marcus f. reyes

i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; i lift my lids and all is born again. the stars go waltzing out in blue and red, and arbitrary darkness gallops in. i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

[marcusreyes]

( RAFAEL )

-

It was something out of a Shakespearean play; the spoiled-rotten Prince and the deserving heroine. A tale of combating forces, that led to the Prince’s undoing. Many looked upon the Seraphim and Dominion, and saw it in flesh and bone. They wanted to believe in the simplest view of things. Some, even, going so far as to encourage the supposed-rivalry. But there was nothing poisonous or resentful between Marcus and Rafael. Try as he might to grow contentious of Marcus’ obvious talent, he could not. He had felt nothing but love and respect for him, since they were in training wheels and Velcro shoes. Marcus was the best of what a Femenias could be, and he did nothing but protect Rafael’s worst instincts. Beyond that, he heard the words that Rafael dared not speak to anyone else. And so, he allowed himself to love his cousin, regardless of the threat.

There’s a creak in the door into the gilded bathroom. A gut-instinct told him it was Marcus, before his mind could register the fact. War’s Seraphim had finally stepped out of the bathroom, reeling off of a high and the intensity of their last exchange. It wasn’t smart to speak of such terrible things. But too much had happened, and the overbearing power of cocaine seemed to bring out the worst in the Seraphims. Rafael walked into the stall, dipping the last of his cocaine onto the back of his cell phone. When Marcus broaches his gaze, there’s a gnaw in the pit of his stomach. As if he was seen, not simply for being irresponsible, but for the reasons behind it. “Nah, the old man hated Escobar. Wouldn’t dream of making him sit through a skit. And anyways, we didn’t have time to get Ravi an exact replica of his mustache.” Rafael quips, cheeky as he attempts to shake off the ire from his last conversation. He was brimming with energy, but Marcus’ presence allowed him to feel more settled. “Want some?” He offers sheepishly, as if he was sharing his favorite candy with a young Marcus, while they ran haphazardly through the Femenias estate.

He doesn’t put up an immediate fuss, though the instinct is certainly there. Instead, he merely places his phone back on the counter, allowing whispers of the white powder to slip off. “A little right now, instead of a lot later on?” He tries to appeal to Marcus, offering a wry smile even as he felt his body quake with euphoric energy and spite. “Ravi did a great job with the party.” He pats his cousin’s shoulder, attempting to quell him out of his concern. “Are you having a good time?”

For a second, Marcus considered taking Raf up on his offer, if for no other reason than to keep him from using anymore himself. "I’m good,” he said. I think you are too, went unsaid. It hurt to care about someone more than they seemed to care about themselves; to know that no amount of advice or lectures, or trying to chain somebody down, could ever stop anyone who didn’t want to stop in the first place. “Just take it easy," he said. Please, went unsaid. Marcus and Raf used to use together, but somewhere along the line ( there were a few pivotal moments to recall ) things had started to shift and somewhere along the line cocaine had moved from special-occasion party treat to weekend party treat for his cousin. What’s more, Marcus would sit and listen to him trying to rationalise it, ‘why couldn’t a simple weekend be a special occasion? For that matter, why couldn’t any day at all?’

“He did,” he said with a slight nod, unable to stop the proud smile that followed, “he really did.” When his uncle had revealed Ravi and Raf would plan the night together, it went without saying that one would be doing the planning and the other would be personifying the together angle of it all. Marcus had to hand it to his cousin, though, he knew when to be lazy; that done correctly, it was an art form that benefitted everyone. “Look... It’s a beautiful night, but I’ll level with you mate, I just want it to be over.” Though he tried to hide it, Raf was clearly high, exceptionally agitated and likely struggled to follow the conversation already. Looking down, tiny white particles swirled their limbs like pixie dust, as though gravity had no way to make it fall to the ground. 

