that Kismet could've easily broken top 5 if he really wanted to. Why waste all that potential? He could never figure it out.

There's a memory of Kismet talking for an hour straight about the sacking of Constantinople as they passed a joint around that never quite faded from his mind. Animated and overflowing with obscure knowledge about the Byzantine court intrigues and scandals of the day, it could've just been the weed, but B remembers being fascinated and listening the entire way through.

Yeah, when K finally ran out of steam, he smiled at him just like that.

Hue can't put distance between them fast enough.

Settling into the chair across from him, he gives his colleague a once over as the cigarette burns lazily between his fingers.

"Business. Not pleasure," he brings the smoke close, pausing to contribute just the slightest bit to the conversation before inhaling again. "I like the quiet. It doesn't drive you crazy staying in a place like this?"

[apocalyptiacs]

K chuckles a bit at the quip in return. Good, Hue was still biting back. He hasn’t lost his chance quite yet. Even if he didn’t see it, they were building up their friendly fire rapport. They’re bonding. An in is being dug, and he fully expected to burrow his way in from here. Who could possibly resist him with charm like this?

“I asked you first.” He smiles as he pushes the notebook to the side for now. Joining the pile, he would probably remember to hand it back over to its rightful owner. Probably. “Right, a favor. Maybe he’ll owe you one back then, Mr. Saturation?” Teasing came as easy as breathing with Kismet. It makes it difficult to take anything he says seriously, but it just so happens to be so much fun. He can’t help himself, it’s just who he is.

His eyes wander to the cancer stick held delicately between the other’s slender digits. Unblinking eyes watch religiously as it sits on his pale lips, how they purse ever so slightly to suck in its toxins, how his chest contracts with the inhale, and how it steadies as he holds it in before letting it leak back out through that mean frown that refused to budge in any other direction.

Their gaze connects once again. Hue’s retain cold distance, even as Kismet’s reach out so warm and cordially. He just knows there is more spark hiding behind them; he’s seen it during stolen staring as his colleague worked on his projects in the other room. That piercing, obsessively wide-eyed inspiration. He wanted that. K needed that on him, and he was ready to do just about anything to get it.

And he is quite skilled at getting what he wants, even if he has to work for it. The work can be the best part— so long as it’s interesting and fun. Hue looks like he can more than provide.

“Business, huh? Yeah. You seem the ‘all business’ type. Though…” and he flicks down to under his eye, then neck, then forearms, and back to his eyes again, “maybe that wasn’t always the case?”

It is his turn to take another inhale from his own cigarette, letting the nicotine sit and seep into his gums for a minute before exhaling to continue. “I’m not much the quiet type unlike you, if you couldn’t tell by now. I came back for the crazy. No one does it quite like Wammy’s.”

That was the truth. As much as he chased for something better, more exhilarating in the concrete jungle, it just was not the same high. He supposes he was trying to find that high again but in a different position this time.

One with a little more control.

[beyondthebackup]

"Yeah. You did. And I decided your stupid fuckin' question didn't deserve an answer," The amber in Hue's eyes darken as they narrow with true contempt. "These are kids with no family, no names, nothin'. Just a rank and 'mentors' like us comin' in and out through a revolving door."

The irony of it all, B pretending to be a good person above any of this, above anything. It's surprisingly fun holding the moral high ground. He can understand why people like A did it so much. You can cut as deep as you like into someone and still come away with your hands clean.

"You gotta be a sick fuck to look at them and see a fuckin' lay."

Glass houses and all that. Even so, he doesn't avert his judgemental gaze or even blink, for a time. He's a scalpel threatening to expose K's rancid insides to the open air. He can see through him and he wants him to know it.

B has no doubt at all that Kismet has done it. He's not above it or really anything at all, either. He should know. They grew up together.

It should be more than clear at this point how he feels about the implication he's making, so again, he ignores him. No less so because of the terrible joke.

Kismet has always been utterly unphased by judgement, though, if he didn't outright welcome it. He's reading the story he's written out on his skin, clever and perceptive as ever. Hue shifts uncomfortably in his seat and glares at the window like he'd rather be just about anywhere else. The truth is, as far as B's concerned, Kismet hasn't changed a bit. The charmer and the snake. He's flirting with him, he wants Hue to let down his guard so he can sleep with him and add him to his little black book, but B has no intention of jeopardizing his revenge with a wild card like him. No matter how badly the urge gnaws at him at times like this.

