DOWNFALL

I want to jump back into the throat of god, / where skinned knees and bruised ankles do not count. / there is an anger in my soul / that wants out. / we'll see then who is holy.

[cogiitoarchive]

          On top of his nose was perched a pair of blue mirrored sunglasses—fake ones, unlike their pricier counterpart worn by the likes of K-Pop stars—, completing the getup (sneakers, shorts, baseball cap, backpack with a water bottle stuck in the side pocket) that stood out like a sore thumb among locals. Soohan was even carrying himself in that typical tourist manner as he walked, his neck craning as he struggled to drink in every corner of this foreign scenery. Tricycles and motor-taxis, tropical trees sprouting out in between houses, the sky blazing in a ridiculously bright shade of blue that was IMPOSSIBLE to see in Seoul with its shitty air pollution. He marveled at everything that he passed by, busily snapping pictures, on his way to the shore where he was supposed to meet the tour guide and the rest of the group.

          “Hello!” he called out in English, approaching the person next to a boat, taking off his sunglasses and pushing them up to his head. He held a hand to shield the glaring sunlight. When the other turned around, his eyes widened almost comically. “Eoh, mweo-ya?”

[hcwlings-blog]

Juan thought the voice sounded familiar, but it didn’t prepare him for the face that he turned to see. After all, he did have a rule: he’d fuck tourists so that he never had to come across them again. For all the tour guides on the island, and for all the people that were, there was little chance that Juan ever would come across someone he’d spent the night with. Plus, there was the fact of the matter: that tourists were tourists, and they were gone as quickly as they had arrived. Thus, when he turned to meet Soohan’s gaze --- and goddamn, Juan wished he had forgotten the man’s name, and yet it stung his tongue like a memory far too vivid ---, shock was all over his features. It spoke itself clearly; he hadn’t needed any words. But, for as quickly as this shock came, Juan managed to gather his composure. His current expression eased, and was thus replaced by a cocky smile as he quirked an eyebrow towards the foreigner. “Come back for more?” The smile on Juan’s lips was undeniable. “Last night is good, right? You--- You want more?”

[theseascribbles]

Camilla knew she needed to put everything that had happened in America behind her. She was home now. She needed to move forward, like she was sure her ex-boyfriend was. Last she’d checked, he was now cozying up to a lingerie model. Whatever. The thought struck her like lightning - Was this whole weird marrying Jerry idea somehow a psychological ploy for her to one-up her ex? No. No way. Definitely not, she reassured herself. Although her reasons weren’t the “typical” reasons, she knew there was no turning back now. 

When Jericho took her hand, she felt her spirits begin to lift. He always knew what to say to help her feel better. “Yeah,” she responded after a pause. “You’re right. I just need to be patient. How is it that you always know exactly what to say?” If she didn’t know any better, Camilla would say that a smile from Jericho was made from pure sunlight. Bright, warm, tender. 

Camilla felt too nervous to order, and besides, he had it covered. Her best friend knew her inside and out, even her favorite order at probably every restaurant they had been to. At the mention of turon, she beamed. Her favorite dessert, even above the typical cakes and pastries. “Thank you for ordering turon. You know I love it.” 

Once the waiter left, she made small talk. Speculating about the weather, new songs on the radio, and touching upon what neighborhood gossip she heard secondhand from her mother. The whole time, she grew more and more nervous. And it was becoming obvious. Camilla had always been a person who fidgeted, especially when she was stressed or nervous. As she spoke, she toyed with her hair, with the cloth napkins, the side of her water glass, and the sleeve of her blouse. 

Her actions only quieted when the waiter brought over their food. She echoed his movement. The sign of the cross and a soft, unspoken thanks to God, it was pure habit. Jerry had just tucked into his spaghetti and Camilla’s own pasta dish was untouched when she finally spat out what she had been thinking: “Jericho, will you marry me?”

[hcwlings-blog]

It was some time between the small talk they made and the arrival of the food that Jericho noticed something was up. Even if he hadn’t been Camilla’s best friend, he would have noticed. The way she fidgeted made it obvious enough for anyone to understand that something was up, but Jericho knew not to pry it from her. He knew how to be around Camilla --- when she was upset because of her mother, when she didn’t know what to do with her life, when she wanted to get away from the boredom that was living, and down to the nitty-gritty details that made her who she was. Jericho was Jericho, and he knew himself  as much as he knew Camilla. Sometimes, he reckoned he knew his best friend more than he did himself; there were still parts of him he didn’t want to accept, but he accepted Camilly wholly from the first moment she decided to call him Jerry when they were but young children.

This knowledge was what led him to understand that the moment didn’t require his prying. Somehow, Jericho knew. Given any other moment at any other time, he would have; but there was just something about this moment that kept him quiet. Instead of words, he offered his hand towards Camilla. He eased some of her fidgeting by putting one of his hands on one of hers hers, as though that might make the nervousness sitting in the pit of her stomach go away. Whether or not it worked was a question he hadn’t had answered, but it did stop the fidgeting. For a little bit, even. For a small, tiny, pause before the words that would forever change his life escaped Camilla’s lips. At once, Jericho retracted his hand from hers. At once, he dropped the fork he was using to eat his spaghetti.

