Although he worked at a restaurant all day long, nothing smelled better than the scents currently filling the air of their kitchen apartment. Their apartment. Together. That thought still filled Ollie with so much joy; he didn't know if it was something he'd ever get over. It seemed Diego had been hard at work getting dinner ready, which Ollie could have kissed him for (and he would!). He was starving. He laughed brightly because he'd opened his mouth to greet his boyfriend right at the very same time. "Baby! Hey!" Ollie set aside his bag and shrugged off his jacket, then enthusiastically closed the space between them. Ollie's eyes met Diego's warm molten ones before falling down to the bottle of wine; it looked fancier than any Ollie had ever tried, that was for sure. "Oh damn, good job, babe. Any special occasion or just because?" The small peck to his lips had Ollie melting, and though Diego insisted he take a seat, he wasn't ready just yet.
"Just a sec," he flirted, cupping Diego's cheeks and reveling in the warmth of them as he stole another kiss, this one slower and lingering. "You spoil me way too much," Ollie insisted, a goofy, giddy grin drawn across his lips as he drew back, fingers tenderly pushing some of the dark locks that had fallen into Diego's eyes out of the way. "Thank you, okay. But next time I'm spoiling you." Never in a million years did Ollie think he'd have the chance to come home to someone so special, so loving and wonderful as Diego. He was in complete bliss. "My day was fine, thanks! It was really slammed and I honestly don't know why? Maybe really belated post Valentine's break-ups?" He ventured a guess as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and settled into it. "How about yours? Besides spending it making something that smells like heaven?"
âYou do spoil me,â he insisted, softer this time, smiling. âYou spoil me every time you look at me like you do. Every time you come home and tell me about your day. The seconds spent turning into minutes, days, weeks, and months of being your boyfriend.â His smile curved into something gentler, more vulnerable than his usual playful one. âThatâs my favorite kind of spoiling. I donât need big gestures. I just need you.â He bumped his hip lightly against Ollieâs as he turned back to the stove, listening closely while Ollie talked about the chaos at work.
Diego hummed thoughtfully, nodding along as he stirred the risotto one last time, letting the creamy texture settle before spooning it carefully onto their plates. âLove really said âtrial period expired.â Hopefully it at least helped make the shift go by faster.â He carried the plates over with exaggerated care, setting one down in front of Ollie like he was presenting a five-star dish. âMy day was not nearly as exciting as yours. I spent most of it being a lazy potato, did a bit of grocery shopping for us, had lunch with our neighbor and got a bit of gossip that I am absolutely going to tell you later, and then I came home and started dinner." He poured the wine slowly, letting it breathe for a second before handing Ollie his glass.
When he finally sat down, though, the confidence wavered just a touch. Diego looked down at the risotto, then back up at Ollie with a sheepish grin. âIf you donât like this, itâs okay,â he said quickly, words tumbling out in true Diego fashion. âI was watching Hellâs Kitchen and they kept talking about risotto like it was the ultimate test of a chefâs soul, and I was likeâŠwhat the heck is that? It just looked like fancy rice. But then they kept yelling about texture and consistency and I got invested.â He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing at himself. âSo of course I made it. Because apparently I like setting culinary traps for myself.â He leaned back slightly, eyes warm but a little nervous. âI donât even know if itâs the right texture. Itâs supposed to be creamy but not mushy, and I mightâve hovered over the stove stressed-out the entire time.â He chuckled, âGordon Ramsay would probably call me an idiot sandwich. But I made it with love. And a concerning amount of butter. So thatâs gotta count for something, right? Tell me what you think."
Where: The Bean
With: Diego @mourninglure
Outfit: click
Claire sat at the table in the Bean, nose buried in a book, a cooling coffee on the table. It was too late for coffee, but she preferred taking sips from that rather than chocolate or tea, so there it was. Outside, it was already dark, and she knew she ought to get going soon, but the warmth was too tempting and the book too interesting. She was almost done with February's read for the book club, and they had agreed on a book just a few days ago...
She looked up as Diego approached the table. "Hey, sorry," she said, already closing the book partway." What time were you guys closing again? Should I..." she glanced around, noticing how empty the place had become, "... start packing up?"
It was one of those very slow evening that seemed to just stroll on by without a care in the world. Everything felt oddly calm, even for Diego. He had actually lost himself in being productive and doing some preclosing duties as the night stretched to closing time. Every so often someone would come in for a late night coffee to go, or a pastry, and off they'd go. He would glance in Claire's direction just to see if she seemed to need anything and then head back to the rhythm of things. And it just carried on like this until eventually an hour was starting to pass by without a single person walking through the door.
"Cool," Diego says to himself, finally feeling comfortable enough to begin doing a bit of light sweeping. He hadn't meant to disturb Claire, if he had, but he greeted her with a warm smile. "Hey," he says, "you don't have to start packing up. We aren't due to close for another hour. It's been a strange, but nice, kind of quiet around here tonight." He leaned against the broomstick in his head, nodding to her book. "Whatcha reading? Also, would you like anything? A muffin, fresh coffee, anything at all?"
Although free time had been difficult to find lately, especially needing to be on call with the current weather conditions, whenever he was granted some, Rowan found himself wanting to spend it with his best friend. It was possible that Eli already had other plans, and when he took some time to answer the door, Rowan feared he may have missed him completely. He was about to give one more knock when the door opened and there appeared Elijah with the warm smile that always lingered in the back of Rowan's mind. Blue eyes took in his soft, casual appearance and he fought not to tell him just how good he looked at that moment. Of course he did. He always did. He returned the smile with a brighter grin than usual, because damn, he'd really missed him.
