Dance it.

Indie Skins UK RP Blog Maxxie. He's a bit new. He's a bit cool. He's a bit gay. tracking the tag: maxxieolie

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

☠—-   Rome snorts once and grins into his drink, offering up a shake of his head. ❝ No, Marcus is just a friend. ‘Sides, he’s straight and divorced and has a kid. ❞ He   rests his elbow against the table, chin in hand.  ❝ He’s great, though. He’s my best  friend now.❞ He tilts his head, his smile faltering some as he watches Maxxie unfold the program. Admittedly, Rome’s been loads happier since he left for university. New York was a huge change, but it was a good change. A fresh start. His pill bottles are a grim re- minder of the events of last year. But…things are better now.

There’s few things about England Rome really misses. He misses Tony and Effy, mostly. He tries not to think about how much he misses Maxxie.

Rome jolts slightly at the new voice. His gaze lifts to the young man who entered the room, and his smile fades.❝ Hey. ❞ 

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie had to remind himself that Dale’s touch was comforting, welcomed; because it was. It always is, but right now it was making Max feel  awkward. The look on Rome’s face filled him with regret. Not regret because he was with Dale, but because he wished he could have broken out the news in a different way. He didn’t need to feel bad at all, right? He was moving on, had moved on. And there was nothing wrong with that...

“We, um, got together a while back, like... six months ago or so. We work together, through my dad. Dale’s from around here too, see, and my dad helps him get work too.” Max was babb- ling, he could tell. And he could also tell Rome probably didn’t want the specific details, but Max felt the need to give them. “He’s great, aren’t you?” he directed towards the lad, al- though it wasn’t exactly a question. Okay, maybe that had been a slight jab at the ex in the room -- not that Dale was aware. 

Before Max could object -- not that he wanted to -- Dale planted a peck on his mouth, and he returned it. Upon pulling apart, Max rather hast- ily said, “Rome was just leaving. I’ll walk you out, yeah?” As the blonde led his... friend to the exit, he heard Dale offer out a ‘nice meet- ing you’. He was polite now, or at least he tried; he hadn’t always, especially not around his mates.

Once outside the flat, Max shut the door be- hind them. He instantly turned to Rome, scowl- ing. “Don’t do that,” he told him, “Don’t-- Don’t give me that l o o k. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you! But what did you expect? That I would wait for you? That you’d come running over here, and I would just--” He stopped himself before he said something stupid. Truth was, he’d tried waiting for Rome to return, but eventually he’d realized there was no point. The distance would always resurface between them. “I still care about you. A lot. But I don’t want to fuck my life up, not when you’ll leave again, and when I’ve got this thing going for me... I’m sorry. But... we can still be friends, yeah? We’ve always been friends. And I’d still like to spend time with you while you’re here.”

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

❝ Peel off these dusty wool blankets of APATHY and ANTIPATHY and CYNICAL DESICCATION. I want LIFE in all its stupid, sticky rawness. ❞ ( x )

–Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies

[maxxie-olie]

ooc;

//new theme b/c @the-stonem is bae.

[the-stonem]

                   TONY STONEM                        MAXXIE OLIVER                   ind. multi-verse & mutual exclusive Skins UK roleplay blogs                     written by christian                             written by teej

[rubyredwisp]

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

☠—-   An impromptu flush creeps across Rome’s cheeks, and he bashfully          tugs on a lock of hair that hangs just past his ear.

❝I’m not around many people from England anymore. At least I haven’t picked    up the Brooklyn accent, huh?❞ Because people from Brooklyn might as well    be speaking a totally different language, as far as Rome’s concerned.

He hooks an ankle around one of the dining room chairs and pulls it out, drop- ping into it and pulling a travel mug from the cup holder of his backpack. Just like old times. Rome sips silently at his coffee, folding his legs under him and watching the blonde speak. Still ever the enthusiast, Maxxie is. All animated and unwavering smiles.

Rome perks up some and unzips his backpack, setting his mug on the table top as he digs around in the pack.

❝ God. I love school, ❞ he responds, and he draws out bright orange and yellow   program from his backpack, the front adorned with a drawing of a lion and the   backside covered in signatures. ❝ My roommate is great, too. His name’s Mar-   cus. The dorms sucked, so I moved in with him at the end of the first semester.❞   His parents were none too pleased to hear their son would be rooming with a stran-   ger over ten years his senior, especially when they got a look at the rather large and   intimidating man.