Jericho, will you marry me?

There was a part of him that knew he knew Camilla. There was a part of him that knew he knew her better than he knew himself. And yet, for all the knowledge in the world, Jericho would never have expected this. He never would have expected Camilla to ask these questions --- only because he hadn’t expected her to love him the way he loved her. And that was what first crossed his mind: that she loved him. There was no question, no other possibility. For so long, he had denied himself of this, but, as the question came from her mouth, Jericho allowed himself to believe it. But, of course, rationality came quickly as he looked at his best friend in silence.

As rationality came, something else did, too: the realization that she did not love him in that way.

The silence that had occurred between them was long and prolonged, mostly due to Jericho’s inability to answer the question the way he wanted to without compromising the way he wanted to sound. If he asked why, would he be rude? If he said yes without asking, would he ever find out why? For a moment, he simply thought the question through, wondering about the answer he would give before another thought dawned upon him: this was a joke.

This was a joke --- a funny joke, and he was the punchline. The serious look on Camilla’s face told him otherwise, of course, but he couldn’t conclude it to be anything else. And so, finally, a small chuckle came from Jericho as he relaxed his sitting position once again before reaching for the fork he’d dropped on the table. “I usually like a little more romancing,” he said with a small, but nervous smile. “I--- I--- What? Could you say that again? Please?”

[theseascribbles]

Ari has no idea what the evening had in store, but he was willing to do whatever. He was in the homeland - in Greece, in the idyllic Santorini - and a beautiful woman wanted to spend her time with him. It was as though nothing mattered anymore.

Not his stuffy, high-paying job back in New York. Not the empty, threadbare apartment that awaited him there. Not his brother’s impending fatherhood with Ari’s own ex-girlfriend. Not the fact that until this very moment, he had never felt so alone in a place full of people. This was a breath of fresh air, this was another chance to feel happy again - even if only for one night. 

Ever the monogamist, the blonde’s proposition of not sharing any personal information threw Ari for a loop. He was an intimate person. Not that he would entirely and utterly lay his soul bare for any stranger to see, but he did like to talk. About family, life, love, and everything else. He was never the type for one-night stands, and he wasn’t about to assume that this evening would end in sex, but if it was, it would be a break from his past: Where sex had always been in the confines of a relationship, once they had gotten past the awkward getting to know yous and what are we? discussions. 

Well, habits were meant to be broken, right? And maybe tonight would be a good night to break a few habits.

He realized he’d been silent for a few seconds too long before stating, rather abruptly. “No, that’s perfectly fine. No details, no names. Got it.” He offered a hand to her. “I’ll even shake on it. And I am not one to go back on my word.” Had he known what was to take place years from now - when they would meet again - Ari would be one going back on his word, but in this space, in this time, he meant it. And he figured, perhaps if he didn’t feel obligated to reveal the truth of the sadness behind his eyes, they would both be better off. 

“However, I do have one qualm. Whatever shall we call each other? Should we have… Pseudonyms?” The word felt foreign on his tongue, and he felt immediately cheesy for even suggesting it. “Either way, you can call me Des.” Sure, it wasn’t far from his name; Aristides, but she didn’t have to know that small piece of information. “What may I call you?”

[hcwlings-blog]

The man was silent for a moment too long, and Adeline knew this was because the cogs were working in his head. Adeline Case did not know this man --- and even the simplest of details such as his name would be unknown to her ---, but she knew he was contemplating the condition she had proposed. But she did know herself. Adeline Case may not have known this man, but she knew herself --- and if there were something she was good at, it was getting what she wanted when she wanted it. She knew how to stare a man down in order to get him to do her bidding. She knew how to touch, how to smile, how to use her body. This man was a stranger, but Adeline was Adeline. This was enough.

When the man finally spoke up and agreed to what had been proposed, a great, bright smile appeared on Adeline’s lips in response. She was in Greece, for god’s sake! She was in Greece, and there was no way she was going to end the night as simply a wedding planner. That would mean knowing all the right things to say and knowing all the right things to do. That would mean watching someone else’s happiness while blanking out on her own. Now, the night with this stranger was a mystery --- but it was one that Adeline wholly welcomed. A night of mystery was better than a night of boredom, and she had never been the kind to bore herself.

With her smile came her hand. She extended one forward to shake the man’s, with a look on her face that clearly said she was impressed. For all his sadness and the fatigue in his eyes, he had a firm grip. This would not show on the confusion etched in his words as they put their hands down after the shake. The word pseudonym made Adeline laugh, though not at him directly, but rather at the thought of the word. He was stressed --- even she could see that. A little bit of Adeline was all he needed to take his mind away from all of this, which worked, seeing as Adeline only needed a native of Greece like him to show her around.

“Aliases,” she said as her laughter died. “I think aliases are a better term, but pseudonyms work, too.” Adeline beamed up at Des with her pretty smile. “And you can call me”---she paused, only to look around and say--”Vase. Like, flower vase. It is quite a pretty name, if I do say so myself. Very unforgettable. ‘I went out with Vase,’ as a sentence might garner weird looks from friends and family, but at least you’ll never forget.” Adeline squinted her eyes at Des. “So, reception is that way”---she cocked her head towards the door of the church, where the last few guests were just heading---”if you’re ready.”

