if i look back, i am lost
we're not kids anymore.
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@okoden
a private & mutuals only blog for 𝖏𝖚𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝖉𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖚𝖝, lead singer & guitarist for post-hardcore band 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓'𝖘 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖘. bear witness to his life & resurrection as a guardian angel. themes of religious trauma, heavy substance abuse, mental illness, death, & exploitation within the music industry will be found here. PLEASE READ RULES !! managed by fawn ( 30s, she/they, mexicana )
𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙳 ♱ 𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙶 ♱ 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 ♱ 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚈 ♱ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂
eddie really doesn't expect him to say yes, it had been a spur of the moment decision, something burning in him not to let him go just yet. he would have blamed it on being jostled around by the crowd if he had said no, embarrassment far too much to bear.
"i'll get you anything you want," he says, so earnest and eager after having been given a chance. his smile is wide as he looks away from the other man's eyes. "and it's eddie. you can call me eddie." he refrains from taking his hand for now, leading him over to the bar where no one's crowding around. as they wait for the bartender to make their way over, eddie grins right at julian. "i really liked watching you play. like, dude you're amazing."
❝ eddie. i’m jules. ❞ squinting, julian leans against the makeshift bar. amusement tinges his features, making it obvious that his narrowed eyes are not to be taken seriously. he can’t get a read on eddie for some reason. ❝ did you just call me “dude” ? ❞ this revelation prompts a laugh from julian in mild disbelief. what in the hell is going on here?
eyes slowly roving over eddie from head to toe, the musician doesn’t make a set decision to walk away just yet. ❝ and here i thought you wanted me to fuck you. ❞ the statement itself is brazen, not unlike his body language that threatens to lure in every person within a fifty mile radius. julian directs it to eddie, ignoring the disapproving looks from strangers who’d heard his assumption voiced aloud. he tilts his head curiously. ❝ i’m getting some mixed signals here... dude. ❞
"I dare you to try."
@okoden
"A FUCKING PIERCING?"
God forbid they have a normal day out. Grab a coffee, play some snooker, perhaps? No. For some reason Alfendi could not fathom, every aspect of his life had to involve blood and mutilation-- and yes, it was to a lesser degree, but the point remained.
"I'm not going to stab myself for your bloody amusement! If you want one, be my guest... but you can piss off if you think I'm sticking a bit of metal in my face."
the dramatics are expected. welcome, even. because what is the point of hanging out with someone if they don't match your energy? julian knew what he was doing when he'd suggested a less conventional idea for their outing, only half-joking. even so, he pauses right in front of alfendi just outside of the café they're heading into and reaches up, up, up. a single painted fingernail gently presses into alfendi's brow bone as if to prove a point, smug smile tugging at julian's lips. ❝ all i'm saying is that you could pull off an eyebrow piercing. you've got that cute nerd thing going for you. trust me, people eat that shit up. ❞
without adding another bullet point to his argument, julian gracefully steps back out of alfendi's space as if he'd never been there to begin with and pushes the café door open for them, taking his sunglasses off to look up at the menu. they couldn't be more different, standing side by side as they are— julian in his super low rise jeans and a cropped tee underneath his leather jacket, alfendi towering over him in his trousers and oversized jumper. if one would pass them by on the sidewalk or at the grocery store together, it would seem like they don't know each other at all.
a piercing studio that smells like disinfectant.
@okoden
robin is sitting in a leather chair positioned under some framed prints. the models in the pictures are all showcasing piercings, assuming it's the work of the owner of the studio they're in right now. she leans over to julian with her nose wrinkled, "i feel like we're in hannibal lector's basement. are you sure he's just gonna pierce you?"
eyes look around more, metal shelves and other pieces of furniture to further highlight the "clean" or "chrome" aesthetic of the place makes her shiver again. robin knows the reason for going to a private studio is to avoid going to a more regular, walk-in place where he could easily be spotted and ruin their time to hangout together.
❝ right. scare the shit out of me minutes before i'm gonna have a needle shoved through my tongue. 'cause that's so the move, ❞ julian teases. he's not scared in the least bit about this appointment, comfortable enough with the thought of temporary pain for a permanent accessory. it'll be his fourth piercing so far— daith, lobe, and helix on his left ear already adorned with glinting silver jewelry. julian had done one small y2k themed photo shoot this week and left the set with big ideas.
leafing through a magazine, he looks up at robin's nervous posture. ❝ you know what would look nice on you? a belly button piercing. ❞
˖ ‧ ᯓ ☦︎ ▒ . ❘❘❘ ──── ilya holds up his hand as if to say stop talking in / @okoden's direction .