Rome drums his hands against the table, gnawing on his lower lip thoughtfully. ❝ Well. I work at a record store. Still. There’s five cats that live there. God, you would love New York, Maxxie.❞ He waves the program in the other’s direction.❝ And I did go watch The Lion King. This is for you.❞

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie took a seat at the table so that he was facing Rome. He leaned forward and rested on his elbows, hands to his cheeks. He listened to the other boy describe his life, and really, Max hadn’t ever heard Rome so happy. Max blinked, remembering flashes of blood, of attempts that thankfully failed. But here he was now: smiling, genuinely so. And not just for Max’s benefit. It was this moment, this realization, that Max re- membered that he’d also made the right choice, letting Rome go. It had led him to this happiness. 

“Oh, that’s good,” Max replied, nodding, “Is, he, um -- Marcus -- is he your boyfriend or something?” He tried not to sound jealous. He so wasn’t. He had no right to be, not at all. Rome was allowed to have moved on, just as he himself was allowed to. Max returned to his smiling though; it was hard not to when Rome was being so passionate. “I want to visit one day! I’ve always said that. Cassie says it’s nice, Sid too. Now I have three more reasons to take the trip between the three of you.” 

Rome handed him the program then, and Max knew what it was instantly. He hadn’t been expecting it, not at all, and he felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. Not because it was amazingly cool -- it so was -- but because Rome had actually gotten it for him. Why hadn’t he expected him to? Max took the pro- gram into his hands and opened it, looking it over. He glanced back up to Rome’s face, trying not to come off as too emotional. “Thank you,” he told him, “I... I didn’t really expect you to. You didn’t have to. But thank you, really.” And Max was sudd- enly feeling empty handed, with no gifts for Rome. Surprises? A few. But no gifts. 

Max opened his mouth again, trying to find the words he needed to say. “Listen, Rome, I should probably tell you--” he started, but then didn’t even need to finish, as he was interrupted. “Your dad’s torturing me!” another said, the voice coming from the hallway, “In case you were curious. Absolute torture, I tell yooouuu’ello!” Maxxie took in a deep breath and put another smile on his face. His cheeks would be paralyzed if he didn’t stop soon. Max stood up from his chair just as the new speaker entered the room; he was broad shouldered, with similarly tanned skin as Max’s, and had grown his dirty blonde hair out recently.

“Who’s this?” the boy asked, curious, though not unfriendly, also smiling. Max looked between the two men before him, and finally introduced them. “This is Romeo Stonem, Tony’s brother. And, Rome, this is Dale. My boyfriend.” There was an awkward silence before Dale finally put a ‘hello’ out there. Maxxie reached down for the program and showed it to his partner. “Look what he got me,” Max mused, genuinely pleased with it, “Isn’t it wicked?” He knew Dale could care less about musicals, but he also knew he’d pretend to for Max’s benefit. Maxxie looked back to Rome then, reminding himself to smile again. He was happy now, wasn’t he? They were b o t h happy. So smile, damnit. 

[maxxie-olie]

I've been following your blog for a long time and I'm so happy to see activity again! Its good to see yours and the-stonem's writings develop over time. Excited to see where toxxie's going this time!!!!

@the-stonem

//omg, stahp. You’re gonna make me cry.This is the only blog I’ve had were we’vehad like actual readers. We used to getmessages like this all the time, and italways was so flattering. Still is. Thanksso much! We love these boys and thisship, and this time I think we’re focusingon this AU, so it’ll be fun and all new.

But really, we’ve been doing this on andoff for like... almost five years. Seemscrazy. I’ve loved watching Chris’ writingskills develop over time, and getting toknow him. We’re such good friends.I don’t think we’ll ever fully leave thisbehind us. Do we take extremely longbreaks? Totally. But we always comeback. I love that about this and us andTaxxie. <3

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

☠—-   There he is. All sleep-rumpled and bright eyed. He’s changed–a little tall-              er, more muscle added to his slender frame.

Maxxie’s smile, though, hasn’t changed. Rome’s heart skips a beat, maybe two. God, he’s missed that smile.

His own smile brightens as Maxxie launches himself into an embrace. A short laugh  emits from Rome’s lips as his arms go around the shorter’s waist. He’s warm and fam- iliar, unlike everything in New York ( although Rome is slowly becoming used to the ci- ty ). He backs off and pushes his fingers through his hair, looking affectionately down at Maxxie.

