it’s humid, but the hotel’s cheap. it’s not like sol expects anything better. maybe ares does. it could be that bias talking. the chip he has on his shoulder, something that burrows into the marrow of his bones when he sees him. sometimes it shakes him with rage, until he’s vibrating with it. everything clacking around inside of him, until he’s frenetic and buzzing with anxiety. ready to bolt. that’s how sol deals with most things, though.like the option for flight is the only thing hardwired into him. a singular compulsion. it’s worked out alright for him so far. at least when it comes to his own livelihood.
the emotional state, though? that’s something else entirely. something that often goes ignored altogether. but in a way, sol’s just busy running from that, too. himself. his thoughts. the ones that plague him late at night. twist into his consciousness with a conviction that’s hard to shake, refuse to let him sleep. so he swallows down too many pills and forgets who he is. ever was. it’d be easier if he woke up with that same anonymity in the morning. maybe that’s why people modify, when they can. rebuild themselves into something better. or something other.
people like ares, with the money for it. and here he is, all wound up again. his mind runs in a loop, chasing a jealousy born from a wealth discrepancy. but that anger, that apparent hatred can’t explain away the reason for his half-undressed state. the way their ankles brush when sol cracks at his joints ( overused and one one day they’ll likely give out ). he sniffs, and his lips part like he might be about to speak.
just fits a lit cigarette between them and inhales. the smoke coils up toward the ceiling. a projection for just how trapped he feels. how hopeless. a boxed in room. a boxed in life. a cage and sol can’t escape from it, he doesn’t have the means. he wonders, blithely, if he’ll be able to lift ares’ wallet before he leaves. he can predict the anger in his eyes already. something consuming and furious. but god, maybe sol just feeds off of that fury. maybe it makes him feel alive. pulls a half-dead boy partway up out of the grave before he falls back in again underneath ares’ hand.
there’s a real joke made of his life – he almost laughs.
“you fucking off soon?” sol asks him, and the statement is muffled with a cough to the crook of his own shoulder. slides back down and lets the pillow twist underneath his spine until he settles into a slump. he glances over at him, a study in profile. the curve of his nose, and hair spilling into his eyes. sol reaches out to pull it out of the way, meet his gaze, but the movement’s a little too rough to be called caring. “pay for the whole night at least, i’ll stay here alone.” an indirect nod to the reclusive way he lives his own life.
HE LETS HIS EYES glaze over the unimpressive wallpaper up towards the ceiling — eyes elsewhere and away from his companion . still , the events of the night sit heavy on his cognize — skin sore , reddened , and marked up from scratch and bite marks . but it’s not like he’s complaining when he’s spent another night of him being worn down to the bone with battle scars he gets to show off for it .
it’s interesting to say the least , how this happens when he least expects it — when he swears that the last time will be the last . but he’s given up since he’s been saying that same line for the past nights he’s fallen into bed with this man . eyes flick briefly towards his companion , before it turns back towards the uninteresting wallpaper .
this man is an addiction — and he does not know why he chooses to waste his time . but on the other hand , he’s not wasting time , not really . not when he gets a chance to see the faces he makes in bed , skin glistening with sweat from exertion , the noises he makes . he gets a chance to see all of that until it turns bitter , sour , boiling down into nothing but a stoic facade — the same face he always pulls whenever ares is around .
god , how he wishes he can see beyond those — beyond the faces of sex and stoicism . he’s certain sol has more to offer . and perhaps that answers his own questions as to why he finds himself in the same bed — a chance to see him crack wide open before his eyes . because for so long he’s known the man , and for so long has he eluded him .
sol was a puzzle he was clearly obsessed with solving — hiding it beneath the guise of wanting him in the fraternity . but as far as ares is concerned , that excuse has stopped being true for a while that even he has to admit it . still , he does want the man in his gang — an asset he always says , especially considering just how long the other has managed to survive purely on his skill set . and ares wants him .
he hums , pensive about his reply as fingers take a turn at the nearly burned out cigarette . ares takes a lungful before billowing out smoke overhead . ‘ it’s not like you want me around anyway . ’ he replies , a touch more bitter than he’d like to admit — especially with sol’s fingers brushing stray hair off his face . eyes locked and harden , ares sighs . he crushes the dying cigarette atop the bedside table as his fingers move towards his companion , fingers dancing on lithe limbs — up and down sol’s bare arm .
‘ the fraternity wants you , sol . ’