B decides Hue might as well let K know just how unimpressed he is by his reputation or the rumors about his degenerate past.

"You're right. I wasn't. I used to be..." He sucks on his cigarette as he searches for the words. Abruptly, he looks back at K, and oddly enough, he smiles. Almost imperceptibly through the ribbons of smoke coiling out from between his hardly parted lips. It's so joyless it almost comes off sinister, and is about as indistinguishable from a scowl as you can get. "Like you."

How can so many years pass without anything meaningfully changing at all? He may as well be blocking K's insistent texts before class right now. The same cat and mouse game that B tells himself he is refusing to play. Yet here he is, for no particular reason at all.

The resentment in his curled upper lip is genuine. Kismet faked his death and disappeared from his life to go ride the world's carousel while he slaved away here until his entire life fell apart. They should have nothing in common. Not anymore. Now he's back, missing that same thrill he ran away from in the first place, that B primarily experienced as a crushing weight on his back and nonetheless saw through to the end.

Weak. Coward. Traitor.

"I knew people like you too, Kismet. I regretted meeting each and every one. Eventually I got tired of the same old shit and chose better for myself. But I guess you wouldn't know anything about that,"

Hue leans his head back and blows another puff of smoke at the ceiling. He's satisfied with this view for now.

"Comin' back to an orphanage for the 'crazy'. Sounds like rock fuckin' bottom to me. I almost feel sorry for you."

[apocalyptiacs]

[text -> Kismet] I block you when I'm in class. This is why.

[txt] woooowww [txt] worried ur gonna get ur phone taken away? :( poor baby [txt] will they take away ur gold stickers next?? [txt] NOT UR PRECIOUS EXTRA CREDIT!! [txt] soooo sorry i didnt know i was talking to king DWEEB right now

[IMG: sent] Kismet is upside down on a table. The picture is clearly self taken, considering the awkward angle, but what you can make out is that he is shirtless, pants on but undone.

[txt] ur missing out [txt] dont you HATE missing out

[beyondthebackup]

apocalyptiacs

[...] [txt] don threatnining me w a good time [txt] betr hry [txt] that sunonds miiighty entici ng

Backup is grateful for his eyes at times like these. The pictures are shit, but not incomprehensible to him. And although it is a lot of trouble to drop his studying, slip through the gate, and make his way into the bowels of Winchester, the possibility that Kismet might climb into the vehicle of the next random is a very real one. Though he would not die, who knows what might happen to him. He might not be as fun when he came back.

Even with the pictures, it is admittedly not the easiest task to find him. The deadline is an utterly self-imposed aspect of the challenge that Backup nonetheless refused to fail.

K is an attention-seeker, and a talented one. He knows how to appeal to his audience.

[txt] I'm close [txt] are you conscious?

It's about 28 minutes in when Backup nearly stumbles over his prize on the sidewalk.

"Kismet."

[apocalyptiacs]

The boy wonder if one were looking could be found laying flat against the pavement, arms outstretched, world spinning. He had to have been waiting that whole time, considering he is not that far in perspective to the street sign he had posted up with previously. Laying in wait like an obedient puppy, or at least one that was waiting for the next person to call him over for pets. That could have been anyone. But he is in fact conscious. And he all but springs into action at the call of his name.

Oooh. Bad idea. Head rush. He stumbles a bit, gripping his head.

"B! You made it~! And'a whole," he whips out the phone, still miraculously in his hand, to put really close to his face to get a clear, steady look at, "two minutes early! Can you believe the two whole cars that passed completely ignored my thumbing?" He frowns, as if really hurt he didn't get trafficked today.

He approaches his friend, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Oh, yeah no he's going to need both arms around him to keep himself up straight. And lays a head on his shoulder. You know, for good measure.

"Fuck, man, I missed ya. Let's get you inside and properly slizzard, yeah?"

[beyondthebackup]

Smirking at the ridiculous scene, B has to admit this is already more fun than homework. Kismet behaved and is right where he said he'd be. This is the familiar beginning of another potentially productive evening wasted, and gladly, in his company.

"I said I would. Did you doubt me?" He's obviously pleased with himself. "And you're whole, too. I'm impressed."

Backup glances over to the flat Kismet must've stumbled out of. College age kids are filing in and out of the place with cans. He doesn't get the chance to comment before party boy throws himself at him.