A moment of weakness could have convinced him that taking Raf up on his offer would have been a good idea, to hover over thin white lines and reach his level. He settled on a cigarette instead, knowing like any other posho who had been forced to attend fancy dinners throughout his adolescence that the toilets and bathrooms were the one place in hotels without smoke alarms. 

“What about you?” He reached out towards Raf’s face with his free hand, wiping off traces of cocaine. “Find it hard to believe you’re in here celebrating, so why aren’t you out there? Other than, you know, rolling notes with Remus Warden.” When he’d seen the War Seraphim leave the bathrooms, he hadn’t expected to find his own still in there. 

[marcusreyes]

( RAVI )

Ravi was so focused on ranting and getting a genuine response from Marcus, he didn’t see the alcohol coming until he was already taking it. Feeling thankful, he placed a hand on his husband’s chest as the other brought the glass over to his lips so he could unceremoniously down it in one go. He knew it wasn’t the most graceful of attitudes, but then again, Rafael Snr. had probably seen him wasted and twerking at his own wedding party, so hey, who cared?

Back to the conversation at hand, Ravi let the empty glass rest at the bar, both hands now resting by the lapels of Marcus’ stunning deep blue suit. His eyes watched like a hawk, squinting in their study of whether or not his partner would have the audacity to lie to him if things weren’t going well. He didn’t, of course. Because Marcus was always a beacon of warmth, he was all truth and grace and love. Sometimes, when they were apart for long enough, Ravi felt like he’d been walking through a blizzard, snow up to his knees, wind cutting daggers into his cheeks. This world was cold, this life was cruel – but not Marcus. He was warmth.

“So you agree the duck was dry?” He asked, but his lips were turning up at the corners, revealing the joke behind his words. Absolutely impossible to stay all ice when you had sunshine at your fingertips; maybe he could leave the stressing about the dry duck for another time. That wasn’t to say all the tension had suddenly disappeared from his body, but at least for now, he could let himself breathe for a moment. “Thank you,” he murmured, quiet enough that he was mouthing it more than speaking, too genuine to be any louder.

At the question, and the way Marcus’ gaze settled so intensely on him, he couldn’t hold back the minor roll of his eyes, although his lips definitely curled up into a fond smile this time. You worry too much, went unsaid. "Let’s just say I cannot wait for next year, when we’re not hosting anymore.“ That was as honest as he was willing to be, to say no, I’m not fully enjoying it. But it was momentary, a fleeting feeling, that he was sure would go away in the morning once the fog of anxiety had lifted, and he didn’t want to worry his husband. His hands moved up, carefully framing the other’s face, selfishly basking on the warmth found on his cheeks. "I’m good. I’ll appreciate the magic of it all once we get the photos back next week,” he reassured humorously. “I’m just nervous for now. Promise I’ll unwind when we get to Pest. You’ll have to drag my giddy, blissed out, drunken ass home. And then we can celebrate a successful night,” his eyebrows waggled dramatically.

Ten thousand feet above the ground, hoping to evade rush hour traffic, was when and where he first realised he was in love. The night before, Ravi had complimented an actor’s freckles and Marcus had felt a sudden urge to shatter into a thousand pieces to match. In the morning, he’d watched as Ravi had gotten dressed and listened to the sounds he made in the kitchen; a slow hum of a song and his movements, picking things to eat. It showed in the way Marcus could observe him, for hours, just go on with his day – or as he slept – simply breathing in and out, in and out. Later that day they had plans to meet for dinner at the Conservatory where Marcus knew Ravi would insist on ordering moose tartare, even though grilled cheese sandwiches were the only food he ever craved. Marcus had realised then and there that if Ravi was a lot, he loved all of it; the reason he could all but gawk at him now, marvelling at squinted eyes and murmured thanks. 