❝ Sorry. I would have called, but. I don’t have service in the UK anymore. ❞

He shocks himself a bit, hearing how much his voice has changed since he left. An odd little East-Coast accent sneaked in, and there’s only a hint of his old accent left. New Yorker roomies will do that, he supposes.

Rome shifts his backpack from his shoulders, eyes surveying the Olivers flat. It hasn’t changed much. He drinks in the familiarity of it all, his little smile never leaving his face.

He forces his attention to Maxxie and blinks several times.❝ Yeah!! It’s…Good to see you, too. New York is great, but I miss it here. ❞

I miss you.

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie waved off Rome’s comment. Honestly, he didn’t expect calls from the Stonem boy anymore. Not that he was bitter. Well, maybe he had been for a short while, but it wasn’t like he himself could not pick up a phone and call. He just... didn’t. And neither did Rome. And it wasn’t like they were to- gether; that’s specifically why they’d broken up. The distance was too much, and they knew it ahead of time. It saved them trouble. Only Max had found himself wondering why they hadn’t even attempted, if the ache of separation would have been better than nothing at all. But it was far too late for that, wasn’t it? 

The blonde cocked an eyebrow, taking in Rome’s newly acquired speaking patterns. “Listen to you,” Max pointed out, grinning, “Sounding all American. Stop it; you know I’ve always fancied those accents.” Was he flirting? He was flirting. Maybe just a little. But he couldn’t help it. He had to help it. They were only here for two weeks, and then off again. No point in opening old wounds, yeah? Talking about past feel- ings would only bring them back up to the surface. And Max didn’t need that, not under all these circumstances. Tell him... 

“I miss it too...” Maxxie replied, his voice a bit quiet, “Bristol. Everyone, everything. But my life is in London now, I guess. Or it will be. Still working on the dream. Getting there. But I’m glad you’re getting yours; it’s what I wanted for you, what you wanted.” His words drifted off, and he glanced down to his feet. He forced himself to look back up, putting another smile on his face. “Dad’s hooked me up with jobs out there. Build- er shit. I hate it, but at least it’s in the city, let’s me audition while I’m doing it. And I’ve had a few gigs, dancing! Just nothing extremely permanent.” Enough about himself though; for now at least. “What about you? I need details! How’s school? Have you seen ‘The Lion King’ for me yet?!”

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

@maxxie-olie

☠—-   Two weeks. Rome has two weeks back home in Bristol. It will be back          off to Juilliard until May rolls around. Not that he has many plans now             that he’s home. His parents fussed over him a bit, had him sit down and             tell them all about New York. A few hours later and that conversation             was over.

Currently, his parents are at the train station, waiting on Tony to arrive from Car- diff. And, even though Rome should still be asleep for another few hours ( time zones be damned!! ), he’s packed his knapsack and is headed down the familiar sidewalks.

So, here he finds himself, standing outside the Oliver’s apartment–flat. It’s only wishful thinking, that Maxxie will be here. He should be in London, dancing to his heart’s content. He feels his chest swell with fondness as the much smaller boy emerges from the flat and his lips form into a familiar smile.

He lifts a hand and waves lazily, blinking the bright sun from his gaze.

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie was in the kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast he’d made his parents (he felt so mature) when he heard someone knocking on the front door. He dropp- ed a bowl off in the sink and made his way to the flat’s entrance. He wiped his hands on his shorts and pulled the door open, revealing... Romeo Stonem. 

Max blinked a few times, a bit surprised. He’d been assuming he’d get to catch up with his ex (he hated that term), but he hadn’t expected him at this very moment. He’d returned from London for a few weeks, as most of his college mates were returning as well. He needed to see them, and that included Rome. They hadn’t stayed in great contact, as the distance was hard and they were both busy, but they’d tried at first. And slowly, they stopped sending messages as often until they barely sent any at all. 

“Hi,” the blonde greeted him, at a slight loss for words. He smiled nonetheless, still happy to see him. He could see Rome’s heart in his eyes, and it made Max remember every evening spent up in the Stonem house, listening to the lanky boy play his instruments. Tell him... a voice said in the back of his head, but Max pushed it away. Not now. Now wasn’t the time. Maxxie took a step forward and flung his arms around Rome’s neck, pulling into a tight embrace. He held him close for a few moments and then backed away, still smiling up at him. “How’ve you been?! Come inside!”

