. @pityous - Tumblr Blog

leah’s gaze lifts as romy replies. her dark eyes scan his features, watching as his eyes drop and his fingers tap against his beer can. it’s strange, he almost looks sheepish. for a brief moment, it makes her feel guilty herself; this is why she should’ve just left after handing over the food, because making others feel better is hardly her forte. his fingers twist at the beer tab, and she can imagine the press of it against his skin so well can practically feel it herself. she knows the mark it leaves behind. she looks away. “why are you sorry?” she asks the cabinets. “i asked.” sure, she technically asked weeks ago, but she still asked. “and i knew what you meant, i didn’t think you liked suffering.” leah hadn’t been offended by romy saying that he enjoys fixing people, just jealous that she couldn’t be one of them. she hadn’t meant to scold him; the only reason she said what she did was because she thought he might understand what she meant — that she’s been struggling. truthfully, leah’s few words gesturing at the frequency of her pain and implying the long lasting effect are the most she has talked about her injury. she typically tends to sidestep it in conversation, a short answer that she hurt her back so she can’t dance, concern brushed off with practiced cool indifference, and promptly changing the subject to suggest the conversation’s over. even with her doctor and physical therapist, they speak strictly in technical terms, of where and how bad her pain is, and methods to ease it. she hasn’t told anyone how frustrating it is to feel an ache creep in in the middle of the day, or how humiliating it is loose her independence so completely that she’s had to ask her parents for help getting off the couch on more than one occasion. she certainly hasn’t told anyone that most days she feels like her life is already over, now that she has nothing left to live for. and what good would saying any of that even do? clearly, romy wouldn’t understand it, so it would just be admitting to her inadequacy for no reason. taking another sip of lemonade, leah steels herself against the self-pity creeping in, and looks at romy again. “i don’t want to talk about it.”

#interaction #ft. temperance #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #self harm mention tw #this one isnt fr but it can be taken that way knowing romy so #also every gif is a good one cuz yandeh is there

why is he sorry? he almost wants to laugh; wasn't it obvious? romy's sure she should have been able to pick something up from the list of reasons he should be apologizing, so he concludes that she's being overly nice because he isn't doing well. on one hand, there's a bit of relief there. that he doesn't have to further debase himself had she agreed his words were inappropriate— behave the way he does when his father gives him a stern talking to, head hung low, murmurs of assent dripping with shame. he doesn't have to, so why does he feel compelled to so badly? romy assumes it's a new fun side effect of this grief thing he's learning to grapple with; self punishment. maybe if he takes responsibility for all of his faults now, it'll make up for all of his failures that led him to this point. because he isn't stupid enough to pretend it isn't his own fault he's feeling this way. he had two years to change, after all "ah, just. you know. i tend to... just say things. without regard for other people." he's sure leah knows that to be true. he wants to continue that he thinks he doesn't think about other people enough at all, that he knows he needs to change, but he's already been too much. it's bordering on pathetic. "so we won't talk about it." he sort of feels like he's hiding a big secret, responding to leah so casually, like he hadn't wanted to talk about it almost every time they'd spoken. he doesn't mean it the way it would come across if she knew— like he was a gossip, someone who needed their nose in everyone's business. he just couldn't help it. he'd always pulled at stitches, picked at scabs, scratched mosquito bites until they bled. nothing was too delicate when it was being run through his mind, he just had to remind himself that it was supposed to stay there. no matter his curiosity, it just wasn't possible to dissect without harm. "did you know i'm one of those i could've gone pro guys?" he blurts. it's embarrassing, but it's an attempt to take that shameful feeling off of leah and throw it back onto himself. to show her that this isn't permanent— that being stuck in the past was a state of mind, a way of life that she was not suited for. that wrensted was a temporary stop for her. a reprieve. some people truly peaked already "swear to god. and nothing even happened to me. i just went to fuckin' med school." he laughs at himself, silent, head shaking as he turns the can tab over in his hands. "i think benji and i just say it 'cause it's nice to imagine things being different. everything is— was the same here, for a long time."

liza lowers her arm in favor of wrapping it around her waist, like she might break in half if she didn’t physically hold herself together. the feeling of the seatbelt under her fingers surprises her, she doesn't remember putting it on, doesn't realize that romy had been the one to lean over and do it.

everything had been in slow motion after juliette delivered the news, but the car moving suddenly forces her brain to catch up to reality. the tears that started turn into full-on weeping and for a moment the only sounds she can make are little gasps for air.

"no, i don't- i can't," she manages, shaking her head, as if not saying the words aloud could bring amelia back to life, "i can't."