Around them, people seemed to follow their lead, lavish gowns brushing against hardwood floors as they got up to sneak outside for a cigarette or catch up with a friendly face by the bar. It was as though they couldn’t help but to enjoy themselves, as though Ravi had created a space so magic that the gruesome history by which the guests were connected paled in comparison, as though the real world had evaporated around them and left was this enchanted sanctuary. Marcus hummed along in agreement, it was a beautiful night but a night he wished away nonetheless. He had never intended to fall so deeply in love with someone so deeply involved in the family’s criminal business, had never intended to even bring anyone to a night such as this where Angels flew amongst them, though he had come to realise it would have been untenable. 

The feeling of Ravi’s hands cupping his face brought on a slow, bittersweet smile on his lips – the kind of smile that could break hearts and rebuild them, too. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, a soft laughter trailing his words. Breaking free from the other he leaned to plant a gentle kiss on Ravi’s cheek, wishing they were anywhere but a room full of desperados and devious obligations. It wasn’t so much that he did not care about the circumstances which put them there, but with his arms around his spouse it was near impossible to give a damn about anything else. 

“I’m so incredibly lucky to call you mine,” pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth, Marcus made a vain attempt to stop a smile from creeping back onto his lips. “If we weren’t hosting and you weren’t such hot commodity tonight, I’d whisk you away on the spot.” He cupped Ravi’s face in turn, placing a finger softly over his lips, “What do you reckon would happen if we disappeared, ran into the night?” The thought sometimes played on his mind, what would happen?

[xshayarsha]

To be lit up from within vein by vein. To be the sun.

Margaret Atwood, from You Are Happy; Eating Fire. (via xshayarsha)

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[marcusreyes]

@ravireyes

[marcusreyes]

( KITTY )

The weight of Marcus’ hand against her shoulder is an anchor, warm and heavy and reassuring. Kitty settles beside him, letting everything around them melt away to bright lights and droning sound. She feels brittle; sun-perished from the blazing heat of being around Saint. It’s all her own fault – she knows it even if she’d choose never to admit it aloud – a self-inflicted result of a relationship that shouldn’t ever have been forged. “I know,” she says quietly, tar-black regret pooling into the hollow pit of her chest. She’d choke on it later once the alcohol subsides. “He gets in my fucking head.” It’s not an excuse but it is, at the very least, a reason. Heavy-lidded eyes stare through the dark at the flat of her palm, the pain from slapping him having subsided. She already misses the sting. 

A sidelong glance lingers in her cousin’s direction, taking a hushed breath that’s exhaled slowly as she tilts her head back, letting the crown of her skull knock against the seat padding. The ceiling is a dim expanse of black paint and electrical wiring; she gazes at it without really looking. “He said he misses me.” She knows it’s likely a trap; that it was evidently easy for Saint to say things without meaning them. A noise of frustration uncurls in the back of her mouth and tapers off as water is offered, cracking the lid open and washing her anger down thirstily. “Wasn’t kind enough to specify.” Her answer is out of breath, bottle half-drained. Wordlessly, she offers him the rest. “I’m going to put a brick through the window of his car. Like, I’m putting that out there, Marcus. That’s a thing that’s going to happen as soon as I figure out where to get a brick. Can you buy single bricks? Actually, it doesn’t matter, it will be good to have more than one, he has a shit load of cars.” The concocting of her nefarious plan placates her for the time being, soothed even by the mere notion of revenge. 

Kitty’s mind wanders from one source of chaos to another. “Have you seen Raf tonight? Someone mentioned he looks like he’s on something.” Unsurprising, admittedly, but nevertheless worth sharing with the eldest cousin.

Surrounded by an abundant selection of spirits and mixers, alongside some of the most prominent people in London, there was no pretending they were anywhere but the inside of a club. The place bustled with activity and down by the dance-floor it was like dancing on Northern Lights; where beneath the dry-ice smoke swirled an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks and gold. Still, sitting next to Kitty there was a feeling of being somewhere else, sometime else. The conversations they shared were so much more than just words; smiles, gentle shrugs and her resting head on his shoulder. It was as if they were both enraptured by each other’s presence, always had been, and even the silences were comfortable. For a moment, Marcus felt as though he was not in PEST celebrating a frail truce, but ten years old sharing a blameless and treasured moment with his cousin.