[gonepoisoned]

TICK TOCK  /  AUDEN & CAESAR –––  @hcwlings

The amount of worry that had settled into Auden’s features grew more intense as time had ticked on. A few minutes felt like hours, an hour felt like an eternity, and despite knowing that there would be no updates from anyone, the brunette couldn’t stop thinking about the last couple of days. A weekend party had escalated into something it shouldn’t have, with her best friend uninviting her to her wedding, leaving Auden devastated in the wake. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about how the last words she’d said was I’m sorry before getting the door slammed in her face. That had been four days ago. By now her friend’s cell had since died and she’d found no trace of her — so, naturally, Auden had turned to a PI. He was supposed to be the best in the business, or so she’d heard, and it was exactly that that had her sitting in the chair to his office. She gave him a longing glance, her eyes practically begging him as she struggled to hold back tears. “I don’t care how much money it takes, Mr. Silas, I just want her back. She hasn’t called. No matter how mad she was it’s just- it’s not like her. She has a wedding in a month, for Christ’s sake!” Auden wrapped her arms around herself. “You’re all I’ve got. The police aren’t even bothering with looking into it.”

[hcwlings-blog]

The people that came into Caesar’s office were broken about something or another. Either they had a cheating partner, a missing child, a dead pet, and god knew whatever else. Whatever it was, they found reason to be broken about it. They found reason to be crying, to be hysterical. The last time Caesar had allowed himself the luxury of feeling anything close to this was when his mother had died, but he hadn’t let anyone see how broken he was. And thus, it was a wonder to him why these people let him see. It was a wonder to him why they turned to him with tears in their eyes. Did they think he was somebody who could fix their brokenness? He was a private investigator, not a grief counselor. There was a difference --- a difference that the woman before him did not seem to grasp. As she sat across him, Caesar could only watch and take in her body language: the fear in it and the guilt. She thought he was going to make this better, somehow. The stench of alcohol on him and in his office should have told her that he wasn’t, but it didn’t --- and so now Caesar had to tell the woman himself. “Miss,” he said, “it’s very normal for people to stop calling after a fight, or to have cold feet before their wedding. I’m sure your friend will turn up any day now.”

[hcwlings-blog]

WOLVES ON THE RUN / SEAN & CARTER --- @pcisoned

There was a point past all the nonsense talk of the town that made everything logical, a point past all the illogical myths that made for a rational truth. This, at least, was what Sean Elliot knew. He did not grow up listening to his mother’s stories for nothing. He did not grow up listening to his grandmother’s tale of how his grandfather had died whilst attempting to leave town. Other people might think it silly, might think it foolish, but Sean believed every single word, every single legend, every single story. There was no getting out of Lakeshore, and this was the truth that he decided to involve himself with.

The recent body that turned up was proof of this.

No name had been given, and no reason as to why she had died had been released, but all anyone knew was that she was dead. But that was not all: her body was found by the edge of the town, just where Lakeshore ended and the road began. The police had given up searching for causes, for they’d seen deaths like these before and found no reason --- and thus did not think they’d find reason now. This body would just be another body on the long list of bodies found by the edge of Lakeshore this year. This body was just another body, and Sean would be damned if he would allow Carter to leave right after this.

As Carter’s eyes skimmed the newspaper clipping that Sean had handed him, Sean could already tell that he was not going to believe any of it. That was the difference between them: they chose different truths, only Sean’s was the right one. This was something Carter couldn’t see, of course --- something he refused to see ---, but Sean never got tired of explaining to him over and over and over why they couldn’t leave this godforsaken town. And now, more than ever, he wanted to let his boyfriend know. Now, more than ever, he needed his boyfriend to listen.

A soft look of concern came upon Sean’s face as Carter finally met his gaze. It was love that drove this concern, and love that would convince his boyfriend again. “We can’t leave,” he said with a shake of his head. “This is--- this is proof! This is a testament as to why! It’s all there in the newspaper clipping. It couldn’t have said it better. Body found by the edge of the town? Uh, I think something’s up.”

[voxpopl-blog]

About your father. In the blink of an eye, Isla’s blood had run cold. The pit of her stomach churned uncomfortably, and though part of her wanted to give in to the panic of knowing that the detective’s words could be no good, another part of her – a stronger part of her – forced her to calm down. A flash of panic illuminated her face and eyes, although just as quickly as it had come, it vanished, suppressed by Isla’s desire to control herself. This didn’t mean anything. Detective Ealy hadn’t exactly been an animated person when she’d worked with him before, so the fact that he had a polite smile on his lips could instead be a good thing. Though Isla began to move out of the way, she quickly tried to pass it off as merely a twitch when she remembered the trail of water across her floor and the fact that the foot bath still stood in the living room. Her apartment was in no state to be seen by a man who’d barely even been there before. “What about him? Do you have any news?” she insisted, and moved into the vestibule to try and prevent any suggestion of going inside. Though her tone had been polite, the expression on her face was one of tense concentration. 