"It's good to see you too. I was starting to worry that you went out. Maybe I should think twice about surprising you next time." He followed Eli's gaze to his arms and laughed brightly, the warmest he had in some time. Probably since he'd last been at Elijah's. "You know it. I was going to grab something more sustainable but I wasn't sure what you might be in the mood for. If you are hungry though we can order in, my treat." Rowan followed inside and set the refreshments down on the coffee table, though instead of plopping onto the couch like normally he crossed back over to Eli, his expression growing concerned when he sad what a bad day he'd had.
Rowan wasn't a hugger, not really. Except maybe to family, but all that was left of that in his life was his sister. It was different with Elijah though. All of these soft things that he didn't let others see, it was like he saved them up for him. Gently he drew him in for a hug, a palm running over his hair as he tried not to become too engrossed by the addictive scent of his shampoo and cologne. "What happened at work?" He asked softly, not fully letting go, but bringing his face back to look into those big brown eyes he adored. "Do I need to go kick someone's ass? Because you know I will." The question that followed earned a small shrug from the blonde. "I've been fine. Nothing exciting happening but nothing bad, either. Been on call with all this crazy weather," he explained.
Reluctantly Rowan unwound his arms from Eli, but his hand gave his cheek the most tender, playful little pat. "You were thinking about me, huh?" His tone was playful as his eyes dipped to meet Elijah's again. "Obviously I was too, or I wouldn't have stopped by. I know our schedules are crazy, but we should work on that." Rowan's lips curled into a teasing smirk, but the glint in his gaze gave him away before he even spoke further. "Oh yeah, totally. You know Mr. Watson? The guy that sits on his porch and talks to the birds? He's my new bestie. It's not the same though, you know? Not nearly as good of a cook. Or as funny, and definitely not as cute." He let the words hang for a moment before continuing. "No way, you're irreplaceable, you know. Wanna sit and tell me what was so bad about today and what I can do to help you feel better?"
"Me? Go out? You'd be the first to hear about it." It's true. Not just because they were neighbors, but Ro was his best friend after all. "You know, I'm not really all that hungry. I also don't mind making us something if we do get hungry, you know I like cooking for you." In general, of course, but especially for Rowan. But any thought of food, or anything, washed away the moment Rowan pulled Eli into am embrace. He softly sighed into it, fully giving in without hesitation. How was it possible that one person could tame so much in another? He wondered if he had such an effect on Rowan, and as he looked up into those eyes that were so full of adoration, Eli almost felt brave enough to ask.
"No, no. You don't have to worry yourself enough to fight anyone," Eli softly reassures, chuckling a bit, warmly smiling up at his best friend. "Just a busy shift, someone quit halfway, not only that, but I was also training a newbie the entire time. Two of my dishes were sent back to me, because the newbie messed it up, and the people ended up leaving without wanting to try something else. It was an absolute nightmare come true." He felt lighter now that he had voiced it out loud, even if it didn't change his shitty shift, Rowan always made things better just by letting him vent. His brows knitted in gentle concern, "Have you been making sure to take of yourself too, Ro? You're eating, right?" He sits back a bit now, looking his friendly over, as if suddenly needing to inspect to see if any little bit of Rowan has changed. "The town needs it's local hero, but I'm more concerned that you're taking care of yourself too. Hm. That's it..we're doing our weekly dinners again."
And then when Rowan repeats how Eli had been thinking about him it just makes Eli playfully roll his eyes and just nestles back into the other's embrace again. A few more selfish moments wouldn't hurt, right? "We should definitely work on that," Eli agreed, then adding, "I'll see what day my boss can manage to give me off during the week and make it an official day off. Maybe we can make dinner night a more permanent part of our routine." Maybe we can be a more permanent part of our routine. That's what he wanted to add, but he didn't. He finally leaned back a bit when Ro is the one to unwind his arms, but he doesn't go very far, and his gaze doesn't waver from Rowan as he speaks about Mr. Watson.
"Oh, I don't know. I think Mr. Watson can definitely give me a run for my looks. My dazzling personality and sense of humor? He might have to sharpen up." But he was jst joking because he knew that his personality was far from dazzling and his sense of humor was dry as a desert. "However," his voice softens, leaning in slightly, "I am happy to know that you haven't replaced me with anyone just yet. The feeling is mutual." A pause, before he speaks again. "And I haven't found anyone with a smile nearly as charming as yours. You're one of a kind." He reached out to cup the side of Rowan's face, gently brushing his thumb across his cheek, letting the moment hang for a beat too long. "As for making me feel better? You're doing a great job at is as it is." He lowered his hand, finally look towards the beer on the coffee table, reaching for two drinks. "Should I pop on something? Are you in the mood for horror, comedy," he smirks, looking over to Ro, eyebrows playfully waggling, "romance?"
Where: Maple Row - Elijah's place
With: Elijah (@mourninglure)
Outfit: click
It was a casual kind of day, she was off duty (though her radio was still on her and her gun was still in her handbag, along with her badge, just to be safe) and had comfortable sweats on, bundled up in a jacket as she parked the police wagon by the sidewalk and got out in the crisp cold. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing yet, but the forecast had said that it might start again tonight. She wasn't used to such cold weather, Portland usually having a way softer winter... she felt like a finger might fall off from the blizzards.
But still, she had preferred to go out and go meet her newly found friend rather than stay at home and watch something or go to the gym. It felt like a lazy kind of day. Grabbing the bags from the passenger seat, Natalie ran up for cover, then went up the stairs, knocking with a fist covered by her sweater. As the door opened, she smiled and left no time for greetings before sliding inside and closing the door herself. "Oh, gosh, we're living in Antarctica, I don't know how you have handled this last three winters...." She sighed as she shivered at the change of temperature. She gave Elijah a quick hug before putting the bags up. "I bring as fresh a produce as can be found in this weather... and some essentials for you in case the town gets snowed in tonight."