It's mostly reflex to keep him from sliding completely to the ground. This happens a lot. B strokes the hair on top of his self-destructive head.

"What, no one felt sorry enough for you to come and ask you if you're okay? Stroke your hair, bring you water? You love that part," B pouts with pseudo-sympathy. "You must've been lonely...too drunk to pull. Poor baby."

Kismet shows no sign of letting go of B anytime soon.

"I know you missed me. You always do. That is, once again, why I block you when I'm in class."

Since K was able to stand up long enough to greet him, B figures he can probably walk. He takes a step back from him, still holding his shoulders in case he decides to fall over.

"Can you handle it? I don't want you passing out on me as soon as we get in there. Maybe I should throw you in a trunk and take you home."

[apocalyptiacs]

B petting his nappy little head brings goosebumps up the back of his neck in excitement. An angel might as well have just come down to kiss the crown of his head.

He is by the miracle of God’s great grace and B’s capably supportive arms, still standing. And he is staring at his savior with the most lovesick puppy eyes at a miracle standing before him, lids heavy with alcohol and lips spread wide in a light headed carefree glee.

B came for him.

K wins again.

But the good news for Backup is when he loses to Kismet, he still gets to win too. He licks his lips.

“I pulled you, didn’t I?”

He turns on his heel, latching his hands on to B’s wrist to pull him back inside to the house party at the tune of being dragged back to that house of drab. Kismet is not letting him go that easy, and he promised a party. No body cuts off his good time.

K scoffs, “can I handle it… You insult me, B. I’ll drink double you just to prove you wrong.” And works on keeping his march stable enough to make it back in through the door.

[beyondthebackup]

Backup can't complain too much, being the current target of Kismet's desire. It suits him. Though he's not sure anyone or anything remains there for too long. Drugs, sex, and violence all look good on Kismet. He is an open wound waiting for a blade. If he hadn't shown up, it would've been someone else, anyone else, even if he forgot who they were by the following morning.

Still, K always ends up stumbling his way back home and inevitably, worming his way into B's life again.

"Did you...?" he fights back returning the smile, losing that battle pretty quickly, too. Being with A feels like a neverending game of chess; intense, all-consuming, complex, cerebral, high stakes. Being with K feels a little more like Russian roulette. On nights like this, when he's exhausted from trying so hard to be good, be the best, all the while knowing his work won't be done until his opponent is buried in the ground, he's not sure which he prefers.

There's no resistance when Kismet drags him toward the party, but he's going a little too slow for B's taste. He's too sober for this, and K is too drunk.

B stops, pulls K behind him, kneels, and hikes him up onto his back like luggage.

"...You're lighter. Probably can't keep anything down when your stomach acid is 99% proof, huh? You're not gonna be able to throw me off next time we get in a fight."

When, not if. Spoken as casually as if he were talking about the next time they'd go out to a restaurant. When things are good between them, they're really good. When they're bad, they're really bad. Even now there's no telling which kind of night this would turn out to be.

The base of loud, droning party music, the contrast of dark rooms and electronic lights burning bright, the haze of smoke and stranger's bodies feel familiar and like a relief compared to the stern, dull wood of the orphanage hallways. Perfectly extroverted enough, B still has no interest in these people who live entirely different lives than him, with homes, parents and a future they could at least believe was of their own making. The truth is, he is here for Kismet.

Stopping short at a table with jello shots, he slides K off his back and sucks down three like it's absolutely nothing. He's ready to stop being Backup for the night. They can't hit him fast enough. He shoves one into K's hands. He wants to make him worse.

"You said something about a basement?"

[beyondthebackup]

"A warning, Hue, that Kismet's put bleach in the coffee machine. He doesn't remember doing it, maybe thought it was creamer, but it's gonna take forever to properly sterilise. I am using the secret coffee machine, do you want anything or are you going to grit the teeth and endure?"

"Bleach?"

Hue stares at Y long enough for her to tell him that she's fucking with him. She does not.

That junkie really is gonna get him killed.

"... Yeah. Just black," Hue eyes her suspiciously, apparently no longer interested in having anything extra added to coffee from strangers. "...Thanks."

...There's a secret coffee machine?

Hue almost considers following her, but opts to return to his work instead.

B can check the cameras later.