“Kitty!” He gave her a meaning look, the bottle she’d just handed him resting on his lip where the water in it balanced between the plastic rim and the tip of his tongue. Throughout the years, she had run enough revenge plans by Marcus for him to fill a library in Parliament with, possibly more even. “I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that one, claim plausible deniability or some shit.” On this particular night, Kitty could have suggested she was sending someone to kill Saint Warden and Marcus wouldn’t have thought any the worse of her. 

The idea of Kitty walking around the city throwing rocks at cars had forced a soft laugh out of him, though it quickly turned into the daunting kind at the mention of Raf, the kind of laughter brought on by hurt and a feeling of hopelessness. He leaned forward, elbows rested on his knees, and rubbed his face with his hands. “Mhm.. Caught him with his hand in the cookie jar earlier.. Cocaine.” Though Marcus was convinced it wasn’t his intention, their cousin was slowly but surely obliterating the family’s hopes for a functioning heir. To make matters worse, the family’s inability to decide when and how to intervene undoubtedly creating an illusion they accepted him and his lifestyle wholeheartedly, the numerous ski trips in the powder room included. 

“My guess is he didn’t stop there?” Marcus knew as well as anyone that not all addicts were slumped over in alleyways with used needles by their sides, that some were hunched over in VIP areas with little white lines partitioned using black cards instead. “Look, I know you lot think I worry too much, but...” He rarely struggled to express himself, but there was no easy way to go about suggesting the cousin he loved like a brother, who he would do anything for, might yet be a liability. “Don’t worry about Raf, I’ll keep an eye on him as I’m sure Ikki will. Yeah?”

[marcusreyes]

( SAINT )

One line, two, and then the next. He’d lost count by the time he wraps up his conversation with Fletcher Gray, sliding a handful of cash discretely into the dealer’s hands with the promise that he’d catch up with him later on in the evening and, of course, that he would certainly pass on the other’s phone number to Carman. So as he leaves the bathroom, energised with a new substance-induced skip to his step, his stride is stopped by a Famine made barrier. Marcus Reyes, admittedly easier to respect than the gang’s Seraphim, but no less annoying. Skittish, Saint’s hand rushes to wipe away any residue of white powder clinging to his nostrils and blinking hard as the chemical taste lingers at the back of his tongue. “Don’t be such a buzzkill,” he mused, trying not to snicker and failing. A delicate string of laughter falling from his lungs, floating and light to match the wave of his high.

In between the chatter of people and overbearing dance music, it’s easy for Marcus’s voice to get lost in the sound. To melt into each beat, every bass tone that thumps through the room and causes Saint to stare back blankly, to tilt his head and grin in the amusement that he’d pissed someone off enough to warrant the need to come looking for him. He shrugs, childish in demeanours and meeting the other man with a pout, “look, I’m sorry I spoke to Kitty. Won’t happen again, boss.” With false promises, Saint raises his hand to his forehead in a sarcastic solute before his hand falls back to his side. 

“I dunno, I like a challenge,” he confronted, irritating and smug, unable to back down in the way that cocaine indulges even the most egotistical with a boost of confidence. To believe every word he spoke, every move he made was that of a deity, and of course, as a Warden he’d already had leverage over Marcus. Much like his own cousin, Zacharias, just one parent shy from winning the gene pool lottery that could ascend him straight to the top. “Since I can still see the light from the bottom, maybe it’s not deep enough, maybe I should try fucking your sister this time instead? Jessica is lovely, I bet her heart is even easier to break.” 