[hcwlings-blog]

He saw it on her features: the panic. Yet, for as quickly as it had come, it passed; and somehow, some part of Marcus assumed that Isla was preparing herself. Despite this, he knew there was never going to be any way to be ready. He’d been through this before --- and not merely on the giving end, but on the receiving end as well. All those years ago, the same kind of devastating news had been given him about his parents. And, though he’d seen it on the news before the detectives came to inform him, he still hadn’t been ready to hear what they had to say. There was no way to ever be ready for this, but Marcus knew that having one’s way when it came to hearing the news would help. So, when Isla moved into the vestibule to meet him, Marcus did not argue. He simply nodded at her questions, and then said, “Yes. His bones were found in the river earlier today, and we’ve sent it to the morgue for further analysis. As of now, we don’t have anymore information, but I thought it was important for you to know this.” His gaze was unwavering, and yet they held a silent sort of pity in them --- the kind that one did not often see on a person like Marcus Ealy.

[hcwlings-blog]

SEE YOU AGAIN / JUAN & SOOHAN --- @cogiito

Though he’d lived all his life in Puerto Princesa, the mornings never failed to amaze Juan de Luna. It was a beautiful thing to witness the way the light touched the sea and the sand; this was a luxury Juan had that others did not. Where others only visited and enjoyed what Puerto Princesa had to offer, he had it for a lifetime --- and though he took plenty for granted, he knew how to treasure this. With this came his job: guiding tourists across the island and making sure they felt as welcomed and as at home as he did. To Juan, this morning was no different as he made his way out to the main shore. What he knew was what he had to do, and all else be damned because he was good at his job. However, he was unaware of the differences that would make today. He was unaware of the differences that would make his future, of the person that would change things for him. For now, he readied a boat by the shore as the morning would entail island hopping for him and the tourists.

[theseascribbles]

Camilla’s heart picked up pace when she saw him. Jerry was never late, he was always perfectly on time. He was the best man she had ever met, which was why it was starting to feel more than a little deceitful to ask him to marry her just so she could get away from her family. He deserved a better woman, a better wife. He deserved someone who loved him romantically - which, as of yet, Camilla didn’t know those were feelings she carried for him - and would be an equal partner in marriage. 

As it was, they wouldn’t be equal partners. Camilla had no job, the bare bones of a college education, and a bad reputation. What kind of wife was she supposed to be? The thought of being a housewife irritated her, even though she knew her mother thought it was all she might be good for. 

All the same, she beamed at her best friend, hugging him tightly. His arms were always a welcome comfort, even though they had seen each other a few days ago. That, and Jerry always smelled really, really good. Perhaps, she let herself think, if they started living together she could figure out what his new cologne was. 

Hearing him speak in their native Filipino was relaxing to her ear. In America, everyone spoke a variety of different languages, but most of her friends chatted in English. There were a rare few people she had encountered who spoke Tagalog, let alone Filipino. “At least you are working! I can’t seem to get anyone to hire me.” She responded, trying to keep her tone light, although it was the truth. It was as though everyone in Biñan - perhaps even the entire country - knew of her “sordid” time in America. They had all seen her half-naked and dancing in all of A.J.’s videos, had seen the pictures of her time working in the strip club, had seen the modeling pictures she did. 

Camilla hadn’t even looked at the menu yet. But she and Jerry had come here often enough that she did, in fact, know his order by heart. “Oh, no, I hadn’t.” She said, her face flushing a little out of embarrassment. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want the usual. But yeah, yeah, the usual sounds great.”

[hcwlings-blog]

What Camilla had done in America hadn’t exactly been unknown to Jericho. When one was put on the stage like she was, the whole world got to see a little bit of the act that took place. This included all the people who knew her --- Jericho included. And yet, while he had been proud of her to have achieved something so big and vast, Jericho had merely turned his eyes away from the television screens that blasted Camilla’s face and body. He was not like her mother who had criticized her every move, and not like his mother who asked what had happened to Camilla all the time. Instead, he’d decided to let her ride things out and to look away while he was at it. For Jericho, Camilla was still his best friend at the end of the day --- and, conservative values in mind, he ought not to see her that way.

To hear Camilla joke about the effect of her time in America was different, though. It was always different coming from her. Jericho knew her well enough to understand that the joke was not a joke, to see that the laughter was forced, and to catch the sadness in her eyes when she mentioned it. It was sad enough to notice all these, but sadder that Jericho couldn’t do much about it. He settled for a small, soft smile on his lips, and reaching out for Camilla’s hand as he shook his head. “Sigurado ako,” he said with a light but firm tone, “makakahanap ka rin. Patience lang. Tiwala lang. You’re--- You’re something special. People will see that.” The smile on his lips grew at this. Even if he could not do much, Jericho would smile at Camilla for as long as she needed him to smile. “Promise. You got this.”

Once she had mentioned that she hadn’t ordered yet, Jericho nodded and raised his hand to call on a waiter. The service was quick enough, as the staff of the place knew Camilla and Jericho who frequented the place, and at once, Jericho recited the orders for himself and his best friend without once looking at the menu. When the waiter asked if they wanted to add turon, he agreed. And then, the orders were repeated, and off the waiter went.