[apocalyptiacs]

This time, Hue is standing in Kismet's doorway, watching him in silence. Though the look on his face says he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

There's a notebook in his two hands, straining with folded yellow edges of sticky notes peeking out from between the pages.

He waits to be noticed before speaking, and even then, refuses to cross the threshold. A vampire that doesn't actually want to be invited in.

Hue isn't the only one feeling apprehension.

B understands that even the most innocuous interaction between them poses an existential risk.

Kismet is not like Obelus, content to match his energy and leave it at that. He's a whirlwind of ravenous hunger B has only ever recognized within himself. Whatever he wants, he is likely to eventually get, even if only through persistence alone. And like B, K has a bad habit of wanting everything.

Knowing this does not inoculate him from the temptation of the ghosts of his past walking alongside him in adult bodies.

"You got Saturn in your class?" Hue asks gruffly.

Destiny's Child's Lose My Breath blares from a CD run speaker sitting on top of the scattered desk that is the history professor's office. Textbooks all but abandoned at this point and assignment drafts half finished, clearly this song took priority to his ongoing drudging of actual teaching material. A pen swings in the air with the rhythm, much less conducting as it is 'feeling the music'.

Kismet's eyes are closed, head swaying while his expression reads one of deep relation to the song.

"Hit me hard, make me lose my hah, hah," he hums to himself passionately when his eyes open, and there is a figure that definitely was not there a minute ago.

He does a fast double take, make sure he isn't actually seeing things, and immediately hits the pause.

'No fucking way.'

It was K's lucky day. A grin is plastered all over his face. He really does get everything he wants.

"Depends, you gonna sit n' stay a while or bolt with my answer to go?"

[apocalyptiacs]

beyondthebackup

PREV B has to focus on the distrust and apprehension Hue is supposed to be feeling when their eyes meet.

"Just seems kinda... random. You seein' him or something? I mean. No judgement here. Again, he just doesn't really seem the type." He's teasing, but maybe he's pushing it. He'll pull back a bit. Make him want to stay. At the least for a few minutes more. Just enough to be able to pull him back in later.

The notebook falls with a slap onto his desk. It is begging to be ignored and pushed to the side with their adult bodies taking its place.

But clearly this holds some sort of importance, at least to the situation at hand, so he gives it a proper glance. Oh yes, the silk road conundrum. God, Saturn was annoying about that one. Does he even know how hard it is to make a cohesive syllabus with his demands? But he's willing to give the boy more work if it means getting him off his back for a few days. Besides, builds character or whatever.

Still though, no matter how irritating, he can’t help but see just a small piece of himself sitting across from him during class. Not just in looks either—though that was its own can of worms—but a young smartass with a little flame of passion he keeps hidden away inside himself, lest he lets the harsh environment around him snuff it out of him. Real light like that is hard to come by.

Plus, he was fun to pick on.

"Yeah. Real bright, that one."

The actions glide through his reflexive memory like butter: one for him self, one for the mate, Zippo from pocket to palm and flipped open with a flick of his wrist. When Hue finally breaks the invisible wall and apprehension meets pining, Kismet can't help but follow suit with a winning smile, leaning in himself just close enough to light both sticks at the same time. Sharing the same flame. So romantic.

He takes a drag as he leans back into his chair comfortably.

"So where ya headed? I could use a recommendation out of here. Everything in town’s the same old shit it used to be.” And the college parties aren’t as fun when you’re actually in the right age group for it this round.

[beyondthebackup]

Hue visibly winces.

"You seein' any of your students?" he hits back, although he almost immediately regrets it, because Hue gets the feeling that there's a good chance K is and he really doesn't want to know.

B wouldn't mind knowing.

Kismet was the first person B told after sleeping with a Wammy's House professor for the first time. Knowing the others would shoot him some concerned look, it's nice to simply get credit where it's due. It's not easy tempting someone into doing something that might cost them their job; which is why he and his equally self-destructive friend turned it into a bet. To his disappointment, K beat him to the punch just a few hours prior - with the same teacher.

They laughed about getting that professor fired for days.

"...He's a nice kid, so I'm doin' him a favor."

Hue watches Kismet's face as he flips through the notebook, keeping an eye out for any sticky notes fluttering free. He and Saturn almost look a bit alike when they read.

B, and - as a consequence, Hue - has been told there's a certain sharpness in his eyes when he's taken in by intense focus. S and K, in contrast, almost softened their gazes when they became engrossed in their history books. The way you soften when taking in the sight of something that brings you joy.

