obscurity.

Bryce Nichols. The name probably rings a few bells.

[brvcenichols]

The pages, though there were only ten total, felt like lead weights. He wasn’t connecting with the words, the performance in the mirror lackluster, leaving him feeling antsy and frustrated. His agent rarely went to bat for him with serious roles, a typecast leftover from Will Benson that he couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard he tried, but he’d given him a chance now. And he was only proving them right the longer he recited the stupid words in the mirror. 

And he thought maybe he knew exactly what was missing. He was, at least, a lot more put together this time as he found himself standing outside her door. His hair was mussed up in the way that looked effortless but definitely took him a solid half-hour in the mirror, a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and jeans-- he was trying to look the park, okay?-- and leaned casually against the doorframe as he knocked and waited for her to open.

He realized the moment he heard the sound of a lock sliding out of place that he hadn’t called first. He was quite good at that, the afterthought sinking in the moment after it was already too late. Her face, though, was a welcome sight, one he realized made him let loose a breath he’d been, apparently, holding. “My good luck charm,” he said by way of greeting, holding up the rolled-up papers in his hand. “Got some time to work a little magic with me?” His lips pulled into a boyish grin. “I need you.”

@anxliese-atwater​

[anxliese-atwater]

Wild Ones || Brynna

[brvcenichols]

anxliese-atwater‌:

“Mmm,” she hummed not glancing up as she heard Bryce move from the barstool, already sifting through what she could need. Mouth twisting into a sardonic grin, Anna flicked her eyes upward, voice crooning as it took on a Russian accent. “Da, it is cyanide. You vill be dead in a few minutes.” She’d always been good at accents but, when it came to this (and also, maybe, something to do with his stupid American boy smile) the blonde started laughing a few seconds later, unable to hold the accent or the serious tone. 

Anna did look up all the way when she heard him rummaging around in her fridge and she balanced a hip against the counter as she turned to watch him, gesturing with the spatula she’d grabbed a hold of. A brow arched as she watched him take things out and set them aside. Whatever he was trying to do, she was going to let him, but only just. “Who said you could take shit out of my fridge, huh, Bee? And it’s milk, usually. Top shelf.” Turning on her heel, Anna took the cartoon of eggs with her, moving it to the side near the stove, and placing a pan on a burner before flicking it on low. On the counter beside it, she found the griddle, some monstrosity her mother had given her as some house warming gift, no doubt. 

There was silence for a moment before she spoke again, voice tentatively hopeful as she peeked over her shoulder at him, “Blueberries, too?”

Bryce couldn’t help but chuckle at the accent, perhaps the first genuine show of emotion since he’d dragged his sorry ass to her front door. “As long as it’s quick and painless.” He shrugged, eyes lingering on her face and then the column of her throat as she laughed. He’d never really appreciated her the way he should have-- the way she deserved. And maybe it was shitty to only be realizing that now after he’d been left alone in a bed that wasn’t his by the very woman he’d never been able to stop comparing Anna to. But it was still progress, wasn’t it?

Moving around the kitchen, he slid behind her as she stood at the counter, looking adorably hopeful as she tossed the question over her shoulder. He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple before whispering, “Blueberries, too,” in her ear. He stepped away from her then, looking down at the shirt that had been on the floor of Carly’s bedroom mere hours before. “I’m gonna go change.” He nodded his head towards the back before disappearing down the hall.

On the way back in, he hadn’t lost the headache, but he’d lost the shirt and most of the attitude and he thought that had to count for something. The effort was there, though his mind strayed more than once to the sour memory of the previous night. He knew she could probably tell, felt the small pang of guilt whenever she’d catch him staring off in thought. But fuck if the pancakes weren’t exactly what he’d needed. He settled back into his chair and looking over at Anna as she ate, thought for the first time that day, that he’d gotten something right.

THE END.

[brvcenichols]

carlyxweiss‌:

chandler-rawlins‌:

The mood shifted. A tension formed. It was palpable on Chandler’s tongue. He immediately stood up straight as Carly recoiled from their proximity. The why of her retraction escaped him, until she introduced Bryce. A man barely taller than the women with whom he stood. It was comical. The amusement of which danced in cobalt eyes, judging from above what stood peacocking below. Chandler hated niceties, although was well versed in their ways. Tonight of all nights he wished to remain professional. “A pleasure I’m short–” Shit. Was that on purpose? Scruff frame lips pursed. “-sorry-” The apology was empty. “-sure.”

Immediately his attention returned to Carly. Chandler’s hand ghosted her shoulder, cascading down her arm in a gesture that never brought skin to skin. He didn’t want to touch her. Not even if it would rile little Napolean’s feathers. To touch was to remember, and Chandler wanted to forget. Carly wasn’t a good fit for him; for them. The moment he had even contemplated introducing her to Elodie she was gone. His daughter deserved better, at least. “Come find me before you go?” The last word went up, indicative of a question. “If you’d like those..things.”

He departed then. As quick and as quiet as he’d come. Off to distract himself from whatever that was. A head of golden tresses shined from across the room, and he followed it.

@brvcenichols​ & @carlyxweiss​

The two men stumbled through pleasantries, if they could even be called that.  Chandler made a slip she caught but she wasn’t really in a position to reprimand him or anything.  She was still upside down and inside out and unsure in ways she’d never been before. 

Did it really matter whom she’d left high and dry more recently?  The real fact of the matter was that she was the problem here.  She probably owed the man to her right an explanation as much as she owed the one to her left an apology.  

Although Chandler didn’t actually touch her, it was possible she felt the near-touch more clearly than any one other thing.  It almost made her shiver.  She nodded.  “Okay.  Or… I know where you are now.  I can come back another time, maybe?” She suggested.  “Either way I’ll be in touch.”  But he was gone.  She didn’t spend a lot of time watching him walk away, but she spent some. 

She returned her attention to Bryce.  “Do you want to keep looking or do you want to go?  I’m starting to think all of this was a bad idea for a lot of good reasons.”   

@brvcenichols​

The feeling of victory as he watched the tall one slink away lasted for only a moment as his attention shifted back to Carly. The reality slipped back in, the air between them as thick as it felt thin, and he was struck with the wrongness of it all. As his eyes moved back to the painting, all he could see was her. The life she’d left him for. It was a stark overreaction, but it was suddenly all he could feel. “Don’t let me stop you,” he said, nodding in the direction Chandler had just left without taking his eyes off the painting. 

Words lingered on the tip of his tongue, a demand to know all those reasons why this wasn’t a good idea. Bringing her ex to her-- presumably-- other ex’s gallery? A bad idea? No. “Did you know this was his place?” he found himself unable to resist asking.

[rmf0802]

Zac Efron

[brvcenichols]

What is one thing are you afraid to want because not getting it would ruin you?

There’s a long pause, a smile that’s a little too stiff to be real. These are the kinds of questions he doesn’t like-- things that make him look a little too closely at himself, at the rotting underbelly of the persona he’s created for himself. “I don’t know?” He does, though. The problem is that he knows too well. “What everyone else wants, I guess? Approval?”

[brvcenichols]

elihinkley‌:

“Beer it is, my boy!” He grinned, pulling out two local IPA’s from his fridge. He walked back over to Bryce, handing over the beverage. He started to load up the taco, making sure it was smothered in hot sauce. “It’s been a while, right? I’ve just been so focused on Jess and Kenz… and then the Barbecue. I mean, for one. I’ve got so little time, as it is. Second, we met in the blackout, and uh… it just kind of tumbled into something from there. Um… he’s older. Which doesn’t really matter.. just… it’s a point. But also, as I just mentioned, he’s a he… which is… a first for me. I haven’t dated someone in approximately forever, and the first person I go out with is a guy. Um… which is confusing, you know? ‘Cause up until now, I had no fuckin’ idea I was into guys. But… it was really great? He’s really great? And I’m out of my depth here.” He paused, taking a sip of his beer.  “Did I just come out to you?”

He mouthed a silent ‘thanks’ as he accepted the beer and sat back in his chair. He’d taken only a bite before he found himself needing to speak up, holding up a single finger. “To be fair, there’s focusing and then there’s what you do. But go on.” He smirked, a gentle ribbing rather than any kind of insult. The casual lean took on a slightly more rigid edge, eyebrows raising curiously. Bryce was himself not exactly unpracticed where it came to men, but it’d never evolved more than purely carnal. A date was far more intimate, especially where Eli was concerned. He couldn’t help the throaty chuckle, though, pausing to take a sip of his own beer if only to buy himself another moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m fucking honored, bro.” He clinked his beer against Eli’s and blew out a breath. “I mean, it’s not that confusing. Obviously he’s doing something right to get you to break out of that monk lifestyle. Who cares if he’s got a dick.” He set his drink down and leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “So do I get any more details or were you just planning on being a tease?”

[brvcenichols]

[brvcenichols]

carlyxweiss‌:

chandler-rawlins‌:

@carlyxweiss​

Chandler didn’t mean to watch her, but at his height all her mannerisms were in view. The closure of hazel hues and a cast of deep breathe from a nose perfectly sloped made his lips purse. Perhaps approaching Carly had been the wrong decision, yet he couldn’t make himself step back. In fact, Chandler just inched closer. His head lowered in the same moment hers turned. They were eye level now. It was a closeness he generally avoided with others however welcomed with her. Even as it conjured memories of intimate moments passed. A classroom. A bar. His bedroom. That one house. House wasn’t the right word. Mansion? Maybe. Chandler exhaled hard, too. Dispelling any notion but the present. 

“I thought so, too.” The moment Chandler saw the space in which they stood, he knew. It married his two greatest needs under one roof, to care for Elodie and create. Their spacious, upstairs, two bedroom apartment was accessible by a staircase tucked away in the privacy of his studio. Although Elodie wasn’t up there, but in Los Angeles for the weekend with his parents. “More than a few.” His voice was an echo of hers while he tried to discern if Carly meant more than the artwork. Perhaps that man standing next to her; rather the man next to her staring. It made Chandler smirk, even as the smaller man cast his eyes away. Should he acknowledge him? Not a second of consideration passed. Nah.

Dark and sexual innuendos were a running theme in a selection of his work. It wasn’t exactly on purpose, although was hardly an accident either. “You know my work well..” Was all Chandler said at first. There was still a smirk on his face, tugging at the corners of his scruff framed mouth, but for a different reason now.  “I am but a slave to my inspirations.” He added with the candor of an after thought, even though it was not. Was he insinuating Carly had inspired the piece they were viewing. Perhaps. Chandler meant what he said. Inspiration took him places he didn’t always understand, even after the work was complete. He had, however, painted her purposely in the past.  “Speaking of. I have something that belongs to you – in the back.” 

Once Carly realized this was probably more than a moment of interaction before Chandler moved on to someone else, her emotional distress ticked up a couple of notches.  She was acutely aware of Bryce’s proximity, as well as their precarious status as a result of her own actions.  If anything made it clear, his stoicism and seeming detachment had done that.  Her eyes darted toward him and, however consciously, she took a small step away from Chandler and toward Bryce.   All it did was serve to put her even more firmly in the middle.   She speared her hand through her short tresses, glad she’d opted for her usual no product, because it meant her fingers made it all the way through without too much struggle.  She let out a one-note breath of a chuckle, full of regret and uncertainty.   “I probably should,” she agreed.  The step hadn’t taken her that far away from Chandler.  Part of her wanted to take another step toward Bryce, but she didn’t actually have room to go anywhere except forward or backward.  It seemed symbolic, even if she wanted to ignore it.  “Since I’m in some of it.  Or I was.  It wasn’t that long ago.”   Finally, she rested a hand on Bryce’s arm.  “I, um… I’m here with someone.  This is Bryce.”  She looked at the subject of her speech, but she had no idea what she saw there.  She only knew it prompted a renewed feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.  “Chandler is the artist here, apparently.  I didn’t know that.”   She shook her head and returned her gaze to Chandler, still licking her lips a little even though her tongue was just as dry as anything else.  “Maybe we can plan a meeting for another time?”  This is already because I skipped out on him.  If I do it again, he’ll probably leave me here, and this feels like the Fifth Circle of Hell. 

@brvcenichols​

The spaghetti noodle with limbs was really starting to piss him off.

In an effort not to jump straight to irritated, he’d been offering reasonable explanations up to himself from the moment he’d slid in beside Carly: he was a friend, maybe a colleague, or-- 

Carly’s hand was on his arm and he blinked, looking down at it as he fought with the desire to both shrug it off and lean into it. He looked up, then, first at her and then Stretch beside her. He tilted his chin in a nod of acknowledgment. Of course he was the artist here. It was easy to draw conclusions, to feel caught off guard and completely unprepared, so he slipped his hands into his pockets, grasping for casual and landing somewhere around mildly irritated. “Cool place,” he said, a social grace more than an actual compliment. “Nice to meet you, man. Thanks for stopping by.” The words were clipped and clearly dismissive (though he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy) as Bryce turned back to the painting. 

It looked a whole lot less impressive now.

@chandler-rawlins​

[brvcenichols]

elihinkley‌:

“Before I indulge you with my need for advice, what’s your drink of choice for the evening? We’ve got beer, wine, liquors of all choosing.” His apartment wasn’t much, and he knew it didn’t hold a candle to where Bryce lived, but his kitchen was fantastic. He was a chef, and thus it was always fully stocked, to the best of his abilities. “So, as you’ve been around for the past few years, you might be aware that I’ve not gone out with someone in… well, pretty much forever. Um. Family always came first. But I… I think. I think I have a date Tuesday night? I’m not really sure.. and I… well it’s complicated, Bryce.”

Bryce blew out a breath as he considered his options. “Really anything but scotch,” he said, the words tinged with a subtle hint of bitterness. “Beer’s good.” He loaded up his taco, drowning it in salsa almost absently as most of his attention remained fixed on Eli. His brows quirked curiously and rose higher still the longer he talked. Bryce wasn’t really sure he’d seen Eli with anyone since he’d known him. He was sure he’d given him shit for it more than once. “No shit!” Bryce asked with a small disbelieving breath. He was intrigued now. “Jesus, it’s about time, man. What’s complicated about it?”

[anxliese-atwater]

Wild Ones || Brynna

[brvcenichols]

anxliese-atwater‌:

@brvcenichols​

Annaliese rolled her eyes over the top of her coffee mug at the quip but there was a hint of a smile curling the edges of her eyes. “Get your elbows off my counter, Bee,” she muttered, but there was no heat to the words. It was disorienting sometimes, the way he could bounce back and forth between charming and sweet, make her laugh, and then snappish and irritable the next second. Still, she waited until he popped the Tylenol into his mouth and took a drink of coffee before jumping off the countertop. Grabbing him by the chin, she planted a sloppy kiss to the side of his face, near his temple, wiggling her eyebrows in good humor at him before backing off. 

The blonde put the counter between them again, knowing better than anyone that her antics weren’t always appreciated, and certainly not by a Bryce who was as hot and cold as he was being. Truthfully, she was almost afraid to ask what had driven him here. She thought she knew, or figured she did, but wasn’t going to ask. Whoever had made his evening shit the day before, Anna wasn’t going to feed that beast, not if she could help it. 

As she busied herself with the pans, stovetop burners, and the fan (turning the music off while she was at it), Anna fought the urge to ask, to be curious. There were things he didn’t talk about, other things Anna knew he compared her too. It was a hit she didn’t appreciate, one that had driven her to bite back more times than any (because she was her own person goddammit, not some second prize, not something to be compared to), but it wasn’t worth the heartache it gave. Bryce was, as a friend or otherwise, but she’d never lost that thought pattern, even when she was royally pissed off at him and wanted to throw something at his big, fat head. 

She did care, even if he never could. 

“The headache would go away if you stopped frowning,” she murmured, pitching a look at him and a lopsided half-smile, trying to make light of a situation she didn’t have all the facts of but could read the lines of well enough. No matter what anyone thought about her, Bryce included, Annaliese wasn’t stupid. “I was actually just about to so if you want something make your requests now. Seems like you could need it.” The pointed look she sent his stomach should be enough of an indication that was what she was talking about, though who knew, right?

Bryce dropped his hands to the countertop and his eyes quickly followed as she did what she does and clung to her positivity as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. He traced the shape of his fingers splayed out against the wood and swallowed down the sour taste of guilt. He knew he probably didn’t give her enough credit most of the time and the look in her eyes told him that she likely had some kind of idea. He really wasn’t as mysterious as he liked to pretend he was sometimes. 

He clenched his jaw as it became impossible to ignore the fact that she was trying. He’d been the one to show up outside her door and now he was the one acting put upon. She didn’t deserve the run-off of last night’s humiliation, even as it still burned inside him. So, he glanced up, trying on a smile that felt a little more genuine this time around. “Oh, is that all it takes? Then what was the pill for?” He ticked a brow, settling into casually playful even as the stiffness still lingered. “Poison?” God knew he probably deserved it.

He slid from the stool then, crossing the space to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. He glanced at them pointedly as he set them down, coming around the counter to stand beside her. “Hands off those, we both know my eggs are superior.” He moved around the kitchen with the practiced ease of someone who had spent many mornings just like this and he tried to settle into an echo of that now. He grabbed some flour and sugar and set them both down beside the eggs. “Flour, eggs, sugar. ...Water? Milk? How the fuck do you make pancakes?” He scratched his head as he looked at the ingredients he’d set out for a moment longer before he fixed her with a boyish look and a shrug that said, okay look, I’m trying, too.

[carlyxweiss]

it used to, used to, used to, used to be mine || bryly

[carlyxweiss]

brvcenichols‌:

Glued to the spot he stood, his eyes caught and held her as she moved towards him, only falling to his hands as she slipped hers into them. Each thought flew in on the heels of the one before it, spinning together maddeningly until he couldn’t discern a single one. He didn’t really know what to feel, to be honest. Hurt still lingered, perhaps even more sharply than he’d thought if the tightness in his chest was any indication. His heart broke for her at the same time that a swell of unresolved anger quietly bloomed low in his stomach. He found himself nodding at her words, found that he agreed with them more than he’d realized. But all of it quieted when her eyes met his. I miss you.