He ushered Rome into the flat and closed the door behind them. “Tony said you would be in town too. I figured now would be a good time to visit. I’d been meaning to, but... Just been busy. In London.” Not that his dreams had really happened yet. His life wasn’t what he’d planned. But he was still determined to get it there. “I guess it worked out for the best though. Everyone’s coming this week, and... It’s just really good to see you, Rome.” Max smiled again, looking the brunette over. He was the same boy Max had parted with, maybe just a tad older. Max wondered if he looked any different; probably. He knew his skin was tanner, his biceps bigger. Tell him... 

[mostloquacious-archive-blog]

I just started s2 of daredevil finally and oh my god I forgot how much I adore f.oggy n.elson

[maxxie-olie]

//omgggg. I finished it yesterday. You’ll die. DIEEEEE.

[the-stonem]

@maxxie-olie

     arms crossed over his chest, less as habit but to show his utter lack of AMUSEMENT regarding the scene before him. he has watched the boy try again & again & again, skills obviously lacking in improvement – it was funny for the first few falls but now, not so much. it was merely DISTRACTING now. 

                            ❛ as much as i love seeing you fall on your ass,                          i don’t want to JUST watch you try to dance all day. ❜ 

       he was promised a fun hang out – this was not that. 

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie hit the floor, landing on his bottom hard. He let out an ‘unph’ as he landed, the breath knocked out of him. He’d been trying to complete a pirouette, something he’d been working on. He’d been hoping to impress his friend, but failing obviously wasn’t what he’d had in mind. 

He looked up at Anthony and scowled. He knew he could d o it; he’d almost gotten it last time. “I can do it,” Maxxie protested, and stood back up. He straightened his spine, formed position, and stood on his toes. And he went for it, and then-- ‘unph.’ He landed on the floor once more, and finally decided to stay down. He had his own time to perfect the move, but right now he had a friend over, and this ob- viously wasn’t fun for Tony, even if it gave him a reason to use the word ‘ass’ out loud.

Maxxie liked being around Tony. The boy brought with him a sense of rowdiness. He was ornery, and Maxxie liked that he used words he wasn’t supposed to. The other boy also didn’t make fun of him; well, not in a mean way. They teased, but never were cruel, unlike most of the other boys in their classes. Maxxie wasn’t sure why Tony chose him over the other boys. They’d known each- other since they were babies, true, but that didn’t mean they were stuck together. They both had a choice, and they chose each other’s friendship over others. Maxxie would dare say Tony was his best mate. 

Maxxie sighed, and just laid down on the floor. He looked over to Tony and shrugged. “I’m go- ing to get it,” he promised, determined. “What do you want to do now?” Tony always had an idea, always something to do. That’s just how he was, and Maxxie usually enjoyed his sugg- estions, not matter how ballsy. 

[the-stonem]

          he could picture it now : a much younger Maxxie standing smack middle of the Oliver living room, petite little thing, BROWN hair tousled in a right mess with Tony sat cross-legged in the corner, blue eyes alight with mild amusement and anticipation. 

          genuine laughter slipped past dry lips at the memory – it would be easy to forget that he was not addicted to RECKLESS dispositions and the venom that snaked towards his heart closer & closer & ever so closer with every kill he made with him looking like this. it would be easy to not associate this somewhat pretty picture with DEATH. 

                           ❛ you couldn’t even get one twirl right. ❜

                                 ❛ show me your dancing later.                                   let’s see how you’ve improved. ❜ 

       even as his laughs died down, a grin remained plastered across his features. it made him look YOUNGER than he actually was then – and the irony was not lost on him. 

                         [  ain’t it funny how the two were recounting                              childhood memories when the very reason                              why their paths merged YET AGAIN was                              because Tony has  lost  all his innocence                              long ago?                                  hilarious.  ]

        he simply raised an eyebrow as the other turned to face him fully. 

                     DID HE FIND MAXXIE INTRIGUING? 

       not necessarily. not when he had gathered as much information about the boy as he could in the past four days. not when this little CATCH UP of his turned into stalking without even trying. he knew Maxxie has practically cooped himself up in his tiny flat after the whole incident with Chris, utterly devastated and shocked as one would expect from someone who had their friend suddenly DISAPPEAR and DIE on them. but he also knew of what the normal conventions were ; normally one would ask about Maxxie’s current predicament, ask what has brought this on. too bad he had never counted himself as one who adhered to the norm.  

