⚓︎ ┆hitides — written by eno for angelenosfm .ᐟ
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ starring ELIO & CEPH & NIK

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@hitides
⚓︎ ┆hitides — written by eno for angelenosfm .ᐟ
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ starring ELIO & CEPH & NIK
› ft @takxmxhighxr !
“how much more did you say you need, again?” it’s not that he’s having a rough time carrying all of luci’s purchases, exactly—and being able to cruise along on his board instead of walking certainly helped—but it was a little too early to be carrying this much weight. “i thought rose’s turn was a cafe and a bookstore. this feels a lot like bookstore and wholesale.”
“oh, boy. consider me ridden with diarrhoea, then.” she supposed she could have felt guilty for disturbing his precious free time, but honestly? couldn't find it in herself to care. not when he was being such a haughty little bitch about it. book in one hand, some holier-than-thou attitude in the other... she would’ve been amused if she wasn’t so annoyed. she thought about being the bigger person. she could’ve just ignored him, pretended he wasn’t there, carried on with her life. but he kicked her. not hard, but enough for her to feel it, enough to make her breath hitch in disbelief. her head snapped down, glaring at the point of contact. “oh, you fucking—” she cut herself off, her own foot shooting forward and landing against his shin with just enough force to make a point.
ceph doesn’t react—years of dealing with all of the industry’s bullshit gave him a hell of a poker face—but he does respond in kind, the heel of one foot digging into the tip of her shoe before his legs stretch out even further. it’s not exactly comfortable, but getting even wasn’t meant to be comfortable. it was meant to rankle, to annoy, and sometimes both parties got caught in the crossfire. just part of the territory, really, and ceph was nothing if not used to it. he flips to the next page, casual as you please, poring over the words as the opposite heel digs into her other shoe—symmetry and all that. “wouldn’t want it to feel left out.” he deadpans.
loc: studio harbor
the idea came to her while she was lying down in bed, scrolling mindlessly through tiktok late on a wednesday night. the video was simple—an insanely pretty girl dressed in black, molding clay like it was the easiest thing in the world. huh, looks interesting. and that was how she ended up registering for a pottery class that weekend. now, seated in front of the wheel, sleeves pushed up and a streak of clay already on her cheek, she cracks her knuckles like she’s about to win something. “alright, let’s see if i’m a natural.” she pauses, glancing over to the person next to her. “what are the odds this thing collapses in the next five minutes?”
nik wasn’t exactly an expert in pottery. he dabbled, sure, and the end result is rarely awful, but he’s aware that there’s room for improvement. still, he enjoys it enough to make time for it when he can, taking full advantage of studio harbor’s equipment to make random trinkets that his friends end up being saddled with one way or another. today’s project is a panda with holes boring into its poor head, and nik’s carving details onto its fur when he registers the question. “five minutes? pretty low.” comes the response, but the smile he pairs with the words suggests that there might be something more to it. “the third minute’s going to fuck you up before you even get to five.”
loc: new heights rec center
jaekyung arrives with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a grin wide enough to convince everyone he passes that he’s happy to be here. whether he’s trying to convince them or himself, he’s not entirely sure. he’s been hitting the gym 3 times a week— there’s no real reason for him to need the extra cardio. but a change of pace sounds good… at least, until he remembers one tiny little detail. he’s not a terrible swimmer, promise. well actually— let’s just say he does better on land. the sharp scent of chlorine hits the moment he enters the pool area. “guess who’s back?” he announces to no one in particular. nevermind that he’s never actually been there before.
it’s rare, seeing elio in a pool—he grew up on the coast, prefers it—but when a friend calls him up to ask for help teaching a beginner swimming class, the last thing elio’s going to do is say no. it’s been a little over an hour since the lesson ended, but he figured there’s no harm in hanging around a bit longer; and so he stays, doing laps and making the most out of his trip to van nuys. he’s taking a break when he spots the newcomer, and elio greets him with an easy smile spreading across his lips, a response to the grin that the stranger is sporting. “who’s back?” he asks, eyes alight with curiosity. “i hope you’re not new heights royalty or anything like that. it’s my first time here, so i wouldn’t be able to recognize you if you were, sorry.”
open starter / location: random nail bar
"which colour do you think i should go for?" jaya asks the other, looking down at her choices. she loved getting her nails painted, jaya always felt a little more confident whenever she left the shop, "i was thinkin' of maybe getting some cute flowers, like daisies on there too, for some spring vibes or has that been done to death?".