Fuck, if he hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought the words actually slammed him in the chest. His hands squeezed hers, throat thick with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t seem to. So, he didn’t speak. Instead, his hands slipped out of hers and rose slowly, gently to her face. A brush of fingertips met her jaw, ran along the length of it. His thumbs traced along her lower lip and his eyes studied hers, the flecks of green and brown, the thick frame of lashes, so familiar and yet, so foreign. The boy that had fallen in love so many years ago came alive inside him. He couldn’t remember when he’d explicitly given his hands permission to move, but he froze in place as he realized, licking his lips as he dropped his eyes to the floor. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more than he wanted to kiss her right then. But taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable moment felt like an insult to their history. So, his hands fell from her face and limply to his sides as he took a small step back. “Sorry,” he whispered, dragging his eyes back to hers. A hint of a boyish, lopsided grin touched the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t help myself, it said. “I miss you, too.” 

It wasn’t even scratching the surface of the medley of emotions churning madly inside him, but it didn’t mean he meant it any less.

( HEADCANON ENDING: )

Eventually, they realized the power was out but neither of them particularly cared.  They reunited in the carnal sense, because they’re way better at doing that with each other than they are talking about stupid feelings.  Then, because Carly hasn’t changed at all, she split.  From her own house.  While he was asleep in her bed.  Ouch. To be continued, like in the messy near future and not in this para because that’s the end.

[anxliese-atwater]

Wild Ones || Brynna

[brvcenichols]

anxliese-atwater‌:

@brvcenichols​

Her eyebrow ticked up at the tone of his words, catching the acid that coated them, but knew well not to comment on it. Someone had definitely pissed in his cheerios last night, whether that be a hookup or an old friend (or both, her mind helpfully supplied), Anna didn’t really care. They weren’t on again, not right now, even if things were better. And she never really had cared who he slept with before her. They had been friends for a time before they’d started this fucked up little dance of theirs. She knew what it looked like, after all. 

“Well, least your house is still standing, right? ‘M proud of you, anyway, even if you didn’t call first.” The words were gracious if anything else. When Anna had met Bryce, he’d been bumming on the beach or hopping around for a place to stay. That had also been before they’d started anything, too. But the truth in words was honest, sincere, in a way that she always was. Annaliese Atwater was anything but sugar-coated and she would be as blunt and as brutally honest as someone needed her to be. 

She casually slid a pair of Tylenol in front of him with the coffee before joining it on the counter, legs crossing over one another at the knee as she leaned back on a hand, about a foot away from where he was seated, acting like a puppet was pulling all of his strings. Bryce looked like he wanted a fight, but Anna wasn’t ready to give him one, not yet. Maybe after a cup of coffee. Or, possibly, if he pushed the right buttons. See, that was one thing she had never quite grasped, how he could get her so pissed off in so short an amount of time, sometimes without even trying. 

It was like he had a gift for it. 

She furrowed her brow in thought at the question, supping at the coffee she’d grabbed for herself before settling back up on the counter. “First night it happened, thank fuck. Late though. Jamie came over. Let me do his make up to keep me occupied.” There was a faint smile on her mouth at the remembrance, at the way they had felt like kids again, playing make-believe. Though he had whined about it, Jamie had let her do it because she’d needed it. He always did. 

The blonde’s eyes found Bryce’s face again after a moment and she leaned forward, trying to get a look at the dark circles under his eyes, a thumb sweeping along the skin under the closest one. “Haven’t been sleeping, huh,” she murmured, and it wasn’t a question, more an observance. She wasn’t judging. Lord knew she had her own issues. Bryce just never opened up about his. The hand fell away a moment later, loosely curling around the edge of the countertop to keep herself steady as she took another drink. 

“Yeah, but who doesn’t love surprises?” he countered, leaning into his elbows resting on the counter. He hadn’t yet decided what he was doing here and he was sure it was clear in the way he seemed to bounce from friendly to irritated and back again in the span of a few words. He wasn’t really sure why he was the way he was and he was even less sure why she let him. It was never clearer that she continued to do way more for him than he ever did for her as she set a cup of coffee and a Tylenol in front of him. 

He looked at it a moment, some stubborn part of himself feeling too prideful to accept the help, to avoid a reason to owe someone something, even if it was just a simple thank you. But he didn’t hold out long, popping the pill into his mouth and downing it with a small sip of coffee. He lifted the cup in his hand as he swallowed in cheers. “Thanks.” 