"Yeah. Bright."

The first time B saw it in K was during one of their very few and far between 'study sessions'; he learned to refuse these misleading invitations. There was hardly ever any studying. Not that they really needed it.

In a house full of young prodigies that Backup sat (mostly) comfortably on top of, he was always starving to be impressed. Even with the drugs and devil-may-care attitude, B realized very quickly that Kismet could've easily broken top 5 if he really wanted to. Why waste all that potential? He could never figure it out.

There's a memory of Kismet talking for an hour straight about the sacking of Constantinople as they passed a joint around that never quite faded from his mind. Animated and overflowing with obscure knowledge about the Byzantine court intrigues and scandals of the day, it could've just been the weed, but B remembers being fascinated and listening the entire way through.

Yeah, when K finally ran out of steam, he smiled at him just like that.

Hue can't put distance between them fast enough.

Settling into the chair across from him, he gives his colleague a once over as the cigarette burns lazily between his fingers.

"Business. Not pleasure," he brings the smoke close, pausing to contribute just the slightest bit to the conversation before inhaling again. "I like the quiet. It doesn't drive you crazy staying in a place like this?"

[apocalyptiacs]

This time, Hue is standing in Kismet's doorway, watching him in silence. Though the look on his face says he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

There's a notebook in his two hands, straining with folded yellow edges of sticky notes peeking out from between the pages.

He waits to be noticed before speaking, and even then, refuses to cross the threshold. A vampire that doesn't actually want to be invited in.

Hue isn't the only one feeling apprehension.

B understands that even the most innocuous interaction between them poses an existential risk.

Kismet is not like Obelus, content to match his energy and leave it at that. He's a whirlwind of ravenous hunger B has only ever recognized within himself. Whatever he wants, he is likely to eventually get, even if only through persistence alone. And like B, K has a bad habit of wanting everything.

Knowing this does not inoculate him from the temptation of the ghosts of his past walking alongside him in adult bodies.

"You got Saturn in your class?" Hue asks gruffly.

Destiny's Child's Lose My Breath blares from a CD run speaker sitting on top of the scattered desk that is the history professor's office. Textbooks all but abandoned at this point and assignment drafts half finished, clearly this song took priority to his ongoing drudging of actual teaching material. A pen swings in the air with the rhythm, much less conducting as it is 'feeling the music'.

Kismet's eyes are closed, head swaying while his expression reads one of deep relation to the song.

"Hit me hard, make me lose my hah, hah," he hums to himself passionately when his eyes open, and there is a figure that definitely was not there a minute ago.

He does a fast double take, make sure he isn't actually seeing things, and immediately hits the pause.

'No fucking way.'

It was K's lucky day. A grin is plastered all over his face. He really does get everything he wants.

"Depends, you gonna sit n' stay a while or bolt with my answer to go?"

[beyondthebackup]

B has to bite back a grin. A million memories in his head of K's drunk dancing. Bright nights that are hardly more than blurs now.

He expected to find that spark of his smothered under the weight of time and hardship and unfulfilled dreams. Isn't that how it always is?

But no, it's hard to tell what exactly has changed about him, if anything at all. The curiosity lingers, and if he's honest with himself, that's one reason why he's standing here.

Total avoidance just isn't going to work under these circumstances.

The boy he used to sneak out of the orphanage with just to forget who he was for a night is right back here, at Wammy's House, with him, all over again.

Like they never left.

That would've been one thing if B had been the one to leave him.

But Kismet disappeared without warning and without a trace, not too long before A's death. Everyone thought he was dead. Even knowing that was impossible, B never expected to see him again. Especially not here.

The awe, the confusion, the curiosity, the memories, they're all dangerous with what B plans to do to this place and how much is at stake.

This is a practice in discipline.

"He left this in my classroom. I have to leave for a couple of days and I'm locking up,"

Hue drops one of his arms and offers the notebook to Kismet, impatiently, with the other. He does so without closing any distance between them whatsoever.

"Are you gonna see him or not? They're probably important."

[apocalyptiacs]

His grin dampens a bit. "You're classroom? You sure those are his? Wouldn't really peg the kid an artistic type. I'll need to take a closer look." He raises a brow curiously.

Kismet had to play this just right. He was not letting this seemingly once in a lifetime opportunity slip through his fingers. Sober up quick, just enough to be tolerable and smooth. He chugs a water bottle sitting next to him.