                       ❛ oh i’m interested, but not for the reasons you think. ❜ 

         he was interested in HOW Maxxie knew Chris ; he was interested in knowing whether or not Maxxie was aware of the illegal activities his friend had gotten himself involved in ; he wanted to know if Maxxie himself was INVOLVED in any way. but he said none of those things, instead Tony let his tone take on a particular lilt – teasing, in a way, perfectly disguising his true intentions and steer the other’s assumptions to a  dirtier  path. let Maxxie think him flirting. after all, he was doing exactly the same thing right now. 

         following the other’s lead up the stairs, Tony could spy one or two people loitering about, having a smoke or a chat as they passed them by. this building seemingly was occupied by quite a number of people – it would be STUPID to make a scene here. there would be far too many witnesses. not that he was planning anything anyway. Maxxie wasn’t a target. 

                          ❛ businessman. good to know you think i’m fit though. ❜ 

         a huff of breath escaped him, amused at the MESS that welcomed the two as the door opened. boxes were everywhere, papers littered the floor as if they were left in a mad haste. or left by a madman himself. the last question posed at him made him simply hum in response, vaguely pre-occupied by the piece of paper he had just picked up. 

                                 ❛ i remember you were a BRUNET.                            and you hanging around with that Anwar kid.                                           – so what’s all this? ❜

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie tilted his head, considering Tony’s words. He was interested, but not for the reasons Max assumed? He glanced down at his at his bare feet, which were now warming up since they’d left the streets of London behind them. Was he right to jump to the idea that Tony was attracted to him, wanting something physical then? Or was that another wrong assumption? Max hadn’t plann- ed on shagging this returning face, but if it went that way, well, who was he to protest? He was enjoying the company, the nostalgia, shag or no shag. But really, Max would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see just how much Tony had changed since he’d known him. 

“I do,” Max repeated himself, “You’re, like, buff. I mean, I’m fit, a little buff too, but you’re...” He puffed out his chest playfully, holding his breath, until he couldn’t hold it any longer. He laughed a little. And it was true, his impression, no matter how horrible. Tony was well built, obvious muscles layering his entire figure. He remembered Tony as a tall, lanky child, and then a tall, lanky teenager from afar. Apparently he’d decided to take advantage of his masculinity and add to his stature. Maxxie was slightly shorter than the average bloke, but he liked to think his figure was his saving grace, thanks to dancing. But Tony seemed almost like a giant to him now, even more so than when they were kids. His shoulders were broad, his legs long, his arms, well, nice to look at. Max stopped himself. 

He listened to Tony’s memories, smiling lightly at them. He absentmindedly reached up to his hair, which was definitely now not brown; he’d been dying it a light blond for many years, ever since college. He wasn’t sure if Tony even paid him any mind in college, if he’d noticed the difference from afar; probably not. And Anwar... Max still spoke to him occasionally, but his mate was always off with a new girl, having a laugh. And Max was happy for him, not matter the snatch he was busying himself with at the moment. They’d lived together briefly in the city, but London hadn’t been Anwar’s home in the end, so the Muslim boy had returned to Bristol,  leaving Maxxie to take Chris up on his offer as his roommate. 

Max dropped his hand from his hair and quickly used it to grab the paper from Tony’s own. “Don’t t o u c h anything,” he snapped, his mood sudden- ly changing. He skimmed over the paper, the notes Chris had been writing down in his final days, and placed it face-down on the coffee table, away from Tony’s eyes. No matter how beautiful and blue they were, they had no right to any of Chris’ things, espec- ially that. “I’m sorry,” Max apologized, “It’s just, Chris died. Christopher Miles. From college. We were mates. And this is his shit. I’ve been going through it, sorting it. Just-- don’t touch any of it. Please.” Max awkwardly took a seat, wrapping his arms around himself. He hoped his hadn’t ruined their conversation, or the mood that had been building between them for that matter. But something told Max a stupid outburst wouldn’t scare the other man off, not since he’d agreed to accompany him after witnessing his crazed running earlier. Either Tony wanted something or he cared about why he’d been upset; or maybe both. Max decided to assume it was a little of both, and he was okay with that. He just also assumed the only wanting Tony had was to fuck him. If only he knew...

“You said you were a businessman?” Max changed the topic, and indicated for Tony to sit with him. “I’ll be honest with you, Anthony, I know nothing about that wanky stuff, so I’ll just smile and nod while you tell me exactly what it is you do.” And smile and nod he did. He was a good actor, a good pretender. He could even hide his grief when he needed to. But right now, listening to Tony, he didn’t need to pretend. His old friend made it easy to focus on something else than death. Max was grateful for that, and Tony prob- ably had no idea. “So do you... you know, have a girl- friend? ... Boyfriend?” he threw it out there, hoping it wouldn’t insult Tony; after all, they HAD fooled around as children. Max felt it was a reasonable question. 

