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"Oh!" I squeak as the oven begins beeping, and just as frenzied as his Love found me it twirls away again. Socked feet slide across the floor clumsily, barely managing to slow to a stop before the oven as he rips open the door. The smell is overwhelming, sweet and cinnamony and mouth-watering in it's fullness. Three's groan is almost pornographic, and he basically falls to his knees as his eyes find the bread.
warnings: swearing, iii being chaotic good
words: 2.1k
If there is a heaven on earth, it ought to be here, wrapped up in my lover's arms. And even if God was never real and all there is to life is what we see, then it's still the safest place I will ever know.
Even now, in the early morning hours, when the sun is still timid and the air is overrun by the chill of the night, I want nothing more than to spend the whole day here. But as always, life does creep in. My limbs gain a restless edge, and his breath at the back of my neck is too ticklish for my liking. So with as gentle and calm movements as I can muster, my body twists and turns so that our faces are inches apart.
His all-too blond hair is strewn about on the pillow surrounding his head, spit dribbling from his mouth as long puffs of air leave his lax lips. I can't help but giggle at the sight of him, all too encompassed in the sluggish nature of his rest.
"Handsome" a slight tap to his nose, as easy as it is persistent. "I need to pee." all I'm met with is silence. another deep breath of air and the steady tightening of his arms around me. Something between a groan and a laugh leaves me as I struggle for my next breath of air. "You oaf," I can't help but giggle into his hair. "I'm serious!" Three is still quiet, still drooling in his sleep and very persistent on keeping me. No matter how much I prod and tap and run my hands over his bare back, I never receive a response.
Finally, after yet another unsuccessful peck to his cheek, I do groan, settle both hands on his arms and push myself away. Bleary blue eyes crack open, set on fire by the light ring of gold that surrounds his pupils. His hum is met with a peck, because there is no way in this world that I could be mad at this sweet, sweet, silly man. "Good morning, I need to pee. Thank you and I love you." He releases me, all grumbly and sluggish, and I almost miss the words that fall off his lips.
"Hm, Banana bread."
What? Sitting by his side, my feet hover just above the cold floor as I stare back at him. Three's face is mushed back into his pillow, arms spread wide now that he has nothing to hold onto. Banana bread? I can't help but giggle as I watch him smile in his sleep, reaching over to rub the spit from his cheek before finally getting up to go to the bathroom. Seeing as the sun is out and peaking through our ochre curtains, I don't bother to rejoin him. Instead, my feet find his all-too big slippers as I make an escape towards the kitchen.
Running through the motions of coffee-making is as easy as breathing, and my hands fly from my mug to the machine and over to grab more coffee-beans. Finally, as the rumbling of the coffee-maker picks up, I rest my back against the counter and stare. Because right across from me is a couple of sad, miserable, brown bananas. Right, so that's that then. Grinning to myself, I set out a few eggs and some butter before grabbing my coffee and making my way over to the couch. Can't hurt to get rid of the bananas, and I'd rather do it myself than risk my klutz of a partner setting the whole kitchen on fire. God knows he can't look after a pot of pasta.
Slowly but surely, between sips of coffee and the turn of a page, the morning warms up, compelling previously tired limbs into action. Just as I'm about to give up and just wake my lover to keep me company, my eyes gaze across the room and land on the kitchen island. Banana bread. My chuckle is loud this time, accompanied with a shake of my head as I get up and trudge over towards him. It's a good thing I'm thinking of it again, given that my ingredients are currently melting away on the counter.
The steps needed to make the bread are basically ingrained in my being at this point, and I hum to myself as I grab all of the other things I'll need. A look at the clock is enough to make me shuffle over towards the record player to put on my favourite vinyl as I work. Satisfied with my choice and uncaring of whether it will wake Three, I set out to finally begin whisking everything together. At this point in time, I think my boyfriend might just be buying bananas in bulk simply to make bread out of them, given by the amount of times I've been in just this predicament, leaned against the counter and covered in a dusting of flour before I've even started.
Humming to myself, there's a striking thought as I look at everything. And then I'm whipping through the space, pulