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@phveniix
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ofcscottys:
almost every time he makes plans to hang out with nix, scott considers ghosting last minute. delete his number, block him on everything – completely snip him out of his life. not for any fault of the other’s ( truthfully, scott enjoyed hanging out with nix quite a bit ). yet, somehow, being around him seemed like dragging himself through a couple hours of brutal self torture. a weird case of masochism. scott liked to blame his lack of friends and impulse control for finding himself contemplating whether or not texting the other at 2 am asking if he wanted to hang out that day was a good idea. he always ends up thinking about him when he knows he probably shouldn’t. scott knows this is the most they’ll ever be. a couple hours, maybe one or twice a week.. window shopping or getting high in his living room. whichever came first. the store is feels claustrophobic. he wouldn’t call himself a neat freak but, having grown up without much, scott’s gotten pretty good at not hanging on to too much. this place had to be the opposite of his house. it’s cluttered, wall to wall, with shelves of crystals, candles, incense, and things the blonde had no interest in whatsoever. scott only went in because nix seemed excited to go look around. he kept his hands in his pockets, however, has they navigated through the store. shoulders too broad to squeeze through a few of the tighter corners, laughing over his own stupid jokes way too loud. he nods as if an expert of essential oils is educating him on the matter.“and– how do they know what the monster smells like? i imagine he doesn’t smell great.” he laughs, trying to keep his voice low. scott takes the little bottle, taking a quick sniff. he coughs, “yeah, that is no aphrodisiac. the flowery one was better.” scott is never sure how to react after one of nix’s self deprecating jokes. had he been parker, his best friend, he would’ve laughed and agreed that he had a shit personality even though he obviously thinks the opposite. with nix, it’s hard to not just go quiet a moment. he didn’t like letting him think that way about himself – but scott didn’t want to appear too zealous over stopping those thoughts either. he musters a short chuckle, “…maybe there’s an oil to attract then?” he wished he hadn’t said anything at all.
scott is, of course, the only person in the entire world who would question the validity of an essential oil really smelling like the fictional monster from a book written in the early nineteenth century--especially considering the name ‘frankincense’ is in all likelihood not actually referring to frankenstein’s monster. not unless the essential oils company had hired a whole lot of millennials to run it. it’s sweet, somehow, although nix knows better than to tell scott that. he likes his strong and silent archetype. nix has never told him he knows that, either. but it is sweet, mostly because other people would have probably just rolled their eyes at him and chalked his ramblings up to being high. which--maybe it is, but he still likes the fact that scotty indulges him. “they’re only guessing, mate,” he answers him with what is supposed to be a tone of seriousness but falls about a mile short of the mark. “i mean, there’s not much room for speculation, is there? rotting body parts, mostly. and the citrus, like i mentioned.” he laughs a little too loudly when scott actually takes the thing and smells it, earning another glare from the shopkeeper. it’s as he’s replacing the frankincense oil--which is maybe not supposed to smell like frankenstein’s monster but still smells really bad all the same--that he hears scotty’s new suggestion and grins. “a scent that attracts,” he hums, gaze moving over the essential oils and then shifting to a huge number of incense sticks nearby in boxes. he spots a familiar blue design and grabs a small case of them, holding it up for the other to see. “nag champa,” he says matter-of-factly. “smells like every head shop i ever went to back in manc as a kid. ‘but, nix,’ you might say, ‘does the smell of old english hippies and stale weed smoke really turn you on?’” he taps scotty’s chest with the box. “you better fucking believe it does. i’ll burn some when we get back, you won’t know what hit you.” meaning to buy it, he grabs a second and uses that one to point across the store at another display. “you need any healing crystals before we head out? how’s your chakra? how’s your aura? doin’ alright?”
all things considered, avoiding jinx since their breakup a whole ass year ago hasn’t been difficult. first it was because nix was hardly going out in overly-public places anyway, lost as he was in his endless and all-encompassing world of drugs; then it was because he was in rehab, all the way across the country at the betty ford center in rancho mirage; and then, for the past five or six months, it’s been luck. he’s always supposed he doesn’t really need that much luck to avoid someone in a city as big as miami, and really, his chances of running into her can’t be any higher than that of a fan desperately hoping for that to happen. it’ll happen eventually--he knows that--and he’s pretty much readied himself for it finally happening one day because of the connection through margo. and of course because he’s been trying to prepare himself for it happening that way, it doesn’t.
