* 𝒅𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒐 , 𝒂. ﹕ 𝘧𝘵. 𝚌𝚓
there’s music playing a little bit too loud , and he’s in the middle of a conversation of three , lost halfway through – but smiling anyways without fault . his head is clearer than it’s ever been , and the red solo in his hand remained untouched . he’s perched on the side of a wall , to a house that wasn’t nearly as spacious as his own– but big enough in it’s own right to carry weight through the town . expensive art hung on the wall , and he’s zoning in on a piece , with tired eyes , until he can almost make out a face , staring back at him . there’s a sudden drop in his chest , like an anvil laid flat against his airway , keeping him choked from reality . but his attention is drawn the moment his name is tugged back to surface level , and hazel irises are dipped back into conversation . did you get that in a fight ? there’s a girl , and she’s got long blonde hair that dipped down to her lower back , tucked behind her ear— a tourist , and everything about her practically screamed it . and while the night played on , the two of them found themselves alone in an upstairs bedroom , lights out— always — and hushed sighs enveloped by the song after the next . when he leaves , he still feels nothing - nothing but dread as it’s still formed a lump in the back of his throat , tightening and tightening as the night felt like it’d never end . and in the meantime , he’s shifting through the crowd , down the stairs , hickey embedded purple and bruise just under the tuck of a collar , and out the front front porch steps of a long paved driveway . he hadn’t expected to see her— and it fucking knocked whatever wind he had left , out from under him . brows furrowed , and tongue caught between a narrowed gaze , and a distracted stiffen of his shoulders . as always , he makes a b-line to leave , wondering quietly just how long she’d been at this party- and what she’d seen in the process . but he doesn’t ask– because that would have stepped on his pride . instead , he’s walking — his car no where in sight .
* ｡ . –– 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 & 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 –– ｡ . *
her mother had taken over the entire living room ; junior partners , paralegals , and an intern took up spaces , and they were all picking apart the same novel - length contract . cj had been asked to join and quickly stammered about having plans in order to prevent that specific kind of torture from happening . . . so she texted a couple old friends , and two hours later her fingers were intertwined with another’s as she followed along through a writhing crowd . pale blue eyes search for comfort in familiar faces. , but it never quite comes . . . because , camille , you’ve never really fit into scenes like this , have you ? the last time she felt at ease amidst a party was leaned back against a boy’s chest as his arms draped over her shoulders , lips lowered to mumble next to her ear every now and again , laughter shaking their shoulders . they hadn’t spoken in years , the last party they went to together ending in a fight that shattered the glass protecting what could have been . it’s why there’s no comfort when she sees him across the most crowded room , but a pang of curiosity sparks in a way she can’t explain when dark eyes seemingly go blank , despite the way he was surrounded by friends who used to ruffle her hair as she passed by , but now turned their backs . it’s unsettling , the way she feels guilt like a boulder dropped to the pit of her stomach . . . years had passed . they’d changed . but she still couldn’t drink fireball without tasting the words on her tongue . . . this . us . it’s all bullshit . there was a lingering in her gaze , noting the way his leg bounced when he sat , how inattentive he was to the cup in his hand , how his smile never quite reached his eyes , but she was tugged forward and lost to the crowd before she could make anything of it . an hour or so passed , early june heat and the packed house caused a glistening on the nape of her neck , tucked under dark waves that dipped between her shoulder blades . it was suffocating , being there , almost as much as it would’ve been at home , but not quite . empty conversation and too many people bumping into her made her lungs contract , and before she knew it , she was making a b-line for the front door . a breeze cools her skin , and she leans against a pillar with closed eyes . she only opens them once more when the sound of the front door’s handle turning breaks the silence , and there’s no denying the way she falters when she meets his gaze . narrowed , but exhausted , and she missed the way he used to look at her . guilt . the guilt was still rampant , and her lips parted , but no words came out . not before he took off , as always , down the steps and down the driveway . don’t do it , she told herself , there’s no reason . moments pass , and she could’ve gone inside , but instead ? “ angel , wait –– ” feet patter down the steps , scurried after him , and cj always had a plan . . . but if anyone was going to disrupt that , it’d always be him . “ please , ” she’s shocked by the faint tone underneath her words , the quiet longing . catching up with him , her voice softens , “ coston isn’t that big . . . you can’t just . . . keep bolting every time we’re in the same place . ”