#interaction #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #when neither me nor my muse know how to handle people crying

he wishes he was detached from this, thinks he'd do a lot better. at the hospital, romy considered himself a different person, turned on his decency, his humility. he wasn't sure which display was the act anymore, but... he thought he did a decent job when it came to talking to families of patients. then again, nothing happened here. wasn't that what everyone had told them these past few weeks? he'd never had to deliver news as horrendous as what they were facing. maybe he would be lost whether or not he loved amelia and eliza. maybe he and his humanity would remain near strangers forever.

"do you want me to?" he hates the emptiness in his voice, the way he can't force warmth into his cold body. his actions the picture of tenderness, but lacking the emotion behind it. romy hopes eliza doesn't think less of him— hopes she knows he cares "when we stop, i can call him."

hands steady, eyes locked on the road, breathing through the faint sounds of his passenger crying, he tries again "i just- you should have someone to look out for you. he'll wanna keep you close." it's easier to imagine what eliza's father would do here than to think about returning to his own home. would he share his grief with rhys, who hadn't spoken to him all week? or would he let the news reach him naturally? romy decides he won't know until it happens.

intcgrities

Justice's stomach sank to what felt like the core of the earth when it dawned on them just who the two people passing were. They're tempted to look away, but then they hear the two talking. Seemed like Romy needed an excuse to escape his dad, and the least she could do was play along. Awkwardly, she waved at Romy. "A friend", yeah. Very friendly. As Romy nears, Justice faces forward again, pen tapping against a notebook rapidly. Good, good; confrontation in the morning. That's actually the second most nutritious breakfast, or so they heard. It was better than seeing Liza, that was for sure, but this was bad in a way that made them feel like each micromovement they made was going to be reported back to the Important People, the Ones That Matter, when they so clearly never did. Until two days ago, of course. It wasn't lost on them, of course, that they seemed absolutely out of their mind. Justice had cozied up to Liza, had a moment with Romy where their roles were reversed, had gotten into Amelia's party thanks to Romy's archnemesis or whatever those two were to each other these days. And then they went online and claimed to have forged a friendship with someone that had never even considered kindness toward them, at least that Romy (who knew her well) would know of. "It's clearly the terrible weather we've been having," Justice said drily, eyes flicking from Romy to the refreshing morning sky, something that probably would have cheered them both up had they not been sitting together in this moment. She decided she wasn't going to say anything. That was his own playbook, right? Pretend nothing ever happened. Confess nothing. Everything is normal, no one has done something socially unacceptable here. Justice opened up her blue notebook to the first page, where they had written up a list of things that they could rotate into their daily schedule to bypass their parents' worry. At the top of the page, a cursive header that read: Normal Person Shit To Do. In neat, tight print: 1. Cook dinner for everyone (especially if J comes over) 2. Offer to walk dog for J 3. Leave house and be able to tell them what you were doing when you come back 4. Put old writing projects into new notebooks so they think you've been writing again 5. Bake something with one of mom's recipes "I know these are a little specific," they said, showing Romy their handiwork, "but we can probably come up with enough to pass for coping well."

#interaction #ft. justice #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #i'm off my game but i hope this is good!

it wasn't like he expected them to grovel or anything, but commiseration is completely out of left field. he only reads the first two points before his eyes flick back up to justice, narrowed in not anger, but confusion. he wonders briefly what the hell she has to pretend for; no matter what eliza had told him about the podcast, he refuses to believe justice was also grieving a friend. so then there's the other option, that liza was just one of the people calling justice's bullshit. he hadn't been in the loop, mostly just focusing on school, and had not a clue what gossip was looking at nowadays. if the way they acted at the party was any indicator, justice has to be going through it with no one at their side. which is funny, he thinks, because shouldn't they be used to it? but what does romy know? he'd never had the pleasure of being a social pariah. eyes trail back downward, scanning the rest of the words. he wants to tell her that this is all pointless, that his parents always know, but that's giving her an in. he needs to remember now that justice is not the person he wants to get even a whiff of vulnerability from him— and that isn't even because of the way they'd reveled in it last time. it's because she's more of a chameleon than he'd thought, and he's not sure she won't wear his pain as if it were hers for sympathy later down the line. he decides to play dumb instead, pushes the notebook back and folds his arms on the table, resting his head on them "writing one won't work if they're seriously worried." he would know. he'd spent the better part of high school spilling his guts to a mandated reporter, after all "they're just gonna read one of the notebooks to check in on you when you're not paying attention." he doesn't let her get a word in before adding "what do you have to cope with?"