it happens at a fucking ice cream shop, and not even one of the more popular ones (which is maybe the point for both of them). high as usual and with time to spare before he’s supposed to meet with the rest of his band to show them some new stuff he’s written, nothing could have seemed more innocent than getting a mint chocolate chip cone to bring with him. but that’s how the world works, isn’t it? at least for phoenix campbell it is. he sees her walk in and feels a helpless resignation come over him as he takes in her appearance. she’s as beautiful as she’s always been, and not for the first time it occurs to him that here’s a woman who was made for the spotlight. it seems almost impossible to believe that once--back in another lifetime--they might have come here together as a couple. until he’d chosen drugs over her, of course--that had put a quick end to it. one day, he thinks, he’ll find the courage to apologize to her like she deserves, but that day isn’t today. instead, the best he can manage is a weak “hey, jinx,” even as he avoids the eye of a gaggle of teenagers who seem to have recognized her. he’s almost certain they’d know his band’s name and probably a few songs, too boot, but as far as in-person recognition goes, he can still get ice cream at small ice cream shops without running into too many fans. “been a minute, hasn’t it?” he cringes inwardly, and then digs his hole deeper by adding, “how’re you?” ( @ofajinx )
it’s a rare occasion indeed that nix isn’t high. he hasn’t touched anything harder than weed in more than a year, of course, but the sentiment remains: he’s always high. casey’s a different story. casey’s only high when they’re alone together and there’s no chance of absolutely anyone witnessing it other than the two of them, because in casey’s world, there is and always has been a very firm divide between what nix is allowed to see and what other people are allowed to see. it’s a boundary that nix has always gotten a kick out of testing but never actually crossing--sure, casey makes himself way too easy to poke fun at, and watching him go beet red in public is the height of comedy, but he respects him too much to go any further than that. and anyway, in spite of his teasing, it means a lot to him to know casey trusts him as much as he does. it’s just that it really is a shame, because he doesn’t think he knows anyone funnier than casey when he’s high.
case in point, he’s only just managed to get his breath back after having collapsed into a fit of laughter, ab muscles screaming with pain but in the very best way. although to be fair, it wasn’t this casey that had sent him into hysterics--it had been the casey on nix’s laptop screen, the one immortalized on youtube playing what nix believes to be the world’s funniest take on the girlfriend tag. this isn’t the first time they’ve been high and nix has forced casey to rewatch it with him, and it won’t be the last. “how many times--” he starts, falls back into laughter, and tries again, “how many times can you say the same thing? margo’s out here trying to play the fucking game and all you can say is, ‘no, that’s you!’” again he descends into peals of laughter, going so far as to rapidly kick casey out of nothing more than a need to physically express how badly this is getting to him. “the raw clown energy, case, it’s shocking.” ( @ofccasey )
it’s difficult not to think of scout whenever he hangs out with scotty, and phoenix has managed, quite impressively, to find a way to resent himself for that fact. because it isn’t as though he doesn’t like hanging out with scotty--he obviously does. he’d known him before he’d known her, and there’s something about scotty that’s just...different than most people. in a good if strangely indefinable way. so yeah, it feels shitty--to put it bluntly--that he can’t stop himself thinking about scout whenever scotty’s around, but there’s also not much he can do about it other than force the thoughts away every time they creep up. and anyway, he knows with absolute certainty that scout doesn’t feel the same way, which makes it pathetic as well as annoying.
they’d wandered into some head shop with an obscure name nix had forgotten the moment he’d stopped looking at the sign and stepped inside. there’s a pungent aroma created by the warring fumes of innumerable incense sticks that he can see burning on any number of free surfaces, few as there are. he likes that, though; most people find clutter infinitely offensive--nix does not. his room at home is a testament to that fact. after having been reprimanded by the man behind the counter--who either doesn’t know who they are or couldn’t possibly care less--for being too loud, it’s with a softer tone of voice that nix holds up a sample container of essential oil for scotty to see, barely suppressing laughter. “frankincense,” he says, quoting the name written in bold on its side. “smells exactly like frankenstein’s monster with just a hint of citrus. excellent for clearing sinuses. even more excellent for repelling any potential mates! thankfully i can do that with my personality alone.” ( @ofcscottys )
hey, bro? are we vibing? are we connecting on the spiritual plane, bro? your aura is striking. can i kiss you deeply, dude?
✧ · ˚ . reece king? nah, that’s just phoenix “nix” campbell. you know, they’re the twenty-five year-old musician from manchester… still doesn’t ring a bell ? come on, dude ! they’re all over ME.MIAMI’S homepage. it’s impossible for them to stay off of it because of the fact that they’re super pretentious & spacey. they’re not all bad though, ‘cause they can be intelligent & personable too ! you can totally tell they’re a libra… it’s almost scary. look, if you want to remember them, just think of clothes that always smell like weed and cigarettes, organized chaos in a bedroom, and a 3am drive with the music turned up , and you’ll be golden. ( he/him, cismale. )
Reece
park that car drop that phone sleep on the floor dream about me