[grustniygoner-deactivated201904]

[the-stonem]

        his terse expression betrayed nothing – not the underlying THRILL he felt right now despite having just broken protocol. he should have gotten out of town days ago, should have left lest he’d leave an unwanted TRAIL. he should have treated this assignment no differently from the others. but oh, it was so  T E M P T I N G.  a cruel sense of something pulled at him, urged to pursue, nagged endlessly to reconnect under the pretense of a catch up being long lost friends. 

       it wasn’t that he missed Bristol – tiresome ol’ Bristol. it wasn’t nostalgia. he remembered so very little about his old life to dwell on it any further – only a fool lived his FUTURE in the PAST. and he was no fool. it was simply a sense of curiosity of sorts ; fascinated by this odd streak of coincidence of crossing paths with someone he once knew. 

        Tony offered a smile of his own as he listened to the other talk. yes, he did have some faint memory of Maxxie telling him about the WONDERS of dancing when they were younger. he had never really understood it – had never shared the same opinion with the blond boy on the subject – but Tony did remember that he was quite good. still rather clumsy at the time but Maxxie had only been at least  SEVEN  then. 

                                    ❛ yeah, i remember. you used to suck at PIROUETTE. ❜

        gaze dropped at the mention of Maxxie’s lack of shoes. he wasn’t surprised at all, really. Maxxie had been under his surveillance for  d a y s  now ; he was well aware of the boy’s current state of mental instability. Tony’s features turned soft then, a pale imitation of pity there in his eyes – calculated. NECESSARY. Maxxie had just asked him to accompany him home. he didn’t want to ruin this now. 

                                      ❛ i don’t see why not. you’re freezing and                                   i have nothing better to do. let’s get you home. ❜ 

        a surprised LAUGHTER burst from him upon the unexpected confession. well then. this should be interesting. 

                                      ❛ no wonder you’re taking me home then. ❜ 

        he was grinning now, completely UNFAZED by Maxxie’s unneeded ‘warning’. though such an expression turned serious at the question asked. he chanced a sidelong glance, trying to see if Maxxie had simply wanted to know out of sheer curiosity or was there something else?

  ❛ – work. ❜

[maxxie-olie]

Whatever slump Maxxie felt himself in, he was suddenly pulled right out of it by Tony’s words, his insult. No matter if the other boy was seri- ous or not, the blond raised his eyebrows, tak- ing it rather seriously himself. “Excuse me?” he asked, huffing once in a phase a disbelief. He was now remembering Tony’s attitude, one he’d always had, even as a little boy. “For the record, I’m fantastic at pirouette. I’m fantastic at every- thing, thank you very much.” If there was any- thing Max could be confident about, it was his dancing abilities. Well, that and his tongue; he’d been told he had a great tongue. 

“Not that I’m going to do one in the middle of the street in London, not at the moment,” he added, wrapping his arms around himself. He motivated himself to hurry; his feet were numb, but Max was taking that as a bad sign. “’Nothing better to do?’” Max repeated, glancing over in Tony’s direction. The boy was proving to be quite the distraction, something Max desperately need- ed right then. He spun on his heel, so that he was walking backwards, facing Tony as he did so. “Am I not i n t r i g u i n g you? Not that I’m trying, but I am sprinting down the street barefoot, looking like a wreck. Sounds intriguing to me, if I were you. Is that why you’re coming with me ?” he asked, a bit cheekily. He was totally flirting now, and he wasn’t forcing himself to; it was coming naturally. Max flick- ed his eyes over Tony a few times, obviously. He wanted him to see. “Well, not yet, but maybe later. If you’re lucky.”

Max smiled a toothy smile in Tony’s direction, and nodded towards the building coming up on their left. “That’s mine,” he told him, and turned himself back around the correct way, falling into Tony’s step beside him. The truth was, Maxxie’s mind had been unbelievably clouded the last few weeks, what with his mate being offed and all. But Tony Stonem was clearing it, just his mere presence. The boy -- sorry, now man -- was giving him something else to think about, and it wasn’t just fucking him. They had history between them, and bits and pieces of it were coming back to Max, another every minute, memories he hadn’t visited in many years. He could remember afternoons spent with Tony, back when they were small children. They had shared their toys, Tony’s figurines and Max’s dolls. Max remem- bered liking the fact that Tony didn’t point out that his toys were ‘girl toys’. They just played, mates. And then a few years later, they’d played a bit differently, different toys. And they hadn’t really stayed in contact after that, different class groups and such, growing up. Maxxie wondered how much Tony remembered himself, if he could recall the same memories as Max and if he was embarrassed by the more intimate ones, ones only uneducated, curious children could share together. 