Elijah was more thank thankful that he had the next two days off. if only because the colder it was getting, despite having always been one to love such weather, all he wanted to do recently was hermit inside. It happened sometimes, Eli would hermit, and Ro would usually be the one to get him back out. But today it was Natalie and Elijah was more than happy as he awaited her arrival. He made sure that everything was cozy for her arrival. Blankets freshly washed, and dried, so they were extra clean and hopefully still holding on to warmth from the dryer. The tv was displaying a fireplace view from Netflix because he felt it gave a cozier feeling, though he supposes he could've just had a random show playing.
He wastes no time in opening the door when he hears the knock and even less time helping usher her inside. "Believe it or not, I wish it were colder." He gave a soft chuckle as he reached out to return the quick hug, holding her for a second longer than normal, hoping to warm her up a little. He always ran warm, part of why he enjoyed the cold so much, it was nice to put it to good use. His gaze travels to the bag, smiling, he carefully takes it from Nat. "Thank you, Natalie. You are always spoiling me, you know that?" He leads the way further into his place, moving to place the bag on the kitchen counter. "Do you want some beef stew?" He nodded towards the freshly made batch on the stove, "I made enough for an army. Please have some and don't hesitate to take any home either. I'm distributing a bit for each of my neighbors later on. I also made some bread. That's not for the neighbors," he chuckled, "but you're welcomed to some if you'd like."
He puts away the produce and begins moving around the kitchen as if it were just routine for him. There was no where he felt more comfortable than in a kitchen, especially in his own. "How have you been, Nat? I'm sorry for not being able to reach out sooner. Work has been...hell, to put it lightly. And apparently a lot of people like private chefs around Valentine's Day. One lady paid me to cook and get the hell out so she could pretend to she did it instead."
Usually weekend nights were the busiest ones at the station, which meant Rowan was almost always working during them. Somehow he'd managed to only have to work during the day, leaving a rare evening open. Once his calls were done (a few heroic deeds and one cat saved), Rowan showered up at the station and switched into fresh clothes. He could spend his time going out to the bar or something, but honestly he didn't really care what he was doing, except that he wanted to see Eli. It felt like a while since he'd last helped him with his date, and Rowan was curious how it went. Truthfully, sometimes all of the details killed him inside a little, for reasons he would not accept or admit to. Still, Elijah was his best friend, and if he happened to meet someone he fell for and wanted a future with then he was supposed to be a supportive friend and cheer him on, right? Right?? Even if the very idea made Rowan sick to his stomach and jealous in a way he couldn't explain.
Showing up empty-handed wasn't something he liked to do, but considering Eli's job, Rowan never knew whether to bring food or if he might prefer his own cooking. Instead, he stopped by to grab some cookies from Spoonfull of Sugar and a six pack of beers from the store, then headed over to Elijah's. He probably should have texted first to see if he was busy, but this was his best friend. He doubted Eli would mind. if he did, he'd just have to figure out other plans. As he approached the door, Ro shifted everything so that it was cradled into his left arm gingerly, then knocked at the door with his free fist. He tried to ignore the slurry of butterflies that always stirred when he waited for him to answer. "Reporting for duty!" Rowan called playfully, hoping Elijah could hear him from inside. "Got a call that there's something really hot burning up this place."
The shift had wrung him out in ways that went deeper than physical exhaustion. By the time Elijah got home, peeled off his work clothes, and stood under the steady stream of hot water, his shoulders had felt like stone. A few hours later he was freshly showered, hair still slightly damp, stretched out along his couch with one arm tucked behind his head. He hadnât done much of anything sinceâjust let the quiet settle around him, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound breaking the stillness. His thoughts, unhelpfully, had drifted to Rowan. It had been a while since theyâd actually sat down and spent time together despite living so close. The last date hadnât gone anywhereâagain. If he was being honest with himself, he hadnât given it much of a chance. Heâd kept one foot out the door the entire time, conversation stilted, effort minimal. It felt pointless to text Rowan about yet another failed attempt when the common denominator was clearly him.
The knock at the door startled him enough that he actually jerked upright, blinking toward the sound in confusion. He hadnât ordered takeout, wasnât expecting a delivery, and he definitely hadnât made plans. For a split second he just stared at the door like it might explain itselfâuntil Rowanâs voice carried through it, playful and warm and achingly familiar. Elijahâs entire face lit up without permission. The exhaustion clinging to him peeled back in an instant. He was already on his feet before he consciously decided to move, crossing the room quickly. Halfway there, he caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and paused, smoothing down his hair with his fingers, adjusting the collar of his shirt like it mattered more than it should. Then he opened the door.
The sight of Rowan standing thereâarms full, grin in placeâknocked the air clean from his lungs. For a second, Elijah just stood there taking him in, like he hadnât realized how much heâd missed him until that exact moment. A soft chuckle slipped from him, warm and genuine. âItâs nice to see you.â His gaze dropped to the cookies and the six-pack, and his smile deepened. âAh. The dinner of champs.â He nudged the door shut behind them and gestured him further inside, that warmth lingering in his expression in a way he didnât offer many people.
He led Rowan into the living room, instinctively gravitating back toward the couch but staying on his feet for a moment like he couldnât quite settle yet. âItâs really nice to see your face right now, Ro. Work was absolute shit today,â he admitted with a tired shake of his head, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Then his gaze softened again, something quieter threading through it. âHowâve you been? I was just thinking about you,â he confessed, almost sheepish. âAnd that itâs been some time since weâve seen each other.â A beat passed before he added, voice tipping into mock suspicion, âYou replaced me with another neighbor, didn't you? Give it to me straight, Ro.â
MARISOL YILDIZ was born in a rundown part of Corpus Christi. Her parents fought more often than they laughed, and she learned early on that love could be loud, sharp, and dangerous. Her father left when she was ten, leaving her mother to work double shifts at a factory to support Marisol and keep the house afloat. From a young age, Marisol learned how to be sharp. She fought tooth and nail to protect herself from neighborhood bullies and learned to lie with a straight face before she hit puberty. She became the kind of girl who could charm her way out of trouble and into opportunityâuntil trouble always charmed her right back. And when she wasn't running with wolves, Marisol was doing what she dreamed to do one day, she danced.
SHE WAS nineteen when she met Derek, the guy that would turn Marisol's world upside down in just one flash of his smile. He was twenty-four, charming, had a motorcycle, a magnetic smile, and a rough around the edges. A typical bad boy looking type and every ounce of baggage that came with it. Their relationship was a whirlwind from the moment they met. He slowly isolated her from her loved ones, controlled her every move, and turned her life into a cycle of bruises and apologies. She lost touch with even her younger brother, except for the rare occasions she'd find a payphone in which she could call out to him. Every time she'd insist that she was okay and happy, because it was all she could think of doing to keep their worries at bay.
FREEDOM CAME but at a price Marisol never imagined she'd have to pay. Derek picked a fight again after getting too drunk, too high, and angry Marisol did not bring in as much money as she usually did, not understanding that slow nights happen. They fought like two vicious dogs attacking each other's throats, until Derek accidentally stumbled and hit his head on the sharp edge of a dumpster behind her old strip joint. She watched as he lay unconscious for a moment, bleeding, and even though she could've called for help, Marisol let him die. She even went as far as to wait to make sure the man met death before sunrise, then she left without a trace. She had gotten freedom, but at what price? That was three years ago, and she still suffers from the nightmares.
SHE HAS been working at The Abito Di Velluto for two years now, but she also does waitressing on the side to help with covering expenses. One would never know the girl is haunted by a choice she made in her past, never even think that she sleeps at most 2-4 hours a night (sometimes a week), and she likes keeping it that way. Marisol is by nature a very kindhearted person who will greet almost anyone with a smile and sharp tongue. She's just a girl trying to survive.
SEXUALITY:
MARISOL is pansexual. Love is love.
PERSONALITY:
She is a very bubbly and bright person on most days. She definitely has her sad girl days, but who doesn't? Even though a lot of girls don't like her, because she's also a natural flirt, Marisol is one hundred and twenty percent a girl's girl. She loves vibing in oversized hoodies, watching some good crime docs, having wine, and having very lowkey vibes. And she is one hundred percent loyal, though most don't believe that either, the girl will stick to those she trusts like glue.
Letting Rhys see him when he was at his most broken was the most vulnerable Teo had let himself be in a long time. Showing him the bruises, and telling him how much he wanted out even if he wouldn't say those words, it was an honesty Teo didn't offer anyone else. He knew that on some level, he understood Rhys and Rhys understood him, without either of them having to open up more than they were able to without breaking apart completely. Neither of them sought to split the other open, and Teo appreciated that about him too.
He didn't want Rhys to pull away again, but he didn't say so. Instead, he let him continue to explore the damage that had been done, and his own gaze honed in on the damage that had been done to Rhys, too. The split lip, and more than that the expression on his face that revealed more than he probably wanted it to. Teo knew the expression, what it meant, the turmoil he knew Rhys felt inside. And he wanted to take it away from the other, but he knew he couldn't. All he could offer was to sit in it with him, like this, for as long as the world would let them.
"I stole his car," Teo said abruptly, not sure if that was an answer to whether or not he could go to Rhys' place or not. He should bring the car back, shouldn't he? It was dumb of him not to just bring his own. Ike's car was expensive, fancy, with the luxury shit in it that nobody really needed. A status symbol for the other, not really anything substantial otherwise. "I wanted to crash it. I didn't, though. Still might. And I'm pretty sure Jimmy's not a fan of me," he added, smiling just slightly. "If you want me there, I'll come though." He knew he should say no, but he didn't want to. Just like he didn't want to clean the kitchen, and didn't want to hear Ike's empty words, and didn't want to return the car.
Rhys had always been grateful for the way they could sit in comfortable silence, the kind that didnât scrape at old wounds or demand confessions neither of them were ready to bleed out. With Teo, the quiet felt safe. It was nice that they both understood the limits of what the other could carry and silently agreed not to tip the balance. Teo dulled the sharpest edges of everything. For once, Rhys didnât feel the need to fill the space with noise or jokes or self-destruction. He always made Rhys feel like being there felt like enough, and in return Rhys had been able to show Teo sides of himself that he didn't show many others. Jimmy knew Rhys, but Teo knew sides he hadn't even shown Jimmy yet. And he hoped, god, he hoped so badly that he was something good for Teo too.
His fingers traced carefully over the bruising beneath the shirt again, slower now, more deliberate. There was a helpless ache blooming in his chest as he mapped each mark, memorizing their shape like it might matter later. He wished that he could smooth them away with every inch of skin he touched. That he could undo the damage simply by being gentler than the hands who caused the bruising were. Teo didnât deserve any of it. He deserved a kind of love that didnât bruise. A home that didnât feel like a battleground. A place where his body wasnât proof of someone elseâs temper. He deserved to be loved Rhys swallowed hard, jaw tightening as anger flickered low and steady in his ribs, but his touch stayed soft. It was always soft with Teo, and it always would be.