A faint smile danced at the corners of his mouth as she talked about her night. As unfair as it was, he’d sometimes find himself drawing comparisons between his relationship with Anna and the one he’d had with Carly. He hadn’t realized that maybe he’d been romanticizing those memories until Anna was no longer on the losing side of them. 

And yes, he was aware of how shitty that sounded.

When she brushed her thumb along the darkened skin under his eye, he tensed a little. He suddenly felt Carly all over him, every place she lingered tattooed onto his skin in inky black and he found himself half-convinced Anna would be able to seel it too. He frowned fingers pressing into his temples once again to chase away the headache that seemed intent to stick around. “It was too quiet and my phone was dead, so I couldn’t put on, like, white noise or anything. Pretty sure I woke up every time the wind blew.” It wasn’t a complete lie, so he felt okay about it. He took a greedy sip of the coffee, let it burn its way down and settle in his uncomfortably empty stomach. It grumbled loudly in protest and he seized the opportunity for a safer playing field. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

[carlyxweiss]

chandler-rawlins‌:

WHO: Chandler & @carlyxweiss​ WHEN: Saturday, April 24th - 07:05 PM WHERE: Chandler’s gallery in Lafayette Square WHY: After converting the office space below his apartment into a studio and small gallery, Chandler is hosting his first showing. 

 The showing was going well. Not that Chandler was worried. His art had been featured before, just never in his own, private space. Some had bought. A lot had talked. His broker was handling all the actual transactions, which left him free to float around the gallery. He wandered, silent even in his large form, behind them. Listening, judging, watching. One particular head of caramel tresses caught his eye. So familiar in it’s cascading beauty, yet attached to a head he felt so distant from. There was a time when that was different. Although, there was a time when all things were different.

A better man would’ve left her alone, but Chandler had questions. None of which he imagined being answered tonight with Carly’s companion standing so close. Too close to just be her friend. That bothered him in ways he didn’t quite understand. Never the less, he approached as quiet as the rise of the moon. His work, hanging on the wall in front of them, was in perfect view. Carly and her – friend, were both much shorter. The other man’s stature almost made him laugh, but instead Chandler leaned forward. Just into Carly’s peripheral view.

“Do you like what you see?”

To say this wasn’t going particularly well would have been a bit of an understatement. Uncomfortable, kind of remorseful, perpetually turned around and inside out, she was a little more subdued than normal. She was trying but Bryce was clearly not in the mood. She didn’t really blame him. While leaving him in bed to go to Arthur’s alcohol rescue hadn’t been kind, it had been the decision of person grasping at threads and lines to keep anyone close to her that wasn’t as precarious as she was. None of this was easy for her. It was unnatural. This was just a recent example.

The “friend” activity, going to a new, funky little art gallery in town, was actually the same kind of thing, only Bryce was not super receptive to the effort or the implied apology. But he was here, so she could keep working on it. He was probably a better person than she was for making it possible.

The good thing about an art show, she supposed, was the ability to lapse into silence while absorbing a painting. The extra task was helping cut the awkwardness a little.

At least, until a voice from the past landed in her ear. She had known there was something vaguely familiar about the art. He stood close enough she could smell him, too, and he smelled the same. It was a unique scent, one she’d worn home and imprinted into her skin more than once. It comforted her a little and tore at her, too, ripping around the edges of something she couldn’t quite define. She closed her eyes for a brief second, dragging a rough breath in through her nose before she opened her eyes and turned her head. She at least attempted to smile as she looked at him for the first time in a year.

“This place fits you,” she commented, trying to make it light. “There are more than a few things I like.” She tilted her head and resumed her focus on the one in front of her. “This one is sort a dark though. And I feel like that shape near the middle on the right might be some nip. Care to confirm?”

[brvcenichols]

Bryce had gone to war with himself about whether or not to meet her until the moment they were face to face again and he no longer had the option to back out. He realized, with an indignant snort at himself, that the scene had lost its pinkish hue. The new hurts had sliced into the gnarled scars the old ones left behind and he thought maybe he could remember now when she’d drawn that line in the sand, why he had stayed firmly on his own side of it. 

He stayed mostly quiet as they moved from display to display and let her do most of the talking. His pride was wounded-- of course it was-- but it went deeper than that. Waking up in the middle of the night in her bed, in her house, without her in it had been one thing. Knowing she’d gone to meet someone else hit him somewhere much lower than that. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d let her in, even a little. And there was embarrassment, too-- gathering his clothes in a dark, empty home and stumbling into them in his haste to leave had been humiliating. But even still, there was a part of him that said he really had no right to be as angry as he was. It was more than a lot to sort through, so he was thankful for the excuse to stand quietly and process. 