Marcus didn’t have to work very hard to reach the conclusion that it had indeed been cocaine that had kept the other, the signs were clear enough. If Raf served as a reminder of who Marcus could have been destined to be, people like Saint served as a reminder of who he could have been conditioned to be because despite their differences, ultimately there was more that united them than there was that divided them. Ex-private schoolboys, and all. They would have spent much of their lives thus far being forced to follow a strict set of rules that didn’t end with their leaving school: choices around what university to attend, what job to do, what sort of house to live in and whom with. Marcus knew from personal experience, that those who had the greatest respect for the rules also took the most enjoyment in breaking them. 

Line of succession aside, their differences became apparent in how they chose to approach life with such privilege, where Saint seemed to Marcus the personification of another self he sometimes felt he had rejected, or that had been rejected for him. People like the youngest Warden could justify anything, he thought — if narcissistic enough to believe the universe conspired either for and against them, it was easy for them to convince themselves they were getting signs about anything and everything, too. He wondered if such was the case with Saint and Kitty, because as much as he himself did not approve of the relationship he felt there must have been something which led it to happen in the first place. A sign that had told them both to risk it all, despite the writing on the wall. 

Saint calling Marcus boss was laughed to scorn, but when he finally spoke there was no heat in his voice. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” He spoke instead as if his heart beat steadily, even though it took every ounce of self-control in him not to blow a fuse at the mention of Jessica. It was in his nature to absorb things and then respond rather than react, to dampen situations rather than adding fuel to the flames, but it didn’t mean he didn’t feel anger with the same passion the rest of his family did. With clenched fists, Marcus remained where he was, imagining an alternate universe somewhere in which he launched himself at the other — a universe in which, rather than taking broken men and putting back their parts, Marcus was the devil that ripped them apart. 

Right words whispered in the right ears, that was the threat to which Marcus clung. “You so much as look in her direction, it’ll be the last nail in your coffin and I promise there’s a long line of people looking to hammer it.” It spewed out of him, as though a physical reaction to the pain he felt while displacing the anger within he so feared. He pushed the other towards the wall, seemingly to move them both out of the way of passerby though it was more so to help lift the lid and relieve the pressure of the anger which boiled within. “Be honest with yourself, the heartbreak is all yours; you’re just putting off having to deal with it and leaving a burning mess in your wake. I’m telling you I’m done with your bullshit, walk away from her.”

[marcusreyes]

LOCATION: The Savoy DATE: January 23rd, 2021. CLOSED: @realjessicareyes​​

Marcus nearly missed Jessica’s text message – were it not for her being one of his six emergency contacts, allowing her to bypass Do Not Disturb, he would have. It came through as the waitstaff cleared the first round of plates off of the table, a welcome excuse to get an early break from dutiful dinner conversation. Other than tailored suits and lavish gowns, forced small talk and strained smiles seemed to be the fashion of the evening. He had done his best to keep conversation going, to lighten the mood and add to the illusion, seemingly undeterred by Gabrielle’s shouting which had spilled through the closed doors earlier in the evening. 

Knowing Jessica like he knew his own mind, it was no difficult task putting two and two together. She, too, would have overheard Gabrielle and she, too, would have mulled it all over and like him heaved a sigh of relief as all were finally ushered into dinner, though unable to let it go entirely. The Warden Matriarch had made herself quite clear and while some of what she had said was not without merit, it was not deed likely to unite forces as much as it was to deepen divides.

Finally, feeling as if he’d searched every place and corner of the hotel, he found her outside the main exit, her red dress a stark contrast against the building’s famed facade. Walking in stride, his lips stretched into a tender smile as he called out her name, “there you are!”

“Hermosa,” arms extended, he pulled her in for a hug, “and it’s not just me saying so.” As he continued speaking he reached out tighten the coat around her, then sneaking a cigarette from the open pack in her hand. “These typically don’t come out for yet a few more glasses, so what’s going on?” She had his full attention, her winter red nose revealing she might have been waiting for him outside longer than he’d intended. 