❛ do not fucking say cupcakes . ❜ ilya pulls a face , halfway disgusted at the thought of his friend being perceived by anyone as sexual . he knows julian is sort of a sex symbol , defying gendered expectations in his clothing and looks . people told ilya he was a sex symbol , the russian menace . he was in his own unique field , mostly appreciated by women for his looks and by men for his prowess . it was an entirely different culture , they didn’t pay ilya to look good , but it sure did help . ilya got his own handful of sponsors and commercials . nowhere near the amount as shane hollander , evident in the ads he saw everywhere that haunted his every waking moment . it was a constant reminder that the man he could not have was wanted by everyone . probably dads too , like julian . ──── ❛ and what thee fuck is a healing breath ? ❜
a shrug settles on ilya’s shoulders . he had never considered his teammates as ‘ hot bitches ’ before . they were men he got sweaty and gross with , and not in a hot way . they were coworkers . yet ilya could still see why others would find them attractive too . sure , it wasn’t his taste , the big burly men soaring upwards of six feet - eight inches with biceps the size of christmas hams . it made sense that others would like that , especially julian . he apparently had a thing for dad bods that ilya was now curling his lip at uncomfortably . ──── ❛ i will see what i can do . for you . you can not actually think all of my teammates are hot though , right ? ❜
hazel eyes widen at the thought of someone ilya knew hooking up with jules . this was back before ilya even knew jules , and yet their paths could have potentially crossed in this strange way . it makes him stomach swirl , of course other hockey players were gay , it was inevitable . and yet an unfiltered sense of hope curls through him . if other people could sleep with who they wanted , even famous ones , why couldn’t ilya ? ever the gossip , ilya leans forward slightly , shoving more food in his mouth . ──── ❛ you used to sleep with hockey player ? who ? what team does he play for ? ok , obviously he likes men but i mean , which hockey team ? ❜
the demonstration of what a healing breath is sounds more like a struggle, but julian doesn't put forth any more effort, distracted now. ❝ from what i've seen, yeah. i dunno, you should pull up a team photo and refresh my memory. ❞ julian flashes ilya another grin, cheeky as can be. it's a complicated subject, when he really thinks about it. because for as long as he can remember, he's relied on the attention of men who look like ilya's teammates for a quick hit of validation. even when in the depths of a therapy session or two where he tries to peel back that layer and examine it in all its messy, nuanced origins, julian can't bring himself to face the reason he needs that validation to begin with. he is beautiful and interesting and intelligent, despite the front he puts up to guard his heart. needing attention from anyone, especially those who carry themselves in a traditionally masculine way, feels like an affliction more than anything.
ilya's sudden interest amuses julian. this feels like a night out with the girls from riotess, where he regales them with stories from his many hookups and they all listen on in abject horror, the band comprised of mostly lesbians. ilya has the same face right now that babs does whenever julian asks the band to guess who he slept with last. ❝ i don't remember, it's been a while. definitely a new york team though, ❞ he spills with a shrug, valley girl accent strongest on the definitely.
he doesn't drop a name just yet, julian having entirely too much fun watching the expression on ilya's face change by the second. sometimes, the attention from friends was enough to refill that need to be the center of the universe as much as the attention from men he intended to sleep with did. ❝ now that i think about it, i don't think he was out the whole time we were fucking around. we'd meet up in hotels. and he came to a show once, but all the flowers he used to send me never had his name. i only knew it was him 'cause he'd call and ask if i got 'em. ❞
@okoden said : ❛ they won't hesitate, you will be slaughtered. ❜
❝ nothing new there, man. someone is always trying to slaughter us. they should get a new hobby, i've heard great things about padel. ❞ richard tries to keep himself cynical, even when his frantic heart is bordering on hopeful. today is a good day ; the kind of day where breathing doesn't feel like inhaling fire through scarred lungs. tomorrow will suck again. it always does ! right now, though [ . . . ] right now he gets to forget. he gets to experience the simple joys of casually brushing against his own neck, without immediate regret and whimpering a moment later.
today, he gets to pretend that being able to sit at the bottom of the lake is a worthy tradeoff for all the days during which he can only float upside down.