A classy first move, no doubt.

Next, he gestures for the chair sitting in front of him, making not even close of an effort to reach out for the stupid notes being waved in his direction.

"What do you care anyway? No offense, but you don't really seem the concerned mentor type."

He takes out a pack of cigarettes to light up, the box a bit crushed but well cherished. They might look familiar. One is offered Hue's way. K's way of lighting a candle.

[beyondthebackup]

Of course B is sure. He knows Saturn's handwriting by heart. But it's not as if the kids here tend to make a habit of signing their notes off with their aliases, and Saturn is no exception, at least in this case.

Hue sighs, frustrated. "Hangs out in there sometimes. For the quiet. Not like I let a lot of kids do that,"

He watches Kismet suck that water down like he'd been wandering the desert for days. Of course, he wants him to take a seat. Get comfortable. Have a conversation.

B steels his resolve, and Hue decides the only way out is through.

His other arm drops to his side next with an audible and clearly annoyed slap, notebook still clutched tightly in his hand.

Then he sees them, the cigarettes. The very same ones Hue shoved into Kismet's chest when they met, the whiplash of seeing him again for the first time in years having thrown B off so abruptly that he felt he had to exit the situation before he broke character.

Hue's gaze lingers on them.

And he steps inside the classroom.

The first thing he does is place the notebook on Kismet's desk, though he's hard pressed to find space.

"Just look at it. I think it's for your class anyway. He told me he was correcting the shit textbooks you assigned."

When he finally convinces himself to accept the cigarette, the simple act of reaching for the pack sends him into an intense bout of deja vu.

How many hundreds of times did they go through these same exact motions?

It all happens in less than a second, but it feels like the world is moving in slow motion when he slides K's offering free from the pack and presses the nicotine to his lips. Now came the next part of the ritual, his favorite part. Leaning in for Kismet to light him up. An act of service. The beginning of a long night of dopamine and release. Tense muscles and headaches melting away. Textbooks off the bed and onto the ground. Relief.

B has to focus on the distrust and apprehension Hue is supposed to be feeling when their eyes meet.

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[beyondthebackup]

xrphansrevival

"[...] Does Kismet remind you of yourself? Or someone you know? You could be displacing your feelings onto him. You can work through that."

B had been fixated on the pen in Obelus's mouth before he laid eyes on the notebook. He recognizes it immediately; these are the very same O used to carry around when they were kids, the ones he wrote notes about B in. Pages and pages of notes, all about him.

Of course, B has been missing for years at this point. He can't help but wonder how many of those notebooks Obelus went through between now and then. Who he found interesting enough to write notes about.

He wonders if Kismet is in them.

But to come full circle and try and shrink B while he was disguised as a completely different person is impressive in its own right.

He'd picked up some broken German in an attempt to read his notes before.

Hue, of course, is convinced he's being mocked.

"What are you- I don't need fuckin' therapy from you, asshole!"

He leans over the desk, craning his neck to try and make out what Obelus has written so far.

Hue cannot read German.

Patient trauma something.

Very astute, Obe.

"Stop writing shit. You're pissing me off. Fuck!"

Hue pushes himself off the edge of the desk and begins to pace about the room in frustration.

"You're right, you don't know my past, or anything about me for that matter, so why are you speculating? You have no fuckin' idea what you're talking about. That's what's wrong with you and Kismet and the rest of the snot-nosed brats here, you all think you know your asses from your elbows and you don't. You wanna know what my problem with him is?"

He seems fed up enough to finally spit out.

"The drugs, the gutter, the gangs, I did it. I did all of it. I surrounded myself with people like him. I got to watch them fuck me over, die, or both. I'm not doin' that shit again."

B had decided that Hue once cared for someone that was very much like Kismet. After a whirlwind of sex and drugs, he overdosed suddenly, plunging Hue into a depression that eventually resulted in his semi-sobriety.

Any disguise one plans to wear for this long needs a backstory, something to give the personality shape, to guide your reactions in the moment. But as B is reciting this thing that he made up,

it dawns on him that it really is not so made up after all.

Kismet isn't actually dead, but he did disappear, didn't he?

Hue is silent for a few moments, then returns to the recycle bin, dropping the seaglass bottle inside with the rest.

"Don't tell him I said any of that."