[marcusreyes]

LOCATION: The Savoy DATE: January 23rd, 2021. CLOSED: @rfjofficial​​

Almost conspicuously, as if deliberately, a chair had been left pulled out and empty by the Seraphim table, likening installation art at Tate Modern. It made it near impossible to miss that Rafael Jr had been missing in action for longer than could be considered necessary, or even mannerly. The scene reminded him of family dinners at the Femenias estate, how he and his cousins would leave their seats at the table a mess before running barefoot down the hallways, little laughs echoing off the walls. Childhood memories unfolding themselves as the pages of a storybook would, in which some chapters read like fairytales and others dark and obscure like something written by Edgar Allan Poe. 

It was in all loving heart that Marcus had signed on as a protector, realising what he sought to protect in his cousins he sacrificed in him. Still, he was not their babysitter, someone who would purposefully chase them down at every wrong turn – that much would seem an impossible task for any one man to handle alone. That’s why, contrary to what would be popular belief, when Marcus excused himself from the table moments later it was not to look for his cousin. Yet, it would seem at times the two were able to communicate through invisible smoke signals because when Marcus stepped into the men’s restroom and heard a strange noise coming from one of the toilet cubicles, he needn’t check to know it was Raf. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, RJ.” Disgruntled and concerned all at one, Marcus was quick to secure the door behind him. Recreational drug use came with the territory, but the heir to the Femenias’ throne had the knack for pushing boundaries and seemed to be working overtime to reinforce the idea that those born into royalty struggled to find it in themselves to behave. “I want to believe you and Ravi have an Escobar skit planned for tonight, that maybe the entertainment cancelled, but...” Even though he knew the white powder laid out in front of Raf was by no means cinematic prop, he dipped his ring adorned finger in it and brought it up to taste. At least, he thought, the young Seraphim had not yet lowered his standard. “A little too far, a little too early?”

[marcusreyes]

( KITTY )

+ MARCUS ( @marcusreyes​​ )

SATURDAY 23RD JANUARY. THE AFTERPARTY. Kitty doesn’t look for her family while her blood still boils over with anger and heartache and a bitterness on her tongue not placed there by the slice of citrus fruit in her third-to-last drink. She waits, avoiding the parts of the club that they may be, shining bright lights that they are, not yet wanting to see the expressions on any of their faces – as inevitable as her clash with Saint had likely been, she hates the thought of being that predictable. Eventually, the adrenaline slows in her veins; the tinging in her palm dulls; the wired tension in her body lessens. It’s not Rafael she seeks out ( he’d no doubt suggest alcohol or something stronger and the pit of her stomach already feels hollow enough ), nor is it Jessica ( Kitty will look for comfort there tomorrow, soft and safe in her company ) or Ravi ( he’s already played his appreciated part in distracting her this evening ). Marcus is the solace she needs, slipping past bodies at various levels of intoxicated to slide wordlessly into his booth and be at his side. 

She brushes her knuckles against the back of his hand in silent greeting as she sits down beside him. The music is quieter here. “I’m sorry,” Kitty says gently, because she’s all too aware that Tío will catch wind of her spat with Saint and look to Marcus first, his cousins’ keeper, as if they’re still no older than six and ten; because Marcus is the one with a head for leadership and the good sense to pick up the pieces the rest of them leave behind in their wake. “I know it was too public but, fuck– he deserved the slap.” She eyes the table and picks up a half-empty glass of clear liquid in the hope for water, sniffing it cautiously and grimacing at the liquor scent that hits the back of her nose before returning it to the assortment of other glasses.

“Saint threatened you. Jess and Ravi, too.” She leaves out the minor detail that it had been in response to her goading him about his driver.

As the night progressed, Marcus found himself back in the VIP area where the music deadened and the impending hangover seemed to be charging him upfront – something he vainly tried to defer with the drink in his hand where, on his wrist, was the symbol of a horse. It brought back memories, not of anniversary celebrations of years past, but of warm summer nights on the continent. Marcus had always known he was away on borrowed time, but still he had felt let down when his tío had called to say he was needed back in London. ‘It is time to come home, Marcus, tu familia te necesita.’ 