❝ you would save me, right ? pretty please ? i'll go and get you a sparkly rock or a fish fossil from the bottom of the lake if you do. ❞
there are few people julian can relate to on a deeper level. to be experimented on, poked and prodded with needles, made into a guinea pig ... it is an experience that changes one's outlook on humanity as a whole. they'd both entrusted doctors to heal them, and emerged on the other side as someone else entirely. something else entirely. desperation can drive the most rational person to agree on anything that will save them, but it's those who take advantage of that desperation who are the real devils.
❝ just wish they'd come up with something original next time, ya know? like, at least put me in a saw trap so i get some cardio out of it. ❞ julian smiles at the mention of water. as someone who'd been primarily raised in a beach town, he misses the sea. the lake is no ocean, but it will have to do for now. ❝ find me an ammonite fossil and no one'll even have the chance to snatch you up. thumbs, meet eye sockets. ❞ he holds both hands up and wiggles his fingers.
𝓗e wonders in that moment what God would have to say about this rendezvous ... one of his precious guardian angels taking a midnight stroll through outer Paris with an absolute devil — a devil endowed with a dark gift that defied every ᴺᴬᵀᵁᴿᴬᴸ law, all that was good and moral. The thought amused him more than anything else … maybe now, God could begin to understand even just a fraction of the betrayal and ᵀᴼᴿᴹᴱᴺᵀ he experienced in the time he’d been plagued with sifting through Earth’s savage garden.
The light of the moon streaks delicately through the trees, highlighting the curls of smoke that fall between both their lips. The clouded ᴾᴸᵁᴹᴱ thickens as Lestat huffs out something akin to soft laughter. Though he might have been the apex predator of every room he walked into, he was most certainly not the only evil beast that prowled through shadows in the dead of night.
“Well, I don’t live here anymore,” Lestat teases lightly as the green, lush lungs that encapsulated the edges of Paris engulfed them entirely. “But it wasn’t far from here that I had buried myself in the dirt for nearly a century.”
He wondered if one could qualify that as living ... hiding from the world, because he simply couldn't bear the complete and utter despair that had nearly ripped his unbeating heart from his chest. It was about half a step away from being well and truly dead.
considering that every moment of existence for julian is a punishment, he doesn't put too much stock into what anyone above his ranking thinks about his extracurricular activities. he has nothing to lose as of late. embarrassingly enough, in the past year he has been in the depths of a despair so profound that he's begged the archangels to tear him apart. no, living ( if that was even what one could call this ) is the more severe sentence. to cease to exist would be too merciful an option.
so he spends his free time roaming, finding trouble to get into. if he cannot find peace then he will make his own. most of the time this means mirroring his first life, filling it with vices and things to indulge in. when illicit substances and trysts are not enough, he sleeps, though his body never feels any real need to recharge.
the truth is that immortality would suit julian if he desired it, but he's never wanted to shed anything more. sometimes he imagines himself peeling away the layers of his skin and feathers until he is nothing, as if he could peel away his divinity with it, though he knows by now both would simply regenerate with time.
❝ in the dirt? i hope that's a euphemism for something else. ❞ an image of lestat six feet under the ground is deposited into his thoughts at these words, julian's brow furrowing. worms and other creepy crawlies make this unappealing, though he supposes the quiet would be another hell entirely. to be alone underground with one's thoughts for that long is not something julian wants to experience. ❝ because if it isn't, i'm going to need a moment of silence to mourn all of the outfits you could've been showing off instead. ❞
❝ you're such a clever boy. see, this is why i don't put every drink on your tab. ❞ if it is a kind shoulder to cry on that he seeks, she is the wrong woman for the job. her shoulders are hostile architecture, urban design made to keep people away. adelé is all tall tale and customer service in the shape of a headbutt to the face, but with cheap drinks to go along with it. even now, years after she grew into her teeth, she is still bound to the art of calling herself ❛ lady ❜ and omitting the truly gruesome details to make herself somewhat appealing to the regular customer.
not that he is regular ⎯⎯⎯ julian understands the game better than most, and that makes him particularly special.
❝ what kind of pest are you willing to deal with ? ❞ she leans closer, elbow pressed against the sticky mess of her bar, hand propping up her cheek. a mock imitation of boredom, even when she is incredibly interested in his offer. ❝ because i have heard word of a rat, but it might be a big game for someone coming back. might want to start with flies first. ❞
❝ flies, huh? you think that little of my skills? ❞ he asks, head tilting curiously. he can't find it within himself to be offended over this—adelé has never seen him in action, and therefore has no baseline to pass any real judgement on said skills. and besides ... he likes coming here in his downtime. to start down any path that would lead to burning this bridge seems like a rather stupid thing to do, even for him.