His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the painting in front of them, contemplating its colors and brush strokes and the way his eyes kept traveling back to the woman standing beside him. He waited for it to invoke a feeling, give him an answer, maybe, when he heard her speaking low and obviously not to him. His head tilted enough to glance over at the man that had seemed to slither in beside Carly out of nowhere. Blue eyes narrowed at the familiarity between them, annoyance at the sudden intrusion and the complete disregard for the fact that he was standing right here blooming in his chest. His eyes returned to the painting in front of him, though all of his attention remained shamelessly on their conversation. 

@chandler-rawlins​

[brvcenichols]

elihinkley‌:

Regardless of the current mess of a power outage in Catalina Island, Elijah Hinkley still went into work. Robin’s Barbecue had power, thanks to a generator, so they made food for the people of the island, all to be distributed to the high school, and surrounding families. He trained a friend at their new position, and made countless hours worth of food, which left him hungry, tired, and itching to have a beer. Plus, the events of the previous night had left him…reeling.

He heard the knocking, and he got up, padding towards the door. Thank god Bryce was here, no doubt with food. He would be a good person to ask for advice, right? He opened the door, the bags present under his eyes. “Thanks, man. You don’t know how much I need this right now. And holy shit, we need to talk. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home, as per usual.”

The sight of Eli lessened some of the tension in his rigid frame. Curiosity was clear in the quirk of his brow, his mouth open and poised to say nearly the same exact thing. “You and me both, man,” he said, blowing air out of his cheeks as he made his way inside. He kicked off his shoes in the doorway-- fuck you, he could be polite-- and made his way into the living room, dropping the bag on top of the coffee table. “You first.” God knew he could use the momentary distraction. He began to dig into the bag of tacos, tilting his chin in Eli’s direction. “What’s up?”

[carlyxweiss]

it used to, used to, used to, used to be mine || bryly

[brvcenichols]

carlyxweiss‌:

All of his tells and tenses were on display.  It was definitely not pretending.  It was her friend, her love.  It threw her back in time, even as she knew from the lines on his face or the cut of his jaw that they had grown up.  Maybe, though, just maybe there was something left of the people they’d been.   It was a wild and dangerous hope, but it bloomed so fast, caught hold.

Before she could really stop herself, she was crossing the width of the patio to him, pressing her hands onto his.  “It’s my fault you didn’t know.  I didn’t tell you, or anyone, because it was really hard to find the words.  I got enough of the ‘sorry about your dead dad’ look; I didn’t need to find out what else would come with it if anyone knew the circumstances.  I didn’t want it to change us because I needed someone… consistent, who would just care about me.  And you did that.”  

She offered him a slightly watery laugh.  “Smoking doesn’t count.  Hell, I’ve done that with you.  I don’t have anything to offer now, just more Scotch. But I’m glad you’re taking better care of yourself and I’m sorry I checked out before… you probably needed me and I let you down.”  She bit her lip and dragged her eyes up to his face.  “I miss you.  You know?” 

Glued to the spot he stood, his eyes caught and held her as she moved towards him, only falling to his hands as she slipped hers into them. Each thought flew in on the heels of the one before it, spinning together maddeningly until he couldn’t discern a single one. He didn’t really know what to feel, to be honest. Hurt still lingered, perhaps even more sharply than he’d thought if the tightness in his chest was any indication. His heart broke for her at the same time that a swell of unresolved anger quietly bloomed low in his stomach. He found himself nodding at her words, found that he agreed with them more than he’d realized. But all of it quieted when her eyes met his. I miss you.

Fuck, if he hadn’t known any better, he’d have thought the words actually slammed him in the chest. His hands squeezed hers, throat thick with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t seem to. So, he didn’t speak. Instead, his hands slipped out of hers and rose slowly, gently to her face. A brush of fingertips met her jaw, ran along the length of it. His thumbs traced along her lower lip and his eyes studied hers, the flecks of green and brown, the thick frame of lashes, so familiar and yet, so foreign. The boy that had fallen in love so many years ago came alive inside him. He couldn’t remember when he’d explicitly given his hands permission to move, but he froze in place as he realized, licking his lips as he dropped his eyes to the floor. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more than he wanted to kiss her right then. But taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable moment felt like an insult to their history. So, his hands fell from her face and limply to his sides as he took a small step back. “Sorry,” he whispered, dragging his eyes back to hers. A hint of a boyish, lopsided grin touched the corners of his mouth. I couldn’t help myself, it said. “I miss you, too.” 

It wasn’t even scratching the surface of the medley of emotions churning madly inside him, but it didn’t mean he meant it any less.