“i don’t really think it matters.” he responds with a shrug, having given her nails a cursory glance before leaning back in his seat. “if you like it, you should go for it. i mean, how many bottle blondes have you seen today? everything’s been done to death in los angeles.” not that it’s a bad thing. nik’s guilty of having a list of old faithfuls, too. case in point: his nails are done up in neon pink, ultramarine, and electric purple—a combination dating back to college that he has yet to outgrow. “if it makes you feel better, i do the same colors each time.”
"you're gonna pass?" he repeats, raising a brow before his lips curve up slightly into an amused smirk. "wow, i didn't take you for a coward. it's just eggs. you've definitely put worse things in your body tonight." ceph still looks like one wrong move might send him over the edge though, so he sighed before setting the glass aside with an exaggerated shake of his head. "alright, fine. no eggs. three shots of espresso, coming right up. but if you puke, i'm making you mop the floor." he says, his eyes lighting up with mischief and amusement. as he moves behind the counter, he looks back over his shoulder and shoots one last grin. "you know what, i should actually charge you extra—this is technically a crime scene."
“listen,” he begins, the ribbing having cut through the fog in his brain, “have you ever had one of those? ’cause it’s not fun, and it doesn’t even fucking work. i would literally rather have—” but there’s no need to go that far, ceph tells himself, somehow managing to slap a filter on his drunken rambling. that would’ve been useful two nights ago. “just get me my drink, man.” his jacket needed a wash yesterday, but he wraps it a little more tightly around himself all the same—the tank he was wearing did nothing to keep him warm, and it was the only thing he had in his car. fucking industry parties. fucking jude and his fucking styling. “i’m not even going to pretend i know what that means.” he responds, shaking his head (gently, because anything else would have him throwing up). “if it’s a crime scene because my dignity died or whatever, you’re six years late to the funeral.” ceph looks around at all the empty tables then, squinting slightly in the light. “you guys got any warm spots? i’m really fucking cold.”
"you can your surprises..." dani mutters, but there's no actual complaint whatsoever in her tone. between them, they both know she loves the surprises, whether it's in the form of unplanned visits, spontaneous text or simply random calls at an ungodly hour. fingers idly toy with the hem of her sweater as she feels his touch against her hair. the gesture's gentle, reassuring, and something she never realized she'd grow to love and feel attached to; it's enough to render cheeks warm. "you didn't have to, y'know." but the way she chases after touch, how she's subconsciously leaning into it, betrays her words. because of course he knows her too well, knows how much these seemingly trivial things matter to her. "alright, mr. hairdresser. let's see..." a glance casted around apartment, eyes twinkling with childlike excitement as she faces him once more, tugging nik by both his wrists as footsteps take them deeper into their little home. "let's use the bathroom. remember when we stained the couch with pink dye last time? wouldn't want that to happen again."
“hey, don’t knock the pink couch. it was cute. we put our own little spin on it.” he allows himself to be led away, and laughing at the memory that’s been called to mind. nik swears he could spot remnants of that dye even now— that is, if he looked very closely—but half of him thinks that he might just be seeing what he wants to see. as much as he’d like a repeat, he didn’t want dani to deal with extra cleanup on top of the week she’s had; and so he starts setting up near the sink, taking the dye out of their boxes and grabbing hair products off of their shelves from elsewhere around the bathroom. the chair’s the final piece of the puzzle (reclining and foldable, purchased specifically for this purpose), and he moves it from its spot in the hall closet, soon unfolding it by the sink. “c’mere,” he says, smiling as he calls dani over. pretty soon he’s got fingers in her hair, working suds into the wet strands. “how was the project?” he asks, and then: “now i sound like a hairdresser and a housewife. how was work, honey?” his voice is soft even as he laughs, and washing someone’s hair isn’t meant to take this long; but this isn’t about that, not really, and it isn’t entirely about dyeing either. for the most part, he just wants dani to be able pause for a few moments and just breathe—and if playing hairdresser is what it takes, nik was more than willing.