❝ no bullshit, i'm willing to deal with anything you want me to deal with. consider it payment for all of those drinks you don't put on my tab, ❞ he says in a more serious tone. julian is a solitary creature for the most part, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate a mutually beneficial alliance once in a while, even if it's in exchange for something as small as a place to visit when he's too lost in his own head. ❝ but if you want me to start small, i can bring you some little trophies first. ❞ like a cat bringing someone a bird to their doorstep.
We have to duet on this track. For the single. Can you manage that?
VELVET AND VINYL, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING LESTAT DE LIONCOURT & JULIAN DEVEREAUX.
𝓛estat didn’t always play well with others. Quite notoriously so, as if it were a compulsion, he seemed to revolt against every command, rule, or mere suggestion he’d ever been given. A true rebel at heart, he’d heard … though, typically, this resulted in him being a pain in the ass to work with. His own bandmates thought it a complete miracle that he’d even bothered to show up to this session — their frustration evident, though they dare not voice it out of fear of whatever rage simmered and lurked beneath the surface of the vampire’s skin.
When he had so sloppily waltzed into the room, decked out in the finest silks and leather that money could buy, lips soaked in the aftermath of a feeding frenzy, Lestat appeared to be a man on the edge. Drunken from the blood, disorderly, mere moments away from a crash out and held together by only the most threadbare of seams. Thick framed sunglasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, obscuring half of his vibrant blue eyes. Everything in his demeanor screamed chaotic boredom — like a madman fixing for some kind of stimulus, something to soak up the dullness of eternity.
❛ Oh, can I manage that? Can I manage that? ❜ The words carry their own level of bite behind them, making a vibrant mockery of the question at hand. ❛ Why don’t you ask the multiple platinum records with my name on them if I can manage that? Or maybe! We just get this over with before the end of this century, please. ❜
from the moment lestat enters the studio, julian knows he's met his match. had this happened in any other setting like a night out on the town or holed up in some dingy bathroom at a house party, julian would have found the challenge enticing. perhaps even charming. however, as it so happens, music is the singular thing he cares enough about to protect the integrity of. sober for once, he sits with his boots kicked up onto a table, arms crossed and gaze critical.
he does not share the same fear of the man in front of him as the others in the room do. ignorance of the truth has a lot to do with this, though with how many brushes with death julian has had within the past few years thanks to his struggle with addiction, it is difficult to say whether or not he would truly be afraid if he was privy to the same information.
❝ are you done? ❞ he asks in a flat tone, and he doesn't feel the need to point out his own impressive catalog of music and all the accolades that have come with it. julian's body of work speaks for itself ... even if many still want to come out of the woodwork and cry nepotism whenever it does well. ❝ what're you in a hurry for, anyway? you knew this session was booked weeks ago, ❞ he points out as he sits up properly in his chair, platform boots thudding gently against the floor. ❝ did you make an emergency appointment to bleach your asshole, or something? ❞
"i do, i just assumed you would have important things like that here in your place." theo teased, standing to scratch at his head before beginning to walk back out. "just gimme one sec-" he returns momentarily after going back out to rummage around the messy trunk of his car, slowing his extreme speed just before he comes back into view with a toolkit carried at his side.
theo continues as he situates himself under the sink with rolled sleeves, "the parties weren't all bad over at my school, a lot of the hipster crowd knew how to throw fun ones-" he interrupts himself with a sigh as he notices that this doesn't need any serious fixing at all. theo's head pops out to almost shake his head at the other. "julian, all you needed to do was tighten the slip joints."