Him being the oldest, nothing was ever sugar coated to him, though he was sometimes expected to sugar coat things in turn. Upon his return to London, Rafael Snr had brought him to his home for dinner and laid it all on the table for him. Then, he had proceeded by letting him know that there were generally two times to tell him if ever somebody fucked up; the moment things were fucked, or the moment they were un-fucked. The rest, he trusted his sobrino de oro to know. 

It was the lights reflecting off of Kitty’s dress, as she slid into the booth and sat down next to him, that brought him back to reality. Marcus knew her apology was sincere as well as he knew she was the type to act first and think later, still he couldn’t help but to think tonight would have been a good time for his cousin to cash in on the famed exception to the rule. As one hand reached for her shoulder, arm leaning against the red velour seating, the other signalled the bottle service to bring her water. He wanted to tell her that not everything needed a reaction, but knew they were words she’d heard before ( and, he figured it would be pretty rich, considering he had confronted Saint himself just moments earlier ). 

Truth was, he could never promise to fix her problems, but he could promise she would never have to face them alone. “I understand why you did it, I just wish you hadn’t.” he says, offering a weak smile. “All that Saint is capable of right now is dripping poison in people’s ears, Kitty. Don’t you think you’re better off leaving him to his own demise?” A moment’s reflection passed, then, “What was the threat?”

[marcusreyes]

COSTUME CHANGE | THE ANNIVERSARY

Marcus arrives at the Savoy wearing a suit and coat combination from Saint Laurent – designs originally from the brand’s Fall/Winter 2018 collection, though this blue variant is custom. It is an ensemble he first wore to the Reyes family Christmas dinner in 2018 and like then, his Rolex watch and black cap-toe shoes complete the look. 

[marcusreyes]

LOCATION: Pest Nightclub DATE: January 23rd, 2021. CLOSED: @sxint​​

The Truce Anniversary, Marcus thought, was not all that different from the football match that once took place between enemies during World War I. Though it was a night of celebration, no draping dress or tailored trouser leg could camouflage the shackles at people’s feet. The rising tension between Horsemen over dinner didn’t help, nor was the release people were bound to feel upon arriving at Pest likely to. This proved correct, around an hour into the afterparty, when Saint and Kitty’s raised voices pierced through the noise.

He should’t have, but despite the deafening music that surrounded them, Marcus ( and many others too ) had gotten details he’d never wanted to know – the who, the what and the where. If there were two types of secrets, the kind you want to keep in and the kind you don’t dare to let out, Saint and Kitty’s entanglement had developed into the latter. Marcus could see how forbidden love was not a thing of the past, that Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet could very well have been a contemporary story, but he struggled to believe that the pair of them were star-crossed lovers... Still, he had agreed to keep silent along with the others. Thus, fuelled by the liquor he’d been drinking at an increasing pace to drain out the details of their argument, what he was feeling now was not anger or chagrin so much as regret. 

He knew Kitty would need a moment to cool off, but instead of taking the opportunity to slip away he decided to linger, growing tired of the dramatics.

Moments passed and Marcus wasn’t sure what was taking Saint so long, if he was fucking the bathroom attendant or snorting an annual salary’s worth of cocaine, nor did he particularly care. But when he finally did reappear, blood still rushing to the area of his face that had taken a blow just moments ago, Marcus spoke through a clenched jaw, his every word over pronounced. “What the fuck are you playing at?” He was all too aware that by keeping Kitty’s secret they had been doing Saint a favour, too. They should have known he would find a way to fuck it up, that like his family betrayal oozed out of him at every pore. “Surely the grave you’ve been digging for yourself must be getting deep enough?”

[marcusreyes]

( RAVI )

WHERE: savoy hotel WHEN: january 23rd CLOSED for @marcusreyes​

As the evening unveils, Ravi’s tension builds up and shrivels seemingly at random, waves of nervousness that come and go; he finds his stomach twisting in one moment, and feels completely relaxed a minute later. He never expected to be wound so tightly about this entire event, especially not when things were going so well.