When Teo admitted heâd stolen Ikeâs car, the abruptness of it cut through the heaviness, and a quiet, involuntary smirk tugged at Rhysâs split lip despite the sting. Even here, even in the middle of all this, he couldnât quite stop being himself. âIâm sorry,â he murmured, a flicker of something rebellious lighting his eyes, âbut itâs extremely attractive of you to steal his car.â The image of Teo driving off in something expensive and unnecessary, something Ike likely prized more than he prized people, sparked a small, defiant warmth in his chest. But the smirk softened almost as quickly as it came. âIâm glad you didnât crash it,â he added, voice dropping. âAnd Iâm sorry⊠Iâm selfishly going to ask that you please not crash it. I like having you around, Teo.â
His gaze drifted back down to the bruises, thumb brushing lightly along the edge of one before he reluctantly withdrew his hand from beneath, letting the fabric fall back into place. âWhy do you think Jimmy doesnât like you?â he asked gently, brow faintly furrowed. It genuinely puzzled him. It was hard for Rhys to imagine anyone disliking Teo, especially Jimmy. He was thoughtful in ways people overlooked. Observant in the quietest corners. Loyal in a way that rooted deep and stayed there. Rhys shook his head slightly, almost dismissing the idea outright. âSorry,â he added under his breath, the apology layeredâfor prying, for not being able to fix whatever made Teo think Jimmy didn't like him, and for everything they were both carrying tonight.
He leaned back on his hands for a moment, fingers pressing into the cool sand as he tilted his face up toward the star-lit sky. The constellations blurred slightly in his vision, either from the cold or the emotion he wasnât naming. After a beat, his eyes found Teoâs again, softer now. âI do want you to come over,â he said gently, sincerity steady in his tone. There was no hesitation there. âDo you wanna head out now⊠or stay out here a little longer?â His voice carried no urgency, just an open doorâwhatever Teo needed, for as long as he needed it.
The longer he sat, the more he felt. His ribs hurt, sure, but he'd known they were going to when he first felt the blow to them earlier that night. His legs ached, from being crouched, from running into cabinets trying to get away from Ike's wrath. His arms hurt from protecting his head, most of the hits bouncing off his elbows and forearms. He was grateful the weather was so cold, he could wear long sleeves for as long as it took to heal properly. Teo could feel everything now that he was able to relax, tense muscles finally untensing as they sat there in silence. It was easy, the silence. He didn't feel the need to fill it, and he was hoping that worked for Rhys, too.
Each forming bruise ached and reminded him why he wasn't there, cleaning up a mess he hadn't made. Why he wasn't listening to his boyfriend remind him how loved he was when he didn't feel loved at all. When Rhys spoke up, asking him if things were bad, Teo wanted to laugh. Because only Rhys really knew how bad it could get, and Teo had never been that honest with him either. He hated talking about it, because it made it just that much more embarrassing that he kept going back. That he couldn't just walk away. But Rhys knew a lot of it.
Teo tilted his head back to look at the sky, taking as deep of a breath as he could without pain. "Yeah," he said softly, not knowing what else he could add to it. there was no point in telling him what had pissed off his partner tonight. Honestly, Teo wasn't sure he could even put words to it. He knew it was his own fault, because it almost always was, but that didn't make it less confusing to him. What seemed like a straightforward question to him, a comment made in earnest, was enough to set the other off sometimes. Teo had forgotten to walk on eggshells, that was all.
For a moment, he tensed, feeling Rhys' hands. But then he relaxed again, looking at the other with a sad sort of surprise. Ike had always been careful to avoid looking at bruises, pretending it hadn't happened was easier for him. Someone caring enough to look, and to really see what could be done to Teo, made his chest ache. He helped, rolling up the bottom of his sweater so Rhys could really see it. And he nodded, giving permission. Without thinking about his actions, he reached for Rhys' hand when he pulled away, pressing it gently against the blooming bruise on his ribcage. His hand was cold, that was soothing in its own way, but also just feeling skin on his that wasn't trying to hurt him helped. "I'm okay," he finally responded, regarding the whiskey. "I just-" he trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment. "I think I hate him. It's easy to hate him, when I'm not with him."
The silence stretched out between them like a familiar blanket, heavy with everything neither of them had the words for right then, but comfortable all the same. Rhys never had minded sitting in it with Teo; it didnât feel like a void that needed filling, just two people breathing the same cold night air and letting the weight they both carried settle without apology. The kind of quiet that didnât ask for anything back. There were only a handful of people who could ever get Rhys to slow down like this, and by handful he meant exactly two: Jimmy, whoâd been doing it for far too long, and now Teo. James used to be part of that short list, back when his name still felt like home instead of something rotten, but these days just hearing it twisted something vile in Rhysâs stomach, like barbed wire being slowly turned deeper and deeper until it caught on every raw edge he tried to ignore.
Heâd known a good chunk of what Teo faced behind closed doorsâenough to make his jaw tighten every time the guy showed up with that careful way of movingâbut Rhys also knew he didnât have the entire story, same as Teo didnât have all of his. Still, thereâd always been this understanding between them, quiet and steady, one of the nicest things Rhys had with Teo. He got him the way Jimmy did, but different too, like they saw the same cracks in each other without needing to shine a light on every single one.