Maxxie led Tony into his building, up the flight of stairs. “Work, you said?” he asked, curious. “What kind of work? You look fit. Are you a builder? Boxer? Do you fight? You always were a bit -- violent. But I didn’t mind. I liked that you treated me like just another bloke. So thanks for that, I guess.” Max reached his flat’s door then, and opened it, enter- ing. He motioned for Tony to follow. “Welcome to my -- well, shitty flat, honestly. It’s usually shitty, but not t h i s shitty, just so you know. Imagine it slightly less shit, and then that’s it, you got it.” He looked around at the mess, the boxes piled every- where. He’d been going through Chris’ things, try- ing to sort it all, but his mate had had a lot of... shit. Max blinked a few times, ridding his head of Chris. He was tired of feeling sad. And when he had Tony right here... Max looked up to the brunette, taking him in again. “What else do you remember about me?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

[the-stonem]

                                 ANTHONY.                                              TONY.

     corner of the lips quirked upwards – almost akin to a genuine SMILE. years it has been since he had been regarded as such, the names he has been called blended together, devoid of any meaning now. he wasn’t TONY anymore. not really. not with all passports and ID’S stuffed in duffel bags that varied in identities, enabling him to move around without a trace. john / james / george / richard. it was all the same. even those he worked with referred to him simply as STONEM. hearing his given name he has not heard in a long time past the lips of someone he has not seen in years, well. even with practiced stoicism, it proved difficult to not let an appreciative smile grace his features. 

                                                  ❛ i am staying in London, yeah.                                                            you live ‘round here? ❜ 

       a diplomatic answer ; careful enough to not give much away. his gaze narrowed in mild APPRAISAL, never letting it linger for far too long lest his personal interest become apparent. never letting his dark blues to fixate on that particular cut of the jaw that had grown SHARP and DEFINED with years of maturity, nor on the drooped, almost teary eyes that looked back at him with something he could not place – sorrow / nostalgia / grief? it seemed so foreign now, to have those oddly familiar set of  greys  gaze up at him with something so MELANCHOLIC. 

      a nod was granted in response – oh, Maxwell, you’ve made it so easy now.

                                                    ❛ where are we going then? ❜ 

                                                   ❛ you look like shit, by the way. ❜

[maxxie-olie]

“Yeah...” Max answered him, still sounding a bit dazed, and not just because he was sudd- enly speaking to a long lost memory from his childhood. He blinked rapidly a few times, try- ing to knock himself back into reality. “I mean, yeah, I live here... Been here for about two years now. Moved right out when I graduated from college. Wanted to do dance and all that, you know; well, I dunno if you remember, but it’s always sorta been my t h i n g, dancing.”

The blond took in a deep breath, hearing Tony’s question. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing recently...” he muttered, maybe a bit too deep for this casual con- versation. He shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not even wearing shoes. And it’s a bit freezing, isn’t it? I should be wearing shoes...” Max was realizing how cold it was, allowing a shiver to course through him. Luckily, his feet were numb. 

He barely registered the fact that Tony insulted him, but nodded to it. “Yeah, I should go home...” He looked up to the other boy, shivering again. “Will you go with me?” he asked, not wanting to go home alone; he wasn’t sure he could handle it. Max picked up on his daft straightforwardness then, and added, “I’d love to catch up. It’s been... a while.”

As they made their way to his apartment -- well, solely his now; no Chris -- Max continued the trend of trying to clear his head and spoke. “I’m a poof by the way,” he nonchalantly said, “In case you hadn’t heard. Still, doesn’t mean I’m trying to shag you, for the record. So if wanna ditch me now, feel free.” Maybe he was trying to push Tony away before they even reconnected, give him a reason to walk away now. A beat later, “Why’re you in London?”

[the-stonem]

     even with MATERIALISTIC rewards that coupled with the sadistic blood rush this job held, contract killers such as himself lived bastardized lives. trailing past high moral ground – giving in to devilish ways with bloodstained hands and even more sullied soul – proved to be a DEVIOUS DESCENT. down, down, he went. it was almost ROMANTIC. 

      he sought not thick cigars and expensive cars, however, nor the substantial capital that came with every leather-bound folders noting names / addresses / weaknesses. he found no pleasure in these killings he willingly participated in – he did not get off on the prospect of DANGER or VIOLENCE or the feel of one’s throat throbbing with every squeeze as much as the lot he worked with. he might have sought for utter CHAOS and TURMOIL when he had been younger but now it didn’t matter as much. 