Well – at least on his end. The lights were impeccable, all the flowers were perfectly placed, the food tasted wonderful and he even checked to make sure everyone’s dietary restrictions were being met when dinner was served. Things already had worked out, from the party planning point of view. Things are starting to wrap up around him now, people finishing their desserts, talking about the afterparty. He’s been congratulated for everything over a dozen times, had many different people shaking his hand and telling him he’s done good – then why does he still feel the lingering effects of this past week’s stress on the shake of his fingertips?

He gets up once the plates are being taken away, giving everyone on his table a cheeky wink about how he needs to go check on his man. Easier to say that like it’s a joke, than to admit he needs to see the one person he knows always has the right things to say. After an entire night of running around making sure everything is running perfectly smooth, and being overly nice to people he doesn’t like, he wants nothing more than to meet with his husband again and feel at home.

“Did you like it?” He asks when he steps into Marcus’ space, his urgency to know being pretty telling of how he’s still unsure about the evening. “The food, did you like it? Hi,” the greeting comes as an afterthought, and it brings a genuine, uncharacteristically bashful smile to Ravi’s lips. They haven’t talked in a couple hours, which is not the end of the world, but also not exactly fun. Ravi likes to enjoy parties by being with his loved ones, not stressing himself thin over every little detail all night, but someone had to run the show. “Sorry, hi, hey. Are you having a good time? The duck was a little dry. That was super annoying.

The Truce Anniversary was as given a date in his diary as was Wimbledon or the Notting Hill Carnival, only Marcus wasn’t as ambivalent about the latter as he was about tonight. The Savoy indubitably dripped in luxury, but the red of people’s soles bore resemblance to the blood that once ran down the cracks of London’s cobblestones and thus broke the illusion that the night’s festivities might ever feature on one of Tatler’s glossy magazine pages.

While giving the impression he was listening to the others’ small talk, he remembered Tatler had once included a game of Snakes and Ladders in one of their issues, inviting their readers to find out ‘how to win the social season’ – ladders and snakes connecting game board squares, there either to help you or to overthrow you. It wasn’t that different from tonight, he thought, people hoping to deepen alliances in some places while trying to tighten a noose in others. 

Ravi caught him moments later by the bar, stepping in with such haste that Marcus instinctively reached out as if to catch him with the hand not occupied by a long, tall-stemmed glass. “H-” with little room left for him to speak, he settled instead into an expression of awe, his hand lingering on the sheer fabric that adorned the other’s arm – its tiny licks of gold reminding him of fairy lights, lighting up ceilings as if to imitate a starlit sky.

Finally, his mouth curved into a smile as he reached for a second glass from a tray that passed, handing it over to Ravi who seemed to have finally reached the end of a sentence. “Hi,” there was no containing the soft, sympathetic laughter which followed. “I’m having a great time,” a half-truth, sure, but it did hold up against the criteria by which he figured Ravi would be judging his response. “So fuck the dry duck, the night is a success and you’ve truly outdone yourself. Again.” Every word was true, including ( unfortunately ) the bit about the duck.

“What about you, though?” He looked deep into the eyes of the other, almost pleading with him to confirm he was indeed enjoying the night. It was difficult, having never meant for any partner of his to become as involved with the criminal side of things as Ravi had, but not really having had a say in the matter either. On the one hand it was comforting, knowing there were no secrets between them, though it was equally as frightening. “We wouldn’t-, I wouldn’t want you to miss the magic of it all.” Conflicted as he might have been about the anniversary celebrations, there was no denying they were something out of the ordinary. 

[birdmans]

KNIVES OUT (2019)

SUCCESSION (2018-)

GET OUT (2017)

READY OR NOT (2019)

[sunsetquotes]

…you can hate a place with all your heart and soul and still be homesick for it.

Joseph Mitchell (via sunsetquotes)

[sammy-bryant]