When Teo reached for his hand, Rhys let the whiskey bottle slip from his fingers; it landed softly in the sand with a muffled thud. His own hands were surprisingly soft for someone who lived rough around every edge. He had fresh bruises of his own blooming across his ribs from that shitshow at the bar last weekend, and the split in his lip was still tender when he licked it, a thin scab pulling tight. The second Teoâs warmer skin met his palm, Rhys leaned in without thinking, pressing his forehead gently to Teoâs temple in a rare, wordless gesture of tenderness that said more than he ever could out loud.
He shifted then, turning more fully to face Teo, letting his hand slip a little higher under the hem of that sweater. Gentle fingertips traced the edges of the blooming bruise, mapping the damage with feather-light pressure, not to poke but to understand how bad it really was without stripping him bare right there on the sand. Rhys cared about Teo more than heâd ever let on, the kind of care that snuck up on him and stuck. âI hate him too,â he said quietly, the words low and rough, meaning Ike for Teoâs sake but mostly meaning James right then, the name still barbed in his throat. âOut of sight, out of mind.â He swallowed, thumb still brushing slow circles. âDo you want to crash at my place? I can help take care of these so itâs not so painful in the morning. You know Jimmyâhe wonât care or say shit. If heâs even at the apartment.â
"Please, stop," Teo doesn't remember much of the argument, or the fight that followed. It's like that a lot, though, his brain protecting him by making him forget. Or just simply reminding him of the good, the things Ike has done that keep him there. But right now, cowering in a corner of the kitchen with his arms over his head, he has trouble remembering the good. Ike's shouting is inaudible over the ringing in his ears, and the ache in his upper torso makes it difficult to breathe.
It's over soon. Teo can stand, shakily, and look at the state the kitchen is in. Utensils strewn all over the floor, skillet broken, the dinner he'd spent two hours on trashed on the ground or tossed across the granite countertops. Normally, he'd clean it up and go to bed. He'd let Ike swear he was sorry and it would never happen again. They would be intimate, Teo would hide himself a little more, and they would never talk about the x-ray of his ribs he'd be getting the next day.
Instead, he left. He took Ike's car, drove it as far as he dared. Teo decided at some point during his drive that the lake might be a quiet place to reflect. Hell, he could sleep in the car if he really wanted to. He often made plans like that, though. As if he'd really stay gone. But he never could.
The only reason he got out of the car was because he thought about swimming. Or maybe he wanted to see how deep he could go, how far this mental breakdown would take him. The water would be cold, but maybe that would soothe his ribs, or distract him from all the feelings he so desperately didn't want to feel anymore. Walking up to the fire had been unintentional, his feet guiding him without thinking, but when he heard a familiar voice he did feel some relief. It almost made him break down again, but instead he just smiled.
"No, but I'll be fine," he said, the first words spoken tonight that weren't a plea to his boyfriend to stop attacking him. "Are you okay?" Teo asked as he sat down, wincing and holding a hand to his side as he bent and moved. Once he was down, it was a little better though.
Rhys watched Teo lower himself onto the blanket, the way his body curled in on itself like it was trying to take up less space, the careful way he pressed a palm to his side. It physically ached to see him like thisâsharp and familiar, that same hollow twist in Rhysâs chest heâd felt too many times before. The firelight caught the faint sheen of sweat on Teoâs forehead, the tightness around his mouth that wasnât quite a grimace but wasnât anything close to relaxed either. Rhys stayed quiet, giving him room to breathe, to settle, letting the waves and the low snap of burning wood fill the silence between them. He didnât crowd, didnât reach, just let Teo exist in the space heâd chosen for himself tonight.
Teoâs answer came soft, and Rhys nodded once, slow, his attention sliding back to the fire. He poked at the embers again, watching them flare briefly before dimming. âNo, but Iâll also be fine,â he said, voice low and stripped of its usual lightness. Normally he wouldâve tossed back something quickâsome half-teasing deflection, a grin to make it lighterâbut the words felt too heavy tonight, and he was too tired to carry anything extra. He let them sit there instead, plain and honest, the same exhaustion he heard in Teoâs tone mirrored back.
Minutes passed in the crackle and hiss of the fire, the lake breathing steady against the shore. Rhys kept his gaze on the flames for a while longer, giving them both the dignity of not staring, but eventually he turned his head. âItâs bad again?â The question came out gentle, almost swallowed by the wind, because he already knew the answer. It was never not bad for Teo if you asked Rhys, not reallyâjust quieter some days, louder on others. His blue eyes drifted down to where Teoâs hand still cradled his side, the protective press of fingers against ribs that had taken too many hits.
He didnât wait for permission, didnât even think to ask. Rhys just shifted closer on the blanket, careful not to jar anything, and leaned in. âLet me look,â he murmured, voice steady even as something raw flickered behind his eyes. His hands hovered a moment before he reached to gently nudge Teoâs arm aside, just enough to see. The firelight wasnât kind; it showed the fresh swelling, the way the skin already looked bruised in places that hadnât been yesterday. Rhys exhaled through his nose, slow, looking the spot over. âThe water might help smooth it,â he says, still observing the spot, âgot some whiskey with me if you need a drink to help forget.â With that he gives Teo back his spot and lazily reaches for the bottle next to him. âWant a swig?â
The late-afternoon sun slanted low through the oaks lining the park path, turning the grass gold and throwing long shadows across the cracked asphalt trail. Rhys had let Chewy off-leash for a few minutesâbig mistake, as usualâfiguring the scruffy mutt would just sniff around the same patch of clover like he always did. Hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, faded jeans dusted with dog hair, Rhys crouched to retie a loose bootlace when Chewyâs ears perked straight up. Before Rhys could even straighten, the dog boltedâtail whipping like a propeller, paws kicking up divots of turf as he tore toward the far end of the field where the picnic tables sat empty. âChewyâdamn it!â Rhys muttered, already breaking into a jog, then a full sprint, heart kicking up from the sudden burst. Wind tugged at his hood as he cut across the grass, dodging a stray frisbee and ignoring the stitch starting in his side. Chewy was fast when he wanted to be, and right now he wanted to be very fast.