“no, it’s fine.” she answers immediately. even if she doesn’t think she has anything to apologize for — she doesn’t regret going to the party with benji, and she’s positive he didn’t bring the shirt — and she hardly wants to throw herself into the castros’ drama when they’re likely in a terrible state, there’s a part of her that’s sure it will get back to her parents if she doesn’t deliver it herself. besides, leah’s a big girl. she doesn’t need to run away from things that are difficult, and she certainly doesn’t need romy to swoop in and save her. her chin lifts slightly at romy’s reaction to her request, but she fights the self-satisfied smile until he’s out the door. there’s a part of her, that she’s willing to dismiss as hereditary, that is tempted to poke around in their kitchen for something revealing. she quells the feeling, obediently staying put and distracting herself by watching romy through the window over the sink. her brow furrows as he ducks into the shed, and his return doesn’t clear any confusion; he’s carrying a bag not a beer. she presses up on her toes, eyes following him as he…. feeds the fish? immediately, she drops her heels again, jerking her gaze away from the window. it’s weird to see romy in that light. while logically, she knows he has to be responsible to get through med school, she wouldn’t have expected to see him take care of things on top of that. she doesn’t look towards the window again until she hears the glass door slide open. leah opens her mouth to tell him she was just kidding about the beer, but the can is cracked open before she can get the words out. she’s still making peace with having to finish a beer in the middle of the afternoon when two glasses clink against the island. she assumes the lemonade is for romy, but then he opens his own beer. she opts for the lemonade. she’s taking a sip when he speaks. setting the glass down, she nods at him to continue, curious about where he’s going with this. she’s certainly not expecting him to say he loves injury. her gaze drops, focusing on the beer despite the way her hands stick to the glass of lemonade, fingers tracing lines in the condensation. her gut churns as he continues, pointing out how gross injuries are and how he likes that pain isn’t permanent. she lets out a huff of harsh laughter at that, desperately wishing the world he lived in was her reality. but leah’s irreparably broken; there’s nothing he, nor anyone else, could do to change that now. she’s left to live forever with the pain of her injury, the grief of her loss. “that hasn’t been my experience,” she says softly. “my timeline’s indefinite.”

#interaction #ft. temperance #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #suicidal ideation tw #its not that deep tho i promise #since i keep having to tag this #im just cautious JGFREDF #death tw

he never knew what he wanted from leah. he moved like he did, sure; he asked her to attend events, he went out of his way to speak to her, he claimed they were friends despite all of her protests. but, there were these little things that always stumped him. expectations he didn't know he had until they floated to the surface, new sensitivities she could unlock with a roll of her eyes. a second ago, had he been asked, romy would probably say that he'd be honored to make leah laugh, whether that was with him or at him. he'd say that he preferred it to her indifference, to her coldness. if he was going to be a nuisance, he'd rather it be entertaining. so, he doesn't know why it lands differently this time. why the sound of her laugh makes him cast his eyes downward, tap his fingers nervously against the side of the beer can. he feels sort of like he shouldn't have opened up at all. everything had some sort of end. it was that finality that haunted him recently. he wasn't naive enough to not think of death. in his field, he thought about it every day. he wondered how best he could comfort a family, how he could undo all of his programming to be good and helpful. he wondered if, by the time he became a doctor, he'd know death intimately enough to not speak of it with such fear, and exhilaration, on his face. right now, he wondered if he'd have the right words for leah by the time he was a doctor. he can't tell her that he's thought about her injury at length, that he considers her timeline every time she crosses his mind, that some deluded part of him thinks she will be okay eventually. thinking otherwise would be like learning about supernovas all over again. he twists the can tab until the metal gives and it's separate from the can, presses his thumb against its smooth edge and watches the imprint it makes in his skin. anything not to look at her right now "i think that all came out wrong. i don't— like suffering. and i know sometimes people live with pain forever. i guess it just— used to be comforting to me that. i don't know, there's an end in sight? that we're mortal?" he sets the can down on the counter, still turning the tab over in his fingers, and exhales "that was morbid, though. i shouldn't have said that. i'm really sorry." the last thing he needs right now is for anyone to think he'd be following in amelia's footsteps. it wasn't like that, he'd just been thinking too much "and i'm sorry that you're in pain. you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." big words from the person who was most eager to hear every last detail of her injury and healing process, but he had to remember who he wanted to be, not who he was.

dcviilish

“no, fuck you,” tristan protested, but her tone betrayed her. more whine than malice. “i’m not staying where i’m not wanted.” but she ran her thumb over the fabric that had been given to her as she watched romy walk away. there was no denying the set was soft. “yeah.” she caved. something she’d blame on the alcohol later. “thanks.” she followed romy’s lead from earlier, turning her back to him before she got changed. even though he was pre-occupied. immediately, he was right about it being more comfortable. which almost made her feel a little bad for fighting him on it. “do i still get to sleep in the bed?” not that she really slept the other times she had been over.

#interaction #ft. devil #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #this might be one of my worst replies idk why it fought with me so hard but

he doesn't reply to her whining, the same way he was taught to when he'd throw fits himself growing up. she'd tire herself out eventually, or give in. a satisfied sort-of smile ghosts upon his face as he hears her retreat, and he makes quick work of assembling their late night dinner. his sandwiches weren't made with the same love or care he was used to (he'd only kept the ingredients in the fridge for benji to make when he came over). they're sloppily thrown together, but he pauses at the last minute before setting the plate on the table, almost self consciously throwing a nearby granola bar onto the side of the bread where cheese spills out a bit too much.

he glances up at her once she's changed, pushing the plate forward on the counter "yeah. i can sleep on the couch if you want, too. i don't care." romy assesses the fit of the pajamas on tris, the way the bottom of the pants drags, before he's rummaging around in drawers and producing safety pins "fun night?" he questions as he kneels down, rolling and pinning the pants legs

liza doesn't want to think about what juliette saw, though it's not like the imagined image hasn't haunted her already. how many times had she needed to shake the thought of amelia in that house, dead and alone, out of her head? at least before she could hold onto the hope that it wasn't true, but now? her denial sounded weak to even her own ears. it's selfish, but she hasn't thought about the rest of their group. not juliette, who was undoubtably traumatized. not juniper and benji. maybe not even romy if he wasn't standing right in front of her. as fate would have it, he was, and if liza had to choose someone to be with right now other than amelia, it would be him.

"yeah okay," she nods, frozen there for another long moment before finally climbing into the car. amelia's smiling face in several pictures, pinned to both visors, stares back at her and it's like a punch to the gut. liza almost wants to tear them down, to shove the memories somewhere that they couldn't hurt her anymore, or maybe to clutch them so close to her chest that no one could ever take them away. shaking fingers run over the edges of the one above her head before the whole image goes blurry, before the whole world goes blurry behind the tears rolling down her cheeks.

#interaction #ft. lovers #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

it was probably a bad idea, approaching eliza. he felt like no one would understand it quite like her, and also that whatever loneliness he felt, it was ten times worse for her. he doesn't regret it. there's no one else he'd rather be with. but, he feels those parts of him that had shut down back in front of the beach house refusing to open back up. like he's just handing her another dead thing to deal with. even the photos, though bringing back that sick feeling, don't bring forth any more tears. he reaches past eliza's arm, pretends he doesn't see it, and buckles her seatbelt.

romy's pulling out onto the road before he can say something stupid, before he can force himself to attempt to comfort liza. he'd never been a caretaker; he never had the example, and didn't get to learn over time— growing up separately from, and unaware of, his younger brother. he was always useless when it came to being genuine, being a person.

"have you called your dad?"

we1rdos

a few hours without an answer and clementine’s mind is as good as lost ( not that it was ever found to begin with ). death pushes people to act in all sorts of ways, preserving what’s left of their heart however they can — it’s only natural. what’s natural doesn’t matter to her, though; isolation, she decides, is the coping method she hates most. stupid, because it has nothing to do with her. anyone with eyes should be able to tell that the weird cloud hanging over the people of wrensted doesn’t involve her much at all … but the restless beast that starts clawing at her gut when the first signs of abandonment appear doesn’t exactly leave room for reason. that beast is the one forcing her to break into romy’s poolhouse; the beast is the one that puts her fingers to his neck, clinging to the comfort of his blood drumming against soft pads. doesn’t take long before he stirs. can’t a girl check a guy's pulse in peace? “ yer alive … but are y’livin’? ” is it strange or evil that his state of aliveness offends her? he’s breathing, he’s able to move, yet he chose to leave her calls and texts unanswered. apology helps to sweeten the sour, to tame her snarl — if only a little. light flicks on, revealing his disheveled state, a look of concern shooting across her freckled face. “ wasn’t scared before … am a lil’ now, man. y’look — ” in an instant his cheeks are trapped between her fingers, smooshed. she tilts it from side to side, from up to down. “ yer pretty, pretty face. ”

#interaction #ft. fool #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

it's one of those very clementine questions that he might have normally laughed at. he appreciated her sentimentality, her strange sort of deepness that he was normally unwilling to actually look at as such. it helped romy to tell himself that clementine finding meaning in everything meant there was no meaning there, not really. it made him feel less seen, less exposed "i don't know what that means." he answers, voice soft. romy allows her to take his face in her hands, a move he'd have flinched from had he had any sort of reaction time at the moment. he could push her hands away, sure, but it was clem. there's a second where he thinks he's just trying to appease her, before the next words leave her mouth. they soothe something he didn't know was irritated inside of him, an angry redness that had started to form when his mother's hands, running in his hair for mere seconds, retreated. those were million dollar hands. they had better things to do. he realizes dimly, and perhaps far too late, that he wants to cry. he takes the time she tilts his head up, likely observing a lightening bruise on his jaw from the last time he'd attempted to get back in the rink just after amelia's birthday, to almost frantically attempt to blink it away.

it's the thickness of his voice that gives it away, though, if not the shaking in his own fingers as he pries hers off of his face. he keeps their fingers intertwined, though, some consolation. a reassurance that he isn't pushing his friend away, he's just trying to figure out how to breathe under the weight of her care "y'know, flattery'll get you everywhere, man." he attempts to tease her, but quickly falls back to match her painful sincerity "i'm just a lil.. you know. um, are you sleepy?"

intcgrities

location: lake lullaby when: day 2 post-podcast (day 1 was spent inside) whomst: open (1/5)

She wasn't out here by choice, if anyone were to ask. The red-rimmed, puffy eyes were to be expected of someone who just found out someone they knew their whole life was dead. When they were out on their bike the night Amelia was discovered, not returning home until four am, their parents assumed it was just coping. The erratic behavior, the podcast - albeit strange, was still in line with Justice's self-righteous standard. However, all of that and seeing their youngest child trap herself in her room was too much of a backtrack for the Dawsons to let it go; this morning they told her she had an hour to get out of the house or they were going to call someone. This threat, previously empty, seemed legitimate. Andrea had been discussing with Carson the day before what their options were, and through the ducts she heard her father say: "Well, there's the one thing we haven't tried." It was still early in the day, early enough that no crowds were showing up to Lake Lullaby for something like a picnic or afternoon swim. No one was feeling particularly up for swimming today in Wrenstead, believe it or not. Locking her bike to the picnic table furthest from the welcome sign, Justice pulled out a crisp brown journal, yet untouched, from her backpack. Another, a blue one with only one page written on, followed. They were about to pull out a pen when they could have sworn they heard something, but they'd been hearing a lot of things lately that they weren't sure they could trust. Their own voice, apparently, being one of them. Instead of checking to see what could have possibly made the noise that they were sure wasn't there, they grabbed their pen. And then - fuck, it was there again. Reluctantly, they turned their head. "Fuck me," they groaned to themself, rubbing their face.

#interaction #ft. justice #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #suicidal ideation tw

new suicide prevention method just dropped: take your child with you on your morning runs! alarm clock set for when he had to return home to get ready for work, legs feeling like they were made of lead, and a protein bar dangling out of his mouth for half the run, he keeps up perfectly. it's not that he has something to prove, it's not even that he knows his father will think less of him if he can't keep it together for this, but it's in his code to win. or at least, do his damndest to. it even helps, and as they slow to a walk, leaving the trail and getting closer to the lake, he almost feels okay.

then he spots justice.

he'd been repressing the news liza had given to him. didn't want to hear whatever bullshit they had up their sleeve. didn't want to be angry right now on top of it. he can't define the feeling when he sees them. it's confusing. a pang of something— pity, maybe? then the disappointment when he remembers.

rhys' voice cuts through his thoughts, and he notices that he'd also stopped walking, just a few steps ahead "rome." he had impeccable intuition when it came to romy. he knew when he was bullshitting, knew when he was hurt. romy felt like it was as much an inconvenience to rhys as it was to him— something he also wished he could shut off. he could see it even now, exasperation clear on his father's face. he wants to reassure him that it's fine, that he isn't going to throw himself into the lake. or worse, cry in front of his father again. instead, he looks to justice with an expression that's either an apology or a plead to end him now, before looking back ahead "i'm actually gonna, um, just catch up with a friend."

the answer satisfies rhys, even as he's visibly taken aback by who the friend is. the man hadn't even looked justice's way in the moments before, hadn't noticed their presence whatsoever. he knows rhys is refraining from questioning or making a comment, he's just happy to see romy taking the initiative to do something. anything. the thumbs up he gives is awkward, the smile forced, and he returns to a jog without a word.

"guessing i don't have to ask about the crying this time." he exhales, considers turning and heading the opposite way. he'd gotten rhys off of his case, at least. he could thank her and leave.

he doesn't know why he sits. but he can't exactly get up now, so instead of awkwardly striking up a conversation, romy's vape is retrieved from the pocket of his shorts, and he watches justice expectantly while taking a hit. a forceful regaining of his audacity— she owed him an explanation.

🫀 : kiri lane @ofhermits 📍 : outside kiri's bedroom door lol 🕰️ : the day after my tris thread / near the end of the week

frustrating as it was at the time, tristan had the right idea with drinking her sorrows away. it was something he'd never tried— not purposely, at least. alcohol was to be fun, to have a good time. the second it isn't, you're just pathetic. yet here he is, returning the favor. sort of. he didn't think tris would even be home. but, he remembered kiri saying something about their mother and a workshop. he doesn't know why it's all his intoxicated mind can think of, but he'd stopped sketching dante, set down the red pen, and left. the walk from his place had slightly sobered him up, but he still almost falls through the front door as it swings open, not having expected it to actually be unlocked. instead, all that happens is he drops the notepad he had clutched to his chest the whole way over, and he retrieves that with little struggle. he knocks a polite little tune on kiri's door, holds the notepad up when it's opened "it's mostly school notes. y'wanna see?"