❝ how is a wrench more important than my giant costco box of liquid i.v.? riddle me that! ❞ julian calls out dramatically as he watches theo disappear to retrieve his tools. when theo returns, julian is draped over the counter like a sickly victorian child, dark curls spilling over onto a discarded pizza box from the night prior. he should really clean the kitchen when he gets back from work later.
as much as julian doesn't find anything interesting about higher education, he listens intently when theo mentions his own experience in connection to the social aspect. he likes to think he's a better host than any frat boy could ever hope to be. perhaps that should be his new mission this summer: throwing the best party his apartment building has ever seen. he makes a mental note of it. ❝ no idea what a slip joint is, but i owe you one. ❞
julian sits up and looks at theo, gears in his head turning. ❝ hey, you should come to work with me tonight. i'm going in to do inventory after closing and we're gonna have a metric fuck ton of bins with clearance records to toss out if they haven't sold in a while. that's how i ended up with half my collection. ❞
mikasa is quiet with her observations as always. when julian starts to get sentimental, she notices in the softening of his words— the offer to have her tag along on tour in the first place is all she needs to understand how much this means to julian. she is seldom one to get mushy herself, but she reciprocates in her own way by trying to be a sense of stability in his fast paced life that he can rely on.
julian offers some casual peptalk that makes mikasa huff quietly and shake her head at the absurdity of having even half of the confidence julian does. she doesn't say it outright, but she admires him for it.
❝ but my shitty little apartment is so peaceful, ❞ she counters as they walk into the night, paying no mind to any lingering hotel guests who might overhear, ❝ there's so many stupid people everywhere and i can only endure so much before i start taking physical damage. ❞
❝ and it'll still be peaceful whenever you go back. it's not going anywhere. you can stay in and hide when you're old and your knees are creaky. ❞ if there's anything julian's mother has taught him over the years, it's to not waste his youth ... and though she disapproves of a few methods he chooses to execute this sentiment, julian cannot deny that she's right. one day, he may be unable to travel and party and explore. a long and healthy life is never guaranteed to anyone.
as they walk along the sidewalk in the direction of the gas station, julian looks over at mikasa and smiles softly. for all of the grief he gives her about being more social, he really does love her for the person she is. what a rare and beautiful thing to find true friendship in a world that is not always the most kind to its inhabitants.
❝ you know what we should do next week on our day off? ❞ julian says with a grin as they wait at the corner for the intersection lights to let them cross the street, ❝ we should find one of those paintball places and tell the whole crew. teams of a dozen. either that or one of those rage rooms and just break a bunch of shit. ❞
sooner or later, you're gonna hate it. ( FROM KAZIMÍR )
❝ and if i said i already hate it? ❞ julian's gaze is critical, expression default at this point. immortality has never been an appealing concept, not even at the peak of his once-held career. dying when his catalog of music had no serious lows had seemed like a good way to go, but julian hadn't even been in the ground long enough for any whispers of a biopic before being brought back.
he'll never taste death again. the archangels have made certain of this. ❝ you're a little late. i've hated it since day one. begged for them to destroy me, but they wouldn't. still won't. ❞
@𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱: cwoissant 🥐
eddie wishes he didn't stutter when he said yeah, i'm totally fine. he's a little out of breath from being hauled on stage, though if eddie were to be honest it might also be because the man in front of him is so damn attractive.
he had come to the show expecting good live music, maybe smoke a joint out back and relax for one night. the show had been really good, eddie not wanting the night to end just yet. it's the same kind of feeling he gets chasing tornado's, heart beating faster.
"can i buy you a drink?"
❝ ... you wanna buy me a drink? ❞ julian breathes out an incredulous laugh, having fully expected the stranger to request direction to the nearest medical tent after having his lungs crushed to high heaven by the crowd. he looks okay to julian now as he gives him a proper once-over though, if a little disheveled— ❝ okay. ❞
abandoning his water bottle by depositing it on his drummer's head, julian follows the stranger down the stairs into the chaotic fairgrounds. he can practically feel the eyes burning into the back of his head from his band mates and crew, the frontman's post-show disappearances frequent. ❝ you got a name, or do i have to guess? you're getting me a churro after that drink, by the way. maybe even a funnel cake and corndog. i'm not a cheap date. ❞
angels fall with broken wings. ( FROM ALUKAH )
the words garner a physical reaction from the angel, eyes flashing white in anger before resuming their dark amber hue. though his wings are currently cloaked from anyone's prying gaze, they twitch and give julian cause to shiver.
he remembers what it was like, falling to earth after the war heaven had endured, how exposed and frail he'd felt during the block of time where his wings had needed to heal. being unable to flee any unsavory situation had put him on edge for months, feathers growing back at a painstakingly slow rate.
scowling, julian turns to face alukah again. ❝ well unfortunately for everyone who hates me, they didn't stay broken. ❞
i trust my information 'cause i know my source is good. ( from dc jules )
THE CRUX, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING BUCKY BARNES AND JULIAN DEVEREAUX.
𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡, UNDERGROUND FACILITY. Every moment of rest that he could manage to scrape together was always inevitably shattered by a knock on the door, a ring of the phone. Somebody, somewhere, needing something from him. Pleading their cases, spinning words together he couldn’t find it in himself to sweep under the rug. ( 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄’𝚁𝙴 𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚁, 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚁. )
This time was hardly any different. Same shit, different day … the forces of evil conspiring with their vapid ideas of world domination, forever perpetuating human suffering. The experiments. It was always experiments. Animals, humans, men, women, children, didn’t seem to matter. These two were half living proof of such a thing, having been sucked into the vortex of battery time and time again.
❛ Well, I would damn well hope so. ❜ Otherwise, this little trip would have been for nothing. The tall walls and vaulted ceilings swallowed them whole, dripping in a grey sterility. Pristine laboratory equipment layered like perfect dominos across the sprawling floors, towering doors into other sectors lining the edges of the room. Aside from the two of them, the place was empty. Abandoned, quiet, and still — he was certain if he dropped a pin, it would echo. ❛ Place looks empty, but clearly someone is keeping everything clean … what else did your source tell you? ❜
infiltrating places such as these never gets any easier. if anything, it kicks up excess trauma like dust and blinds julian for a few days following each mission, reminding him that at the end of the day, he cannot change what was done to him. he still has vivid nightmares more often than he would like to admit, majority of them revolving around the day he’d been stuck full of needles and injected with a foreign substance. the very composition of his body remains forever altered, a permanent souvenir of an unauthorized experiment gone awry. the hole in julian’s heart his mother entrusted the doctors to fix had been closed, but only as a by-product of their nefarious, clandestine intentions.
❝ they said you were a grumpy old man, ❞ he lies for his own entertainment as he adjusts the leather glove on his right hand and slides a drawer open, disappointed at the absence of contents, ❝ and i was all— great! that's my type! ❞ julian grins, entirely too cheshire-like for the serious task at hand. a coping mechanism, he'd rather make light of everything than dwell on the past. he is a force to be reckoned with now ... no one can capture and drag him back into a lab for further research. no one can rip away his autonomy again and force him to endure more unbearable pain.
❝ this place suuucks. no silent alarm? no guards? i wore my good boots for nothing. ❞ said boots begin their trek into the next room as julian searches for anything that may lead them to a new location. irritation clouds his thoughts. he'd anticipated some sort of fight, one to tide him over until the next. it's been weeks since he's seen any action, and unlike most of his peers and acquaintances, julian not only adores conflict but invites it in with open arms.
˖ ‧ ᯓ ☦︎ ▒ . ❘❘❘ ──── ilya did not typically get nervous . / @okoden was right , he had no reason to be .
brushing his earlobe with his forefinger and his thumb , soothing the red and nervous skin with his frozen hands , ilya forces himself to take a deep breath , eyes darting to his friend across the aisle . ilya had dragged julian there to get snacks and cigarettes , something to ease the edge in his gut . get yourself together , rozanov . julian wasn’t wrong , just not for the reason anyone thought . of course shane would say yes , the only one more obsessed with their boyfriend than ilya was shane . and they were literally dating each other . grabbing a bag of salt & vinegar chips and a can of coke , ilya pulls a face . ──── ❛ i am not nervous that he will say no , shithead . he likes me very much ... i just want it to be perfect for him . shane has never had this sort of thing before and he deserves something nice . he is important to me , i want him to remember it forever . ❜
julian holds his own selections to his chest, ( a packet of peach rings and a cherry slush alani ) cigarette still in his other hand. the cashier gives him a fixed stare at first, spell broken by someone else entering the convenience store and setting off the chimes above the door. julian returns to his attempt at reassuring his friend. ❝ you can borrow the convertible that night if you think it'll help the vibe. just park it far away from everyone else so some dipshit doesn't scratch the paint. ❞
he assumes his own boyfriend will be into something more like the concept of anti-prom as a way to stick it to the man, but the more julian thinks about it, the more he begins to warm up to the idea of dragging said boyfriend to prom anyway. they can take the van if necessary. setting his things on the counter to pay, julian plunks his driver's license down and requests a fresh pack of cigarettes, staring back at the cashier's irritable expression. ❝ jesus h. christ. take a fuckin' picture, it'll last longer. ❞