[anxliese-atwater]

Wild Ones || Brynna

[brvcenichols]

anxliese-atwater‌:

@brvcenichols​

Taking in Bryce Nichols leaning in her doorway was like tripping over  her own two feet and falling hard on her face. In essence, it was like she couldn’t quite believe it was happening, again, but there he was, all the same. There was something almost familiar in that feeling, Anna supposed, that standing in the doorway wasn’t entirely her worst nightmare come to life (no, that spot was solely reserved for Rose Atwater) but it was also very, very unexpected. See, she and Bryce weren’t entirely off but they weren’t entirely on again, either. They’d been speaking again, recently, but….It made her wonder why he was here. And it made her wonder why the guy always dressed to impress had purple circles under his eyes. 

Still, the minuscule expressions on her face gave her away before any words ever did. A twitch of a lip upward, the hint of an eye roll, the barely-there sound of a put upon sigh (or what was, more possibly, a snort) before she stepped back and took the door with her, fingertips curling tight around the wooden frame of it, just enough space for his shoulders to pass through. “Didn’t know you knew how to make those, Bee,” she found herself saying, and it was almost like teasing, something settling the set of her shoulders into an easy slouch as she cocked her head to the side, assessed him with a clearer gaze than the last time they had seen one another. 

The smile: false. The way he stood: uneasy, perhaps, unsure. Something about his eyes, too. Quiet. Distance. 

There was more, and there was probably some things she had missed, too, but whatever those things were they would come to the surface or they would stay buried. 

“Lucky. Sure,” she murmured, quietly laughing, before letting her grip on the door loosen and turning away. “Only because I pay a little extra to make sure my lights stay on.” She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck, curled it into a loose bun, and plucked a coffee cup from a shelf, waved him over to a barstool. “Sit. You look like shit. Hard night?” A pause as she started a Keurig cup, tilting her head to keep him in her line of sight. “If you need a shirt there should be a few still in the back.” There was, of course, a hint of curiosity there in her words, her gaze, of course, there would be, but there was also a sense that Bryce Nichols would give up whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. 

And, usually, that was very little, to nothing, at all.

Guilt was eating away at him like acid. Tumultuous as their relationship could be, she was a fixture-- a solid place to return to. He didn’t have to worry about whether or not she’d blow in on a breeze and right back out with the rain. He knew she wouldn’t be the type to sneak out in the middle of the night to meet someone else. He clenched his jaw at her words-- logic telling him she was teasing, but his lack of sleep and his own guilt kicking up the defenses. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” The words were halfhearted, leaving his upturned lips as if someone else had spoken them. 

He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. As if she could see. As if she knew. His muscles were tense, shoulders nearly coming out of his ears as she stepped aside to let him in. He rolled his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen them as he followed her to the kitchen. “I still prefer having my own house. Even if my phone’s almost dead and my beer’s warm.” He was learning, however, how woefully unprepared he was as a homeowner. Surely a generator would have at least ensured he’d have a decent night’s sleep. Or, you know, a charged phone. 

He slid into a stool with robotic obedience, eyes lingering on the nape of her neck as she pulled up her hair. It was hard to think straight and even harder not to pick apart her words. He scoffed, looking up from under his hands that pressed into his temples. “Thanks.” He let out a breath and tried to rein himself in. Fuck, she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve any of it. He contemplated how much of the truth to tell her and settled on... mostly none of it. “I drank too much and didn’t sleep enough.” The smell of coffee felt promising and he looked at her for a moment before dropping his gaze back to the countertop. She was prodding, he could hear the curiosity in her words, but he refused to give anything away. His eyes did, however, trail off in the direction of the bedroom, before they made their way back to her and then to the coffee maker. He needed to get her talking about herself, throw her off his trail and reclaim some kind of the normalcy he had before Carly came sweeping back into his life like a god damn hurricane. “What time did your power come back on?” It was no better than asking about the weather, like small talk with a stranger, but he had nothing else to offer her. 

[brvcenichols]

WHEN: saturday afternoon. WHO: @elihinkley​ & bryce. WHERE: eli’s place.

There was something almost humbling about the hangover that lingered well into the afternoon. He felt every single one of his thirty-two years. The sun shone unforgiving above him and he shot it an accusatory glare as he lifted a hand to press against his temple. He was beginning to think his headache had less to do with the alcohol he’d had the night before and more to do with... well. Everything else.

He found himself standing before Eli’s door and tried the knob first, the bag of tacos in his hand thumping against the wood. When he found it locked, he knocked instead. His phone sat dead in his pocket and he considered, for the first time, that Eli might not be home. “It’s Bryce!” He called through the door. “Lucky for us, food trucks have been spared. Open up!”