jude doesn’t react. not right away, not until he meets ceph’s eyes. shoulders lift into a shrug in response. it’s bound to happen, he knows, and it’s happened more than just a few times to him in the past— whether it’s with ceph or with someone else; he hates it everytime. “i know. we’re both only in this for the cheap thrill." they’re more similar than he’d like to admit, jude thinks. someone who seeks nothing more than what’s deemed ‘temporary’. only to keep their minds occupied. someone who avoids commitment at all costs. "so let’s try and not get carried away next time, it’s easier that way.” because knowing how they both are, jude knows that there will be a next time despite them making a big fuss over of it right now. a sigh escapes parted lips then, fingers reaching for a pin— something he had picked up on the way— intricately detailed with accents of silver before gesturing ceph to come a bit closer. a final touch to attire, just so it won’t look too plain on its own. “at least try not to look like you'd rather set yourself on fire than be here."
he holds the other’s gaze long enough to be polite, just a few beats or so (any more of this and ceph would want to wince), before busying himself with a cuff that didn’t really need fixing. “we could talk big all we want, but there’s a nonzero chance that this is going to happen again. there’s no point in saying it won’t.” and it’s true, too—they both know it. they weren’t compatible, strictly speaking; they were far too similar to get any of this to work, but it meant they could come to an understanding. some things didn’t need to be spoken, not when dealing with someone who’s often on the same page. “all that really matters is that we aren’t weird about it after. moving to the couch? fine. i don’t want to sleep next to you either. but don’t fucking sneak out of your own house. that just makes it so much worse.” he steps closer as he’s beckoned, a little more at ease; and he looks down, inspecting the pin as best he could while jude fixes it onto his lapel. “kind of hard not to do that when i look like a box of nerds.” he didn’t, not really, and the barb carries less weight now that they’ve aired most of their shit out.
it was kind of elio to do this, making the effort. for her. organising little hangouts like this, indulging her passions even when they weren’t his own. it was one of those things about elio; he never made a big deal of it. he never expected anything in return. he just did things for the people he cared about. ayumi glanced at the clock, tilting her head slightly. “i think we have about twenty minutes left?” she sighed. twenty minutes felt too fast, especially when time always slipped away from her when she painted. she set her brush down for a moment, rubbing absentmindedly at a smear of paint on her wrist. “what something, though?” the corners of her lips turned up slightly. she leaned in, staring at her friend. “i'll show you what i've done so far if you show me yours.”
the response has his eyes growing wide, but elio (miracle of miracles) somehow manages not to react any other way. he’s a little floored by the fact that he was able to do so much yet so little in the time that they’ve been painting, and he’s fairly sure that twenty minutes isn’t enough to make his work presentable—but ayumi was having fun, and that’s really all that matters. elio doesn’t mind rediscovering his lack of artistic ability (time and time again) if it meant she could do something for herself every now and then. “well...” the word is drawn out, hesitant; he really didn’t want to have to show ayumi his canvas, but if anyone had any hope of figuring out a way to salvage his painting, it’d be her. “you can’t laugh,” is all the warning he gives before he angles his easel towards her, and he knows what she’s going to find—ice cream melting in the heat that could easily be mistaken for gasoline spilling across the pavement, and an off-color sugar cone in the right corner that looked more like a traffic cone than anything else. at least his painting looked like something, elio supposed.
task 001 : nik’s playlist !
come here dominic fike hi grace dominic fike sick dominic fike bodies dominic fike love hangover jennie ft dominic fike & more songs ( not by dominic fike ) in the playlist . . .
task 001 : ceph’s demos !
die in california mgk cancel me dominic fike sniffing vicodin in paris blackbear ugh! the 1975 help blackbear & more songs in the playlist . . .
task 001 : elio’s mixtape !
best friend rex orange county disconnected 5 seconds of summer feel the same the millennial club why you look so sad? diverseddie hear me out exo & more songs in the playlist . . .
hours spent in the studio always takes a toll upon one’s body, physically and mentally. it’s something dani’s learned from experience. the knock startled her (almost made her knock over a cup of coffee, at that), but what startled her even more was the person standing behind the door. “nik?” lips part in surprise, a second taken to process his disheveled state along with skateboard hugged under an arm. (surprised she may be, but deep down? perhaps she'd been spending the past few hours hoping he'd visit). only when eyes fall upon the bag, catching a glimpse of the dye, does realization settle in. fingers instinctively drawn to her own hair, through the natural dark color peeking through strawberry blonde. seems like it slipped her mind again, with all the deadlines and late night sessions. “god. is it that bad already?” she mutters, more to herself than anything before features soften to a smile, door opened wider for him to enter. "you could've called beforehand. or texted."