#interaction #ft. hermit #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #i planned for my starters to be tiny like 3-4 lines #but im a context warrior at heart

🫀 : benji reyes @amstrength 📍 : benji's apartment 🕰️ : literal last thing on the timeline this week pls

romy knew benji well enough to know there was a chance he wouldn't answer the door, even to him. it was a hard time for both of them, and he knew he'd dropped the ball on being there for benji. benji had done the same in return, though. he thought it was funny that the the most evenly matched they'd ever been was in their depression. but he missed benji. needed benji. so he outsourced a way in. dani's apartment is somehow emptier than benji's is. the layout is a mirror image of the one next door, except there's a large rectangle-shaped rip in the paint on the wall where he's sure a television once was. he doesn't ask her about it, just follows her to the fire escape leading next door. once they're both in benji's apartment, he presses a twenty in her hand, mumbles his thanks. dani hovers for a moment, foot braced against the windowsill. he's finding that everyone is awkward around him this week. she settles on "yeah, just keep it down. our bedrooms share a wall." before ducking out the window. he kicks off his sneakers, pads over to benji's room "yo." romy doesn't wait for a reaction before crossing the room and shoving benji over on his bed to make space for himself. laying on his back, arms behind his head, he stares at the ceiling "thought we could ride out the whole flu thing together."

#interaction #ft. strength #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #i saw oli double gif with their npc blorbo so i wanna double gif with my npc blorbo

i’m glad you’re here. leah almost laughs at that, immediately assuming that he’s only saying that out of some sort of polite obligation. she knows she’s not the person anyone would want around in a moment of…. emotional difficulty. a few years ago, when maris and demi went through the first of three brief breakups, she had called leah sobbing. later that day, sat on mari’s couch and surrounded by takeout sushi containers, leah pointed out that the breakup really wasn’t even that big of a deal; they weren’t living together, mari was young enough that it probably wasn’t going to end in marriage anyway, and at least now no one would be leaving a wet towel in a ball on her bathroom floor. mari had looked at leah, eyes still filled with tears, and told her she’s just about the worst person to go through a breakup with; too practical by half and having never experienced a heartbreak of her own. it might’ve stung had fondness not seeped into her every word. besides, it was as true then as it is now. she’s more of the crisis type; someone that can remain detached enough to act quickly and decisively, reliable enough not to crumble when things get intense. but in the fallout of the crisis? surely romy would much rather have someone gentler around, someone that at least liked amelia. she can’t help but wonder what exactly it would take to get romy to drop the bullshit, if this isn’t enough. but admittedly, leah would rather be here, standing awkwardly in the paez-coopers’ kitchen than head to her next destination of the afternoon. “the only think you’re keeping me from is the castros’, which is the last fucking place i want to be right now.” considering how things ended the last time she was there, the castros would likely return the sentiment. leah had pointed that out to her parents, but they only said this would be a great opportunity to make amends. mentally pushing aside that conversation and choosing to focus on the present, leah’s eyes lift to romy. this time, he’s looking at her. “sure,” she says, her tone straddling the line between serious and sarcastic, “i’ll take a beer.”

#interaction #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated #ft. temperance #and a peek into how our party thread will continue if i ever have time ig #look i moved the gif to the bottom cuz i had a fitting one for down there instead #keep them at the top for my sanity pls #this reply got away from me im embarrassed

"i can deliver it for you?" please say no. it was the last place anyone wanted to be, but he figured it was better him than anyone else thrown to the wolves. he wasn't sure where he stood with the castros after the events of the birthday party, and rhys was only barely talking to him since then; silence only being broken by the fact that amelia was gone. he couldn't ask his father what her grieving parents thought of him, after he'd embarrassed his family and disrespected their wishes in their house. for some reason, he still wants to believe they'd receive him slightly better than anyone else. that whatever it was would be worth it to be able to help someone right now. as if leah would see it that way and not an opportunity for him to kiss up to the castros again. he's only momentarily taken aback by her request before his shoulders shake in what could be perceived as laughter, if the slight crinkling of his eyes is any indication "sure. coming right up." as if his parents kept beer in the house. he pushes off of the refrigerator, pointing to leah to stay right there before opening the sliding glass door and exiting the house to the yard, only stopping momentarily on his way to the poolhouse to retrieve a bag from a shed and feed the fish in the pond. a task rhys constantly forgot to do, despite being the one to insist that they should have a goddamn koi pond in their backyard. when he returns moments later, it's with two tall cans of modelo, glistening with condensation. romy doesn't say anything to signal his presence, instead breezing by leah to retrieve some of his mother's good glasses from a cabinet. setting them on the counter, he fills one with beer. the other with lemonade from his parents' refrigerator. romy returns to his spot like he hadn't moved at all, cracking open the other beer can and drinking from it. "i was thinking about something you asked me back at the party. if i love medicine?" he'd enthusiastically said yes. there had been no other answer. but, it was also the acceptable answer. that he liked helping people, that it was what he was meant to do "i wasn't fully honest, i don't think. i love injury. a dislocation, a clean break of the bone. i like that it looks gross. i think it's pretty. i like that the pain's not permanent, that i could have a way to fix it. and healing has a timeline. everything does." he tilts his head back to drink his beer, eyes on the ceiling. he wonders why he's telling her this "but all of that's starting to scare me now. timeline thing isn't so fun." maybe it was because she didn't care.