Jericho’s undivided attention once more landed on Camilla once the waiter was gone. It was so natural for him to always look back to her, so natural for him to smile the way he did, to beam the way he beamed. Anyone else in the restaurant would have seen how much love he held for her, but, to the both of them, there was nothing unusual about the glint in his eyes. This was just a friend looking at another friend --- nothing more than that. Jericho would refuse to admit anything; Camilla did not notice. There was nothing more than friendship between them --- perhaps, maybe, for a long time.

And then, in the middle of conversation, the food arrived. When everything was laid out between them, Jericho did the sign of the cross as a habit he’d formed over the years, though he was no longer a practicing Roman Catholic. “Hope you enjoy the food,” he said with a small laugh. “Even though we ordered our favorites, and even though we always enjoy the food, you know.”

[growlithc-blog]

Another day, another headache. It was astonishing, really, how Dario Delgado could go from being blackout drunk the night before to a functional human being the next morning. In all fairness, however, it was part of the lifestyle he’d chosen for himself many moons ago. One he’d grown fully accustomed to the point of it simply being routine for the young rock legend in the making. Of course, it wasn’t the career his single mother had envisioned for the strapping young boy she had tried to push toward a bright future of athletics and academics, but it was, without a doubt, what he was most passionate about, and fortunately his happiness was deemed to be far more important. So, instead of chasing a soccer ball across a perfectly trimmed field of grass, or spending long nights that reached to the early mornings by trying to crack some ridiculous scientific equation, Dario followed through with the musical gift bestowed upon him by the man who he would’ve called ‘dad’. It was considered to be a blessing as well as a curse, but he tended to focus more on the positives that came with the renown luxury of being somewhat of a star. Although, one could argue that a raging hangover was definitely not one of those positives. 

There wasn’t even a sliver of doubt that he would blindly agree, especially that morning.

Rising Dead ( a name agreed upon by all four members sheerly based on their shared love of zombies ) had just signed off on their first, official tour, which of course called for celebration. They still had a number of weeks for preparation of the cross-country journey that would ultimately be a make or break in either a long lasting or short lived career. It was terrifying, along with really really exciting …. but pretty damn terrifying was a close second. It explained his overly intoxicated state the previous night, because even though the celebratory party had been a total rager, most of this drinks he’d downed so quickly had been Dario’s subtle solution in calming his nerves.

Nevertheless, that was all behind him now. Now, he needed some grease to settle his stomach, which was what initially brought him to the very diner Irish Cusack was currently held up in, waitressing. With a pair of dark shades shielding russet irises and a slight shuffle to his step, the otherwise observant man hadn’t even noticed the woman on staff, until she was standing at his table with a menu for him, just moments after he’d slide into one of the empty booths. Although still hidden behind the sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, Dario’s wandering gaze travelled over the waitress from her legs, all the way up to her face, which held an expression he could only pin as unimpressed. With a job like hers, in a place like this, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Thanks.” The single word rolled off his tongue with a nonchalant ease as a small, lopsided smile began to tug lightly at the corners of his lips before he continued to speak. “What’s the greasiest dish you serve in this joint? I need that. And probably coffee.”

[hcwlings-blog]

There was a part of Irish that wished she could say she didn’t mean to be rude. In fact, Irish Cusack wished for plenty: that she was lovely, that she was famous, that she was whomever people wanted her to become, that she was somebody else. But wishes could only bring one so far, and wishing on a star was as reliable as the way the world worked. Nothing was guaranteed, not these days --- not even something one waited for their whole life, not even something one worked so hard to attain. Irish knew this, and so it would not do her well to wish on anything. Somehow, she ought to have learned her lesson of trusting no one but herself. Somehow, she ought to have learned not to put her hopes up on a god or on a wish that wouldn’t deliver.

Alas, she was only human. Only human and wanting. Only human and longing. Only human. And so, she  wished anyway. She wished and wished, though her wishes never came true. The part of her that did not mean to be rude never came, and she was neither lovely nor famous nor whomever people wanted her to be nor somebody else. She was who she was: a tiny girl with a tiny body, with big dreams unable to fit inside. Irish Cusack wished it weren’t so, but she was Irish Cusack; there was no denying this.

In true Irish Cusack fashion, however, she would find a way. It was one thing to only wish for circumstances to happen, but another to put one’s mind into it and make things work. The thing about Irish Cusack was that she was whomever she wanted to be, whomever she put her mind to. And thus, this would explain the moments later to come, when Dario Delgado would make himself known before her, and she would become a whole other person. She was not the person others wished her to be, but she was who she was --- and who she was was a very, very intangible thing. Her years as an actress taught her this. Her years as an actress taught her to be everything and anything she wanted to be.

But this was for later. For now, she was not the version of Irish Cusack who wanted to pull something out of the man before her. She was not yet the version of Irish who thought Dario could do something for her. Instead, she was still Irish Cusack, waitress who hated her job and wanted to get out of the diner as soon as possible. When her tone came, this showed. It was an impatient and an unkind tone. “Uh, the bacon mushroom burger is… really something,” she said, “and probably coffee? Should I probably put that down as your order? Should I probably give you that? C’mon. This isn’t a guessing game.”