“i could’ve, but i figured you’d like the surprise.” he says, walking in through the door and propping his longboard up against its usual spot against the wall. he’s here often enough that his boards have their own version of a doorstop, something to stop them from rolling off—a little lump of plaster that nik had sculpted into a shark and spray painted neon pink and electric blue. it stands out bright against the rest of the apartment, all earth tones and muted colors; and the sight of it always makes him smile, reminds him that dani has carved out a space for him in her home somehow. “it’s not that bad,” he replies, both arms finding her waist as he reassures her. “you could grow it out and you’d look just as pretty to me.” the hand that’s not clutching the dye comes to a rest atop her hair, smoothing it down where the roots have begun to show. “but i know this is important to you, and i know you haven’t had time for it lately, so i wanted to help.” he plants a kiss onto her forehead then, feather-light and brief, before letting his gaze roam. “come on. i’m playing hairdresser for the night. where should we do this?”
✧ 𓂅 open , junction flea market
" isn't that insane ? " xochitl's mouth was left partly agape as she watched the muralist at work . the person seemed to be lost in their own world entirely . the small crowds of people coming together and dispersing behind them as they worked seemed to do nothing to distract them . they continued to carry on . the story she was chasing , intel she was trying to capture completely forgotten as she watched the color fill the otherwise blank wall . and in true xochitl fashion , she had to ruin an otherwise fine moment . " what do you think they'd do if someone just came behind them with the biggest water bucket you've ever seen ? "
he’d been trailing after xochitl for the better part of an hour. it’s one of the perks of being virtually unemployed—nik could waste the day away, just following his friends around, and no one would be the wiser. he keeps enough distance between them to stay on his cruiser without overtaking her, but he stops just as she does, kicking his board up and tucking it under his arm. “isn’t that guy famous or something?” he asks, having followed her line of sight to watch the artist at work. nik tilts his head, trying to make sense of the mural that’s slowly taking shape, only to exhale a laugh once xochitl throws out another one of her trademarked hypotheticals. “well, you know what they say...” he starts, tipping his head in the direction of the mural. “fuck around and find out. i’m sure you can find a bucket somewhere.”
“ no . ” suddenly the two letter word had become her favorite . it was a kneejerk reaction to being seen . leaving so many tables vacant to insist on sitting with a stranger was an easy tell , but xochitl spent a lot of energy into being mysterious , hard to read . made her eye twitch when someone could crack the spine and study a page . “ have you not been getting my love letters ? the lock of hair ? ” sarcasm found her as easily as the faux look of embarrassment . she really put her all into her act , shaking her head and learning forward , a fake laugh on her lips . “ i thought for sure you'd gotten my letter about meeting at the creaky table next to the window with the two year coffee stain on the sill . we were suppose to exchange vows . " the last line might've been overselling it , but better that than be forced to answer any question about herself ever . she popped a few m&ms in her mouth and sat back with a scoff , using her free hand to pull her journal from her tote bag . ” is one of those habits moping at a bookstores ? “ she questioned through a half full mouth as she chewed . " or is this some sort of mating call all the sad curly haired boys are doing these days ? don't tell me you're writing poetry . can i be a muse ? " it never took long for the sarcasm to find her .
‘strange’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, he soon finds, amending his first impressions in real time. he’s used to dealing with oddballs—creatives often were—but he’s having a rough time trying to come up with a descriptor that wasn’t off her fucking rocker. “hate to break it to you, but the table’s been fixed and i’m married. there’s nothing for you here.” he makes a show out of jostling the table, just a bit, before wiggling the fingers in his left hand to showcase the lack of a ring. “ring’s being resized, but you should’ve seen it. bespoke lorel, absolutely gorgeous. jacques spoils me.” is what he says next, syllables drawn out as he slips into a valley girl accent—the hand that was raised bending at the wrist for effect. if she’s pulling out the theatrics, so is he. “and no, i’m not writing poetry. ever heard of soundcloud rappers? we’re the future of prose as we know it. i’m actually about to drop a new mixtape about a girl who likes trail mix and proposing to strangers. it’s going to be lit. fire, even. you should pre-save.” the slang doesn’t come easy, but years of spewing bullshit enables him to keep a straight face somehow. “you’re avoiding the question. don’t think i didn’t notice.” ceph should know—avoiding questions is part of the job. he locks onto the journal, then, nodding in its direction. “what’s so important that you need to do it here?”