Rhys rounded the last bend near the old wooden benches and skidded to a stop, breath coming in short huffs. There was Chewyâtail wagging so hard his whole back end shookâbouncing excitedly around some stranger, paws planted on their legs, tongue lolling in pure joy like heâd just found his new favorite person in the world. Rhys slowed to a walk, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and let out a low, rueful chuckle as he closed the distance. âSorry about him,â he said, voice still a little winded but warm, shaking his head at the overenthusiastic pup. âHe never learned manners, apparently.â He reached down to clip the leash back on Chewyâs collar, giving the dog a half-hearted scruff-ruffle that did nothing to curb the tail-thumping frenzy. Chewy leaned into it shamelessly, then looked up at the stranger with bright, expectant eyes. Rhys glanced up too, catching their gaze with a crooked half-smile, the kind that said he was used to this chaos but not entirely sorry for it. âHope he didnât startle you. Heâs harmlessâjust thinks everyoneâs here to throw a ball he doesnât have.â ( @scottgrainger ) ( @nancysandoval )
The neon sign above the bar flickered like it was on its last legs, casting a sickly red glow over the cracked pavement outside. Inside, the place had been packed wall-to-wall with the usual night crowdâlocals nursing cheap drafts, a jukebox blaring some late-â90s alt-rock, and the low buzz of cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air. Rhys had been nursing a beer at the end of the counter, minding his own business, hoodie up and eyes half-lidded like he was trying to disappear into the background. Then some loudmouth in a flannel shirt started mouthing off about nothing in particular, annoying the women within his line of sight, words turning sharp, then fists flying before anyone could blink.
With every âget away from me.â Rhys felt his blood boil, and it really boiled when the man set his sights on him. One wrong shove, one solid crack of knuckles against jaw, and the whole thing snowballed. Chairs scraped, glass shattered, and by the time the bartender yelled for everyone to get the hell out, Rhys was already being hauled toward the door by two bouncers twice his size. âEAT SHIT, MOTHER FUCKER! AHAHA!!â He continues to taunt the guy, even as the bouncers grip tightens on him. The other guy looked like heâd gone ten rounds with a truckâsplit eyebrow streaming,nose crooked, staggering like he couldnât decide which way was up.
By now the alley smelled of stale beer and wet asphalt, the distant thump of music muffled through the brick wall at Rhysâs back. He slid down until he was half-leaning, half-sitting against the cold concrete, tasting copper where his lip had split open. Blood trickled slow and warm down his chin; he wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie, wincing at the sting but grinning through it anyway, crooked and unapologetic. Good. He wanted it to sting, wanted it to hurt, anything was better than the reality of what Rhys was going through.
Footsteps echoed from the mouth of the alley and Rhys lifted his head, eyes catching the dim light. He pushed off the wall just enough to look casual, like getting tossed out bleeding was a regular Tuesday, because it was, and let the grin widen. âGot a smoke?â he asked, voice rough around the edges but easy, like he was asking for the time instead of a light after a brawl. ( @littlesugarnspice )
The bonfire crackled low on the stretch of the lakefront, flames licking at driftwood and sending sparks spiraling into the salt-heavy night air. Rhys had dragged an old blanket out here after closing up the shop early, needing the kind of quiet that only came with waves and firelight. He sat cross-legged on the sand, hoodie pulled up against the chill, poking at the embers with a stick while the glow painted shifting shadows across his face. The playlist in his earbuds had died an hour agoâsomething soft and lo-fi that matched the moodâbut he hadnât bothered to restart it. Just him, the fire, the rhythmic crash of the ocean, and the low hum of thoughts he usually drowned out with noise.
Heâd come out here to breathe, to let the ache settle instead of fighting it, and for once the solitude felt less like punishment and more like permission. He wanted so badly to be okay again, to erase everything that haunted his mind, but he couldnât find it in him to fight for it. To fight for himself. Then movement caught at the edge of the firelight, dark blue eyes narrowing against the night until the figure resolved into someone familiar. He blinked, surprise flickering across his features before it softened into a small, tired half-smile. He pulled one knee up, resting an arm on it as he watched them approach. âOh, hey,â he said, warmly smiling. âDidnât expect to see you out here.â He tilted his head, studying their face in the orange glow, the easy warmth in his tone undercut by genuine concern. âYou okay? Looks like the night dragged you out here too.â He patted the blanket beside him once, an open invitation without pressure, then went back to nudging a log in the fire so it caught better. ( @chxsingthunder )
The junkyard smelled like rust, old oil, and the faint promise of bad decisions, which was exactly why Rhys loved it. He stood in the middle of a row of gutted sedans and pickups, hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped black jeans, eyeing the beat-up â98 Civic that looked like it had lost a fight with a semi and then crawled away to die. The paint was more primer than color, one headlight was duct-taped in place, and the driverâs door creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie when he yanked it open. The sellerâa grizzled guy with a cigarette permanently fused to his lipâhad shrugged and said, âRuns. Mostly.â Rhys had laughed, handed over a wad of cash that felt suspiciously light for something with four wheels, and slid behind the wheel anyway.