knewitalls

after a year of teaching, william had gotten used to the constant interruptions to his classes for various town purposes - special guests that weren't all that special, sports rallies, etc. did he agree that they should be skipping a science lesson in favor of something so pointless? no, generally. that day, however, he could sort of understand why the gathering had been mandatory.

though the ultimate outcome of the missing person search hadn't come as a total surprise to him, the cause of amelia's death had been. and wasn't that... kind of the point? you never know what someone is going through. will may have had his suspicions about the legitimacy of the declaration, but with it in the news cycle as much as it was, he certainly wasn't against reminding his students that they weren't alone and help was available. it was with that basic level of care in mind that he kept a watchful eye on them during the lecture, attention not at all on the speakers or guests.

it was therefore a surprise when, as he turned to head towards the cafeteria for lunch duty, he heard his name (sort of) called out by the one person he always hoped to avoid. that he'd tried again after his initial blunder was enough to stop will in his tracks, have him give romy a suspicious look.

"a blast," he agreed, not giving romy the respect of actually looking his way. even after a whole lecture on checking in with people, knowing that he was speaking with someone who had cared deeply about amelia, his old habits (and grudges) were too strong to overcome. "were you looking for feedback, or?"

#interaction #ft. chariot #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

romy was used to fighting for attention. speaking in a surprisingly unfeigned tone to an indifferent face that was set on looking anywhere but at him. but, that was home. that was where he was the smallest, and least important person. where the halls were smaller, quieter. here, he had always commanded a crowd. it was this building's very gymnasium where he had given many an enthusiastic speech at pep rallies.

he finds that he can't escape the frivolity of his issues as a teen, even now. finds that the kid who begged for his father's attention, report card in insistent hands, was the same as the pigheaded young man who found it hard to believe he wasn't the center of everyone's universe. finds that the ugly feeling and the sad feeling are one and the same. so, when that anger flares in his chest as william speaks, eyes flitting this way and that (keeping an eye on his students, romy presumes), he extinguishes it. he breathes.

"well, no. but you are the teacher, and psych's never been my strong suit, so i'll take any critique on the chin." it's an attempt at a joke, complete with a smile that drops just as fast and it appears.

"i actually wanted to, um, see how you were doing." he doesn't have enough of himself back yet to feel shame at the admission, though he files away the thought for later. a reminder to himself of where they stood, and what he may be risking by extending an olive branch. maybe romy in a few days would care. maybe he'd come to regret this "i know you weren't close or anything, but with juliette and eliza... i just— it's probably like." the words are practically forced out of him "hard, looking out for everyone. it's already your job, right?"

dcviilish

“it means, like, shy or something. oliver haynes likes to use it when he’s hitting on guys. kept striking out, so i heard it a hundred times.” though she doubted romy actually cared for the explanation. she looked down at the set of clothes extended, a slight furrow to her brows. “what am i supposed to do with that?” get changed, obviously. “what’s wrong with my dress?” though his words are a rejection, his actions are something more tender. which, honestly, should make things worse. should make tristan want to leave twice as much. instead, a shrug of her shoulders followed the next question. “like, ever? yeah duh.” though that wasn’t what he was asking. deflection alone probably answered his question, but the confession followed shortly after. “not really tonight.”

#interaction #ft. devil #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

"well, you're sort of striking out hard. so, fitting i guess." believe it or not, it's his way of being polite. acknowledging what he would so kindly describe as her drunken babbling "change. i don't know. you can't be comfortable. and i'm not—" he blows a breath out, like he was being forced to speak "i'm too tired to take you home and i'm not letting you go by yourself. so. pajamas." he insists, shoulders lifting in what should be a casual shrug but feeling heavy. he doesn't even wait for her to confess before he's placing the clothes into her hands and turning away, heading for the kitchenette and opening the fridge "yea, neither have i. sandwiches fine?"

liza doesn't move as romy approaches her, nor when he takes her keys and opens the door. it isn't until she sees an ambulance pass them towards the beach house out of the corner of her eye that she snaps out of it a bit. there's something odd, though, she can't put her finger on it. then, it clicks. the sirens are off. they're not in a rush. there's no one to save.