[crackedfacade]

Max’s slight disappointment at her lack of memory didn’t go unnoticed and Jac almost felt bad. Way to kick a guy when he’s down, she thought, but beyond that she wouldn’t let herself dwell on it. It seemed when it came to Max her mind was always going a mile a minute– she had been overthinking things from the moment her younger self had met him (and hadn’t that been half the reason they had fallen apart? She had read too far into things and wanted more than he was willing or ready to give her.) but she wouldn’t let today be like that and quickly shut down any and all roads that her train of thought might decide to journey down and instead made herself just focus on the reality in front of her.

“Oh okay, good.” Jac nodded, giving a smile at his plans, glad that he wasn’t planning on going home and drowning himself in cough syrup and nyquil and borrowing into a cocoon of blankets and used tissues. She had met his mother a handful of times years ago and between that and how much Max lit up every time he talked about her, Jac knew that she was a good person and would undoubtedly make sure that her pseudo son had a decent, if not great, end to a crummy day. “Tell her I said hi,” the words slipped out before she could really stop them and her cheeks flushed as she realized what she had said. Was she allowed to ask that? After all the time and harsh words that had passed between them? Just because they were on friendly terms now didn’t mean he necessarily wanted to bring her into such a sacred part of his life. “Or don’t,” she tacked on, laughing awkwardly and tucking her hands into her pockets. 

If she didn’t suddenly feel so awkward and self-conscious she probably would have laughed at the situation and how ridiculous it would be reversed. If they had run into each other on her birthday and he had asked her to tell the Sanford’s that he said hi. The scene practically played out before Jac’s eyes: her mother and father sitting across from each other at a long table and avoiding eye contact with both each other and their daughters; Romney sitting on her left, fingers twitching as she itched for another fix of whatever substance of choice was the current flavour of the months; and she would be sitting there, feeling as small as she did at sixteen. And she was sure the words ‘Max says hi’ would lead to an annoyed huff from her father accompanied by a lecture from her mother about the people she associates with and how if only she would listen to her more, she could be married to a lawyer by now with a couple kids.

Suddenly she was really grateful that her mother hadn’t answered her calls recently.

Jac laughed at the words that followed, shaking her head at him and rolling her eyes without an ill intent. “Can’t you at least pretend I’m good at this stalking gig? I told you I’m still finding my footing in it,” she grinned teasingly. “Actually I was about to swipe out and go home,” she shrugged. She and Maddox still weren’t talking though so she wasn’t exactly in any rush to get back to the tense house that they shared. Unlike when he had asked her to spend some time with him at the festival, the urge to run as far away wasn’t very strong. It was still there in the very back of her mind, but it was a whisper now rather than a violent shout. 

“Yeah, ice cream.” She confirmed with a nod of her head. “But,” she continued, a finger pointing at him and her eyebrows raised with a faux stern look crossing her features, “I’m treating you. Who treats themselves on their birthday? C’mon, this is the time you’re supposed to let the world do it for you. So I’m paying.” She dropped her hand back down to her side, smile returning to her face as they started down the hallway and to the destination in question. 

[hcwlings-blog]

Whenever Max thought about how he and Jac had reconnected, the fact that it was strange and bizarre was always the first thing on his mind. It had to be noted: it was not that strange and bizarre to befriend an ex in and of itself, for Max had seen it happen with his friends and their former significant others. It was only strange because it was on a personal level: because he’d seen all he’d done, and he’d learned from all his mistakes, and he knew that all these were unforgivable. Never ever in a million years had Max expected that Jac would find something good in him again --- even if only good enough to call him a friend once more. It was strange and bizarre to be talking to her like this, to be so close to her and knowing that he didn’t have a shot when he’d once thought of his entire life with her, but he didn’t question it. Max knew not to question the good things in life; he just let them happen.

Another thought that came to mind, however, was how natural it was for them to be friends again. It was natural in the way one breathed: in that Max could not have imagined a future without Jac, even if the future he imagined now was slightly altered from the one he had wanted all those years ago. It was as natural as the way one blinked: it was just supposed to happen, just as the blind date was supposed to take place. Max did not believe in a god anymore; he did not believe there was some force up above who controlled all things. But, if he did, this would be one good reason to back god up. If he did, this would be something that only could have happened with intervention divine. When Jac mentioned saying hi to Max’s mother from her, the only thing Max could do was smile and say, “Yeah, definitely. She misses you loads, you know?”

Jac was supposed to be in his life --- Max knew this now. If not as a lover, then as a friend.

Somehow, something in his chest ached at the thought of this. Somehow, something hurt at the back of his mind. But, he didn’t let it show, didn’t even entertain it, and instead gave a small laugh at the next of Jac’s words. When it was his turn to talk, he gave her a very stern, very contemplative kind of look, before breaking out into a smile and shaking his head. “Jac, when have I ever turned down free stuff?” Max said this as though it were a serious question. “You know the way to my heart. C’mon.” And then, these next words came. Despite how natural it was for Jac and Max to be friends again, Max did feel like he said the wrong thing by allowing these words out of his mouth.

However, all that came from him as a simple form of apology was a smile, in the fear of ruining the moment should he say anything more. It came in a fast beat, before he cocked his head towards the direction of the machines that would log Jac out of her shift.