[apocalyptiacs]

This time, Hue is standing in Kismet's doorway, watching him in silence. Though the look on his face says he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

There's a notebook in his two hands, straining with folded yellow edges of sticky notes peeking out from between the pages.

He waits to be noticed before speaking, and even then, refuses to cross the threshold. A vampire that doesn't actually want to be invited in.

Hue isn't the only one feeling apprehension.

B understands that even the most innocuous interaction between them poses an existential risk.

Kismet is not like Obelus, content to match his energy and leave it at that. He's a whirlwind of ravenous hunger B has only ever recognized within himself. Whatever he wants, he is likely to eventually get, even if only through persistence alone. And like B, K has a bad habit of wanting everything.

Knowing this does not inoculate him from the temptation of the ghosts of his past walking alongside him in adult bodies.

"You got Saturn in your class?" Hue asks gruffly.

Destiny's Child's Lose My Breath blares from a CD run speaker sitting on top of the scattered desk that is the history professor's office. Textbooks all but abandoned at this point and assignment drafts half finished, clearly this song took priority to his ongoing drudging of actual teaching material. A pen swings in the air with the rhythm, much less conducting as it is 'feeling the music'.

Kismet's eyes are closed, head swaying while his expression reads one of deep relation to the song.

"Hit me hard, make me lose my hah, hah," he hums to himself passionately when his eyes open, and there is a figure that definitely was not there a minute ago.

He does a fast double take, make sure he isn't actually seeing things, and immediately hits the pause.

'No fucking way.'

It was K's lucky day. A grin is plastered all over his face. He really does get everything he wants.

"Depends, you gonna sit n' stay a while or bolt with my answer to go?"

[beyondthebackup]

B has to bite back a grin. A million memories in his head of K's drunk dancing. Bright nights that are hardly more than blurs now.

He expected to find that spark of his smothered under the weight of time and hardship and unfulfilled dreams. Isn't that how it always is?

But no, it's hard to tell what exactly has changed about him, if anything at all. The curiosity lingers, and if he's honest with himself, that's one reason why he's standing here.

Total avoidance just isn't going to work under these circumstances.

The boy he used to sneak out of the orphanage with just to forget who he was for a night is right back here, at Wammy's House, with him, all over again.

Like they never left.

That would've been one thing if B had been the one to leave him.

But Kismet disappeared without warning and without a trace, not too long before A's death. Everyone thought he was dead. Even knowing that was impossible, B never expected to see him again. Especially not here.

The awe, the confusion, the curiosity, the memories, they're all dangerous with what B plans to do to this place and how much is at stake.

This is a practice in discipline.

"He left this in my classroom. I have to leave for a couple of days and I'm locking up,"

Hue drops one of his arms and offers the notebook to Kismet, impatiently, with the other. He does so without closing any distance between them whatsoever.

"Are you gonna see him or not? They're probably important."

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[xrphansrevival]

PREV

Beyondthebackup

"I won't hate it... I haven't even started it. Fuck you, don't put that in my head."

If Hue is going to be rude, both of them can have a bad time. Obelus rolls his eyes and leans back in the rolling chair. It squeaks. The bottle is pretty enough, but he preferred it when it was full.

The insults, the insults, all the goddamn insults. Forget about Dr. Joy, Dr. Jailer is in the house today. Obelus runs his hands over his flannel to straighten it out a bit, then ruffles his hair to make sure nothing is there, either. He's fine. He crosses one leg over the other and folds his hands together.

"You don't have to be jealous of K, you're allowed to let loose and have fun, too. Even I'm more relaxed than you," Obelus comments casually. To complete his look, he opens a different drawer to grab his fake glasses. He uses them to feel proper during his unofficial shrink duties. Yep.

"You see things through to the end, and always hate the finished product. It's okay to stop. Why finish something that you hate, something that you don't need to do? You need to let go. Stop holding onto things that aren't right for you."

Obelus grabs a pen. He chews on the end. "You're too uptight, don't you think? Have you considered Kismet is doing you a favor?"

[beyondthebackup]

Hue watches Obelus, incredulous. As if that little move made him look anything less than a boy-band version of Edgar Allen Poe.

He doesn't fully understand what's happening at first. The implication that he'd ever be jealous of community dick like Kismet is about as offensive as it gets. Then he sees the glasses, and himself always sporting a pair, immediately knows what this is.