                                               a kill was a kill.

     Tony did this because he  COULD.  because he was good at it – one of the fucking best – and held no repentance in doing so. his lungs did not hang suspended with bated breath with intangible ropes at the off-chance of getting caught. this feeling was an ABSENCE of fear. why should he be afraid when nothing could touch him? 

      he could hardly count how many lives he has taken and his latest had differed naught from the rest – he had been YOUNGER, held less importance in comparison to countries’ leaders / government officials / illegitimate royalty he had been tasked of dealing with in the past. this boy had simply been in another gang’s way. Tony had thought it a PETTY fight at first, not at all worth his time but his days had proved to be rather dull lately so he took it. he had been in town anyway – two birds, one stone shite. 

      the odd sense of FAMILIARITY held in his late victim’s eyes – Chris, Chris, Chris – as a single gunshot silenced him piqued his curiosity. interest  minute  but there nonetheless. enough to have Tony stalk some boy who might have been Chris’ associate for days on end. really, it was rather astonishing how something so insignificant could lead to something substantial such as this. 

                                        ❛ testy.                             is that how you greet an                               old friend nowadays? ❜

[maxxie-olie]

Maxxie stood there, a bit dumbfounded. This boy knew him; he looked familiar, those pierc- ing eyes of his. The blond looked him over a few more times until his mind finally made the connection: Anthony Stonem. He’d grown up. The scrawny kid Max knew had turned into  the specimen standing before him. It had been, what, ten years? Maybe a few more. And yet... the other still had a certain look in his eye, one Max wasn’t completely com- fortable with, and it intrigued him, as it al- ways had.

“Anthony?” he asked, letting this realization sink in. Max remembered that he hated his full name then, and corrected himself. “Tony. What’re you doing here? You--You live in London now?” He looked around the street, as if the answer was around them. “Also: h i,” he added in a breathy continuation. He offered a small smile, one hiding everything he’d been feeling as of late. 

He felt those emotions rising in him, the sight- ing of Tony not exactly helping. He was think- ing of his childhood; himself, Tony, Chris, and the others... They’d been so young, before life fucked them up. And believe it, they were all fucked up in some form, including Max. Even before last week, he’d been on a downward spiral. His eyes felt hot with tears, but Max refused to cry. He didn’t cry; he found other ways to grieve, and he wasn’t going to slip up now, especially in front of an old-- friend? “Walk with me...” Maxxie found himself mutt- ering, not asking but telling, his hands hesit- antly leaving the pole he’d been supporting himself on. “You look... older,” he continued, trying to compose himself as much as possible.

[maxxie-olie]

{ @the-stonem ;; h e l l o } 

Maxxie was running; just running. Why? Just because he felt the need to, a deep longing inside of him. He did this every so often, this morning just being one of those. He’d woken up, and it had still been inside of him, this never ending emptiness. So he slipped his shoes on, and he ran, hair still tussled, eyes still puffy; but they were always puffy, ever since... well, lately.

The blond sprinted down the streets of Lon- don until he couldn’t anymore, his chest heav- ing for air. He practically collided into a light post and used it to support himself, catching his breath. He sensed a presence at his side then, and glanced upwards to it. He squinted at first, the sun bright, and saw him: Chris. His best mate; well, one of them. Until recently. Until he’d been killed. Not that anyone was calling it a murder; but Max knew. He knew the truth, or enough of it it be smarter than that.

He adjusted his eyes then, and accepted the fact that the boy in front of him wasn’t his dead friend. In fact, they didn’t look much a- like at all. Max shook his head lightly, mainly for his own affect. He needed to get himself sorted, and stop imagining ghosts. He’d be in a ward soon, following Cassie’s footsteps. But anyways, back to this new boy, this not- Chris: he was tall, with dark hair and blue eyes, light skin. Everything about him was Maxxie’s weakness, and if ever he felt ashamed for appearing so disgruntled, it was now.

Only he didn’t. He wasn’t ashamed at all. Why should he be? He was allowed to look like shit and run in his sweats. He was allowed to lose his mind if he wanted to. “What?” he finally asked the boy, “I’m fine. What do you want?” He sounded a  bit too sharp, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to flirt, no matter how badly his in- stincts told him to.