It was only when they were outside the hospital did Max speak again. “So, there’s this super cute ice cream shop like, two blocks away,” he said, “and I know you know that, but I’m telling you anyway because I just saw it as I was driving, and it’s like this volcano inside me that I gotta share, you know? I was like, ‘Damn. That’s a cute ice cream store.’” As he talked, Max gestured with his hands to illustrate the volcano. “Anyway, we could totally go someplace else”---he paused---”I mean if you hate the cute things in life, definitely.” He laughed at this joke, though he attempted to play it off as a casual thing to say.

[crackedfacade]

What was scarier: going inside the house without Jason or never going inside again? If she went in without him she would surely be overwhelmed. Every corner of the house screamed memories of the Davis family and there was no way Caroline would even be able to get through just the front room without feeling as if the ground was collapsing underneath of her. But if she never went inside again she would be leaving Jason and the memories she had with him behind. She wouldn’t be able to look over at the archway leading into the living room and see the marks on the door frame marking changes in his height. She wouldn’t be able to walk down the upstairs hall, to the first door on the left and look into his bedroom. And then what if she started to forget? What if she couldn’t remember the way his nose would scrunch up when he laughed, or the way his brows pinched together when he was upset, or the dramatic fake cough he would give to try and get out of school?

Everything felt so final and permanent in those moments. As if whatever she did right then was going to determine the rest of her life and what she did with Jason and all the memories she had of him. The logical part of her knew that wasn’t the case; whether she spent tonight in their home or not wouldn’t dictate how she mourned her son and moved on (a laughable thought, at this point). But the logical part of Caroline’s brain had stopped working as soon as the doctor’s had told her that her son was dead. Ever since then she had been running on instinct and emotion, exhaustion seeping in both physically and emotionally as she went through the motions of picking out flowers and a casket for the funeral and as she nodded thank yous to funeral attendees, all while gripping Owen’s hand tightly. 

Owen’s words pulled her from her panicky internal struggle and hazel eyes moved to find him sitting at her feet, hand gently tugging her downward as he looked up at her. A shaky hand moved behind her, smoothing out the pristine black dress as she sat beside her husband. A breath that had caught in her throat was let out in a slow exhale as she settled, finding comfort in even the worst of situations with Owen at her side. Nothing was going to make this easy, but having Owen at least made it somewhat bearable.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She mused quietly, eyes following a woman across the street who was walking her dog. A few cars whizzed by them and Caroline resisted the urge to cringe. The shouts and laughter of kids at the park nearby filled the air, accompanied by various sounds: car horns honking, dogs barking, birds chirping. Everything outside of their yard was still so normal. The world was still spinning despite the fact that theirs seemed to have stopped. “It’s weird that everyone’s lives are just carrying on.”

The thick veil of shock and grief that had been suffocating her was finally starting to lift and Caroline was starting to see the world again. She saw curtains move across the street and wondered what the neighbours must think of them; what they must be thinking as they looked out to see the couple dressed in black sitting on the grass, Caroline clutching Owen as if he would be gone too should her grip loosen. “Thanks for staying with me,” she said quietly, head leaning onto his shoulder. She didn’t need to thank him and she knew that, because if the situation was reversed she would do the same. But she did anyways.

[hcwlings-blog]

Once upon a time, Owen could bring himself to believe in God. Church had never been a constant in his life, but when the time required it of him or whenever the feeling came, he would bring Caroline and Jason to church. Maybe this was wrong, but it created for family time and good dinner afterwards, so Owen himself had never seen the mistake in it. If God was good, then he wouldn’t have minded either. His goodness would have stopped him from judging a person for not going to church, and instead would have made him glad the Davis family attended service to begin with. That was what the church said, wasn’t it? That God was good. That God was holy. That there was some divine plan to all creation, to all this.

As Caroline took the space next to him, Owen wondered what the purpose for this was. Surely, if God was so good, and if God was so holy, then there must have been a reason! Surely, if God was the all-knowing being that he was, then he had a plan for why what happened happened! There was a plan, wasn’t there? This wasn’t just punishment for not going to church, punishment for not praying at night and before meals, wasn’t it? Owen wouldn’t allow it to be. He wouldn’t let himself think it was. And yet, as Caroline’s question came out, he noticed all the people around him, all the dogs, and all the children, and all the cars, and all the normalcy---

and he couldn’t think of one goddamned reason why a good God would take away one of the best things that ever happened to him.

To even think this hurt. To even entertain the thought made his chest ache. How could everyone go on? How could everyone be? Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know Owen had died when Jason did? Didn’t they know he died every minute since the doctors told him his son was dead? He saw everything around him with bitter eyes and an angry gaze. He saw everything around him with the weight of guilt he carried, and with the desire that things could change. And yet, there was nothing he could do but hold onto Caroline and hope that the strength he had was enough; nothing he could do except be the support Caroline needed. He was to blame, after all. He was to blame, and everyone knew that.

“We’ll carry on, too,” Owen said. He didn’t quite believe his words, but he said them anyway. “We’ll carry on, but just in a different way than they are.” He closed his eyes and brought Caroline’s hand to his lips, placing only a soft kiss on the back of her hand before giving it another squeeze. “We’ll… We’ll carry on, too.” When he paused, his wife gave him a word of gratitude, and though Owen did not believe in God, he knew Caroline was a gift from heaven. Of all the possible reactions that could have possibly been, she decided to stay with him. Owen couldn’t help but shake his head. He turned to face her, and with his free hand, caressed her cheek. “Hey”---his voice was something other than hollow, filled with guilt---”I should be thanking you. Thank you for staying. With me. I--- I can’t do this without you. I don’t know-- I don’t know where I’d be.”