"What the fuck? This supposed to be funny?" he rests his elbows on his knees and scowls at Obelus. "Yeah, anyone can be relaxed when they're throwing back a fifth of vodka every two hours. Nothing to be jealous of."

So, Obe is shrinking him again. B knows this song and dance. He likes to do this when he's in a bad mood, when his feelings are hurt, and when he's horny. Judging by the look of him, it's probably a bit of all three...but there's no harm in poking the bear a bit, is there?

"You teach psychology, there's a reason why you don't practice it," Hue's jaw is set. This particular speech almost sounds familiar. "And there's a reason why you and that junkie are butt buddies. You're the last person I'm gonna take advice from, but thanks,"

Hue goes to stand, not one to tolerate nonsense for very long. B doesn't want to leave, though.

Have you considered Kismet is doing you a favor? ...And now he doesn't have to.

Hue approaches Obelus's desk and rests his weight on top of it by both hands, glowering down at him. He's struck a nerve. "And how exactly do you figure that."

[xrphansrevival]

"You got any empty bottles in here? Cans?"

After taking a moment to peer around the back of Obelus's desk, half expecting to see a mountain of them, Hue finally takes it upon himself to ask.

For how territorial he can be about his own private space, he didn't bother knocking or asking if Obelus is busy.

Obelus raises his head from his desk. He's got shadows under his eyes for days. Someone might've gotten a little sick from too much alcohol. What can he say? Having someone else around that drinks like a fish is fun until suddenly maybe it's not as fun.

"Could you be any fucking louder?" He complains, as if Hue was screaming and not just asking in a normal tone. Obelus pushes back from his desk, chair rolling a little more than he expected. Surprise! He has a recycling bin dedicated to his awful habit. Look who is saving the earth. This guy.

Grouchy as hell, Obelus pushes his chair a little further back. There's a filing cabinet. Most of the drawers have files. The bottom one... well, take a wild guess. Obelus grabs a fresh can of something and cracks it open.

"Can't go all day if you don't start-" Obelus looks at his watch and frowns, "-at 4pm, I guess."

[beyondthebackup]

Hue cocks an eyebrow. He's typically the far less pleasant of the two of them. Obelus has a reputation for being friendly and relaxed but all you have to do to see that bubble burst is catch him before his first drink.

He's not put off so easily though, and, eyes on the prize, walks past him to grab the recycling bin and bring it around to the other side of the desk with him. He pulls up a chair so he can sit down and dig through it.

"Hm. Decent variety. Thanks," he mumbles, examining a dented beer can with incomprehensible curiosity. It's at this point that he appears to remember that people usually socialize a bit before going through each other's garbage.

A quick once-over.

"You look like shit."

B always thought Obelus looked pretty good as an involuntarily sober, pissed-off wreck, himself.

[xrphansrevival]

The sound of bottles and cans clanking together are like nails on a chalkboard. Being hungover sucks, and the best solution is simply staying tipsy or drunk, of course. Nobody will ever hand Obelus a sobriety coin, that's for sure. He glares daggers at Hue for the racket.

"Really." Obelus looks down at himself- oh, maybe he does need to change his shirt. He rolls back to his desk to set the can down, then starts to button up his flannel. Just gonna hide that stain for now.

"Kismet has a different variety," he grumbles. Normally, he's more than happy to spend time with his favorite other professor. Obelus is not feeling very social right now. He picks the can back up and promptly chugs it. When he's done, he crushes it against his desk and tosses it at the recycling bin Hue is rummaging through.

"Don't tell me you want these for some sculpture you'll end up hating by the end."

[beyondthebackup]

Inconsiderate as ever, Hue continues to ignore Obelus's heightened sensitives. No one told him to be a drunk. He discovers a bottle in a surprisingly pretty seaglass green at the bottom of the bin and goes for it.

One eye closed, he slides his pointer finger into the neck of the bottle and wiggles it around. "Yeah, that might work..." he mumbles to himself.

His focus is broken by the mention of their colleague, and he lets Obelus know exactly how he feels about that implication with a disgusted scoff.

"Kismet also has a fucking deathwish the way he doesn't know how to keep his hands off of people,"

He sets the bottle down by his foot and watches another can unceremoniously join the rest.

"Keep this up and you'll be as bad as him one day."

Eyes flicker right back up to meet Obe's.

"I won't hate it... I haven't even started it. Fuck you, don't put that in my head."