He didnât care if the thing ran fine, mostly, or if it was two seconds from blowing up. Who even cared about life anymore? What was the purpose? Rhys certainly didnât care and even less about the purpose. He just needed adrenaline, a lot of it, anything to make him numb. The engine coughed to life on the third try, rattling like it was personally offended, but it held. He peeled out of the lot with a grin splitting his face, windows down, music blasting something loud and nostalgic through the single working speaker. You could hear him coming three blocks away, and he loved every minute of it. But this was life for Rhys now. He just acted, didnât really put much though, and he searched for what would fill him with something that evening.
Twenty minutes later he was bumping across an empty field on the edge of Ennora, the kind of wide-open nowhere that teenagers used for bonfires and burnout donuts. The Civic protested every pothole, suspension groaning like it was about to give up, but Rhys just cranked the volume higher and let the dust cloud trail behind him like a victory flag. He killed the engine in the middle of the open field, hopped out, and stretched his arms over his head, inhaling the sharp scent of cut hay and gasoline. Chewy wouldâve loved thisâprobably already losing his mind chasing imaginary rabbitsâbut the his boy was safe at home. Without much thought, he took a quick bump to refuel his veins, and then Rhys pulled out his phone, thumbs flying over the screen as he texted Jimmy.
âHey, jerkface. Meet me here [google pin dropped]. I have a present for you.â He leaned back against the warm hood, lighting a joint while he waited, already picturing Jimmyâs face when he saw this glorious piece of rolling chaos. He laid on the hood of the car, staring up the starry night sky, exhaling the thick smoke from his life. ( @moonlit-wonderer )
The kitchen smelled like garlic and fresh herbs, warm light spilling from the single overhead fixture onto the cluttered counter where Diego had everything spread out like a battlefield he was winning. He stood at the stove in an old band tee, dark hair falling into his eyes as he stirred a simmering pan of creamy mushroom risotto, the rice glossy and just shy of perfect. A cutting board nearby held the remnants of chopped shallots and thyme, and two plates waited on the small table heâd already set. Diego hummed along under his breath, tasting the sauce with the tip of his spoon before adding a quick grind of black pepper. He was in that focused, happy zone where the world shrank down to the sizzle in the pan and the quiet rhythm of stirring as he waited for his boyfriend to return home.
The front door clicked open, followed by the familiar jangle of keys hitting, and Diegoâs head lifted just as Ollie stepped into view. âHey babe! Just in time,â he called out over his shoulder, voice bright and warm, giving the risotto one last gentle stir before turning the burner down low. âDinnerâs just about done.â He wiped his hands on the dish towel slung over his shoulder, then reached for the bottle of red heâd splurged on earlierânothing crazy, but the label looked fancy enough to feel special. He held it up with a little grin, eyebrows raised like heâd pulled off a heist. âHow was your day? Look, I got us some fancy wine.â He set the bottle down and crossed the small kitchen in two steps, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Ollieâs lips. âSit, sit. Iâll pour.â ( @stirringupsunshine )
The apartment was dark except for the blue glow of Diegoâs monitor and the soft flicker from the TV. Diego was slouched deep in the gaming chair, headset mic hovering near his lips, controller gripped like his life depended on it. The raid had just gone sideways for the third time in a rowâsome idiot on the team had pulled the entire room, wipescreens flashing, and Diegoâs voice cracked through the Discord call in a mix of exasperated laughter and rapid-fire Spanish.
âÂĄNo mames, cabrĂłn! You gotta he shitting me, man! You saw that ass aggro me from across the map? Thatâs not mechanics, thatâs personal!â He slammed the controller down on his thigh, head tipping back against the chair with a groan that dissolved into a bright, breathless laugh. âAlright, alrightânext pull Iâm calling shots, you hear me? No more lone-wolf bullshit.â It was real Leroy Jenkins vibes if you asked him. The chat lit up with agreement (and a couple of roasting emojis), and after one more failed attempt they all bailed to the lobby, the tension bleeding out into easy trash-talk and cooldown breathing. Diego leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and reached for the little wooden box on the coffee table. He popped it open, started breaking down flower with practiced fingers, the grinder clicking softly. He licked the paper, rolled it tight, and flicked his lighter onceâjust testing the flameâbefore glancing back at the screen where the party was still hanging out, icons glowing idle.
He exhaled slow, voice dropping to that lazy, post-rage contentment as he sparked the joint and took the first careful pull. Smoke curled up past the mic. âSo, man,â he said around the exhale,âyou ready for a couple more rounds? Or you tapping out on me already? I got snacks, vibes, and zero plans to sleep tonight.â He settled back, joint balanced between his fingers, waiting for the reply like the lobby timer wasnât even tickingâopen, easy, the kind of late-night energy that made strangers feel like old friends. ( @moonlit-wonderer )
The dim lights of the venue had finally been cranked up, chasing the last stragglers out into the night, and the stage smelled like spilled beer, sweat, and the faint ozone tang of overworked amps. Diego was crouched near the edge of the low platform, guitar case open like a clamshell at his feet, carefully winding the cable around his hand in that practiced loop heâd done a thousand times. His dark hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, sleeves shoved up past his elbows, and there was still that electric hum under his skin. He glanced up as Cadler wandered closer, catching the way the overhead lights caught the sweat on his bandmateâs skin, and let out a low, satisfied laugh.
âGreat show tonight,â Diego said, voice rough from singing backup and shouting over the monitors, but warm with real pride. He flashed Cadler a crooked grin and slotted his guitar into the case with a gentle click. âYou were on fire up there, man. Crowd ate it up.â He snapped the latches shut, then straightened, wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans before leaning back against the speaker stack. âYou ready for the gig this weekend? Weâve been requested more at that one bar we were at two weeks ago. Owner texted me earlier, said they want us back for three Fridays in a row if we can swing it. Kinda cool and crazy all at once, huh?â ( @littlesugarnspice )
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