“where are they going to take her? i want… i want to go with her. she shouldn’t have to be alone anymore. or with strangers," the words rush out of her, head moving this way and that to try and get her bearings, grasping at straws, "or maybe- it might not even be her, i mean- they have to do tests to find that out, don't they? it could be anybody. someone from out of town that just looks sort of like her, right?"

#interaction #ft. lovers #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

he doesn't want to follow her eyes, he already knows, but something wills him to anyway. there's a lurching deep in his gut, an itching in his bones. that feeling he got when all of his emotions became too intense, when the next logical action is to be sick or black out completely. he swallows that feeling down before he can lose his stillness, before he's even more completely useless to eliza.

"i..." probably still the medical center, he wants to answer. just a place he hadn't set foot in yet. a somehow colder part of the already frigid hospital "could be someone else... we don't know what jules saw." juliette. shit. where had she gone, when everything went dark for him? would she be alright? why hadn't he thought— he could only handle one spiral at a time. he focuses on breathing for a moment, on the steady thump of his pulse. it was slow "we can probably beat them to the hospital if we go now?"

“good eye,” leah drawls sardonically as she follows him further into his home. “the rectangular one wrapped in foil is banana bread. i don’t recommend eating it with stew.” her footsteps stop at one end of the large kitchen island, though her eyes keep moving, following romy as he rounds it to the fridge. “yeah, well.” somehow, it feels wrong to be mean to romy now. however, the feeling doesn’t stem from pity due to his recent loss. instead, she’s stuck on the castros’ pantry. despite leah not being entirely honest with him, between discussing their parents, being forced to ask for help, and hearing how romy sees her, she feels as though something shifted between them that night. she certainly doesn’t consider them friends, but to agree with him feels like a betrayal of whatever tenuous truce they’d brokered in that moment. the one that led to him offering an airpod at the beach house cleanup. the one that likely led leah to his kitchen today. “you’re just frustrating,” she admits before quickly looking away from him, folding her arms over her chest as her eyes scan the glass containers on the marble counter. “and besides, my parents like you.” pursing her lips together, leah takes a moment to consider how much she wants to hide behind her parents. they’re worried about you, she could say, despite how you really should be over amelia by now. between your schedule and your grief, it’s probably easy to neglect taking care of yourself. feeling her face heat, she decides against any further admissions.

#interaction #ft. temperance #𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟑— life and these lips have long been separated

he's curiously waiting for whatever leah's version of sympathy is going to be. she's graceful enough that he's sure she'll manage something, but part of him is hoping for honesty. a full admittance that, yeah, she couldn't stand him most of the time. that he was overbearing, annoying, and too nosy for his own good. maybe he'd always hold onto the past. what you already know to be true couldn't surprise you. couldn't hurt you. romy leans against the fridge, body language copying hers as his arms come to fold over his chest, robe sleeves bunching where they meet. romy's eyes, turned downward, light up just barely as she speaks. he thinks about not long ago, when he was sure they were closer than ever to getting one another. to being friends. when he thought back on it, it was a lot simpler than his feelings made it seem at the time. he had followed her in, disrupted her moment alone. and what's worse, it was his parents that had made her hide in the first place. it was frustrating. he was frustrating. he was delusional. but he continues to be, because frustrating didn't mean the worst. and she hadn't confirmed his words. so maybe there's hope. of what, he isn't sure. he's not dealing in hope much nowadays. "right." once he's traced every line between each tile in his eyeline, he feels prepared to look at leah, almost relieved to find her eyes not on him. in the back of his mind he almost remembers to be insecure about the unsightly thing in front of her in worn crumpled pajamas. apathy wins out, pretty girl in his house or not, and that thought is pushed back where it came "well, i'm glad you're here. so. tell your parents i said thank you." there wasn't any other reason to be grateful for them liking him, as he had learned at the birthday party. "you can tell me if i'm keeping you, but i'm supposed to be a good host and shit when people... do you want something to drink?"

liza always thought she knew what people meant when they said they were in shock, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that she was wrong. this is like nothing she's ever experienced before. the world feels like it's come to a screeching stop, she doesn't remember how to move, how to breathe. she's not sure who pulled her away from the scene or how she'd appeared in front of her car, clutching her keys hard enough to leave bright red indents behind.

"i don't know if either of us should be driving right now," she doesn't look at romy, but she can't imagine he's doing much better, "but i'm not saying no."