[hcwlings-blog]

MAKE IT BETTER / CARTER & AMELIA --- @voxpopl

For a while as the nurse fixed Carter up, there was a comfortable silence between them. Carter didn’t need to speak, and he figured that neither did the nurse. There was nothing much to say, really. The accident Carter had gotten into was a mild one, and the nurse had seen plenty of accidents before; this was but a speck of dust on her record. But, in their silence, Carter couldn’t help but notice the woman. The little white room surrounding him didn’t give him much to stare at, and so he took to staring at the woman’s focused features as she worked bandages around his torso. Plus, she was pretty --- he’d give her that. She stood out next to the white walls. She stood out within the room. And so, though Carter needn’t say anything, he opened his mouth nonetheless. When he did, his tone was playful, as though nothing hurt and this was a meeting at some other place at some other time. He said, “You should’ve seen the other guy.” The grin on his lips that came after that was undeniable. “I’m the tough one, I promise.”

[hcwlings-blog]

Text: Nick 😏

Nick: Hey I don't worry....but cool ;)

Nick: Threatened??? By u?? Is that a real question

Nick: Lmao yah right I think she wanted to get me out of there ASAP

Nick: And that shit's a lie if I ever read one. Ur the likeable one, not me

Nick: Or a stalking serial killer ;P

Nick: Listen I appreciate it but u already bought me coffee...U don't gotta feel obligated to do more for me ok?

Nick: This is why u need a boyfriend. Or a brother. Do u have a bro?

Nick: U can't put trust into random Joes off the street

Darlene: I'm squinting my eyes at you. I thought you should know.

Darlene: Yes, that's a real question! Your muscles are NOTHING against my pretty face. You'll see. 😋😋😋😋

Darlene: I pegged you as the kind of guy to make old women uncomfortable, so I bet you had fun. 😇😇😇😇😎😎😎

Darlene: I'm not obligated. This isn't obligation! This is me being friendly! Is that not obvious?

Darlene: Look, I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need a brother. I don't need anyone to protect me if that's what you're saying. And who said anything about trust? Dinner isn't trust! It's like... sharing food and waiting for people to compliment how well you cooked!

Darlene: You're coming. Friday, 8PM! Be there or be square! 😗😗😗😗😗

[hcwlings-blog]

Text: Nick 😏

Nick: Here I thought that's what u been doin this whole time ;P

Nick: Is that a good or bad thing?

Nick: Yah see? So I should steer clear of ur invitations

Nick: Well I can't pounce now cos ur expecting it...

Nick: U know that old lady at the cafe. I thought u were best friends for that whole ten seconds ;)

Nick: Hold up a minute. How do u know I don't already have plans?

Nick: I could have some murder plans already set in stone and my roommate, he doesn't like eating alone

Darlene: Good thing, don't worry 😌😌😌

Darlene: That makes me 😭😭😭😭 x100% 😭

Darlene: Are you threatened?? 😲😲😲😲😲

Darlene: I don't even know her name! + she told me she liked you better than she liked me, so. 😱😱😱

Darlene: I'm a mind reader. 😉😉😉

Darlene: Okay, but get this: the food will be really good AND free! You won't have to spend a thing.

Darlene: I'd invite your roommate, but I only trust one of you. 😶😶😶😶😶

[hcwlings-blog]

Text: Beck Grant (guy from outside The Hanger)

Beck: Do you know the little cafe on the corner of 3rd? Brewed Awakening? I was thinking there, maybe? Just round the corner there's a nice park if it's a warm day.

Beck: So yeah, anything you like. It's nothing fancy.

Jane: Oh, yeah! I know that place! That's a nice place! The park is nice too...

Jane: Okay. Nothing fancy. Got it. I will meet you there and... hopefully it'll be nice?

Jane: Sorry I didn't mean for that to come off as though you're not nice. I mean, I think you're very nice. I just meant that the time would be nice. I don't meant to say that it WOULDN'T be nice! There isn't any reason it wouldn't be! Haha!! Sorry!

[hcwlings-blog]

Call: Dylan Ahn 💩

Dylan: "D-A-I-W-B — then what? Y-A-G? 'Dylan Ahn is wonderfully badass, you are God.' Honestly, I'm not /surprised,/ I just never thought you'd actually admit it out loud." His mock-serious facade didn't survive long, though. She wasn't able to see it, but Mira's laugh was mirrored in a broad, equally amused grin of his own. "Thursday," he confirmed. "Remember, sixty days of repentance!" END.

[hcwlings-blog]

Text: Beck Grant (guy from outside The Hanger)

Beck: Hi Jane, yes we're still on for Friday. Looking forward to it. I was thinking I could meet you at seven?

Beck: If that gives you enough time after work?

Jane: Okay! Yes, that works... Seven works. Where exactly are we meeting, if I can ask? Um, also what's the attire? I hope that's not too much to ask? I just don't want to be underdressed. Or overdressed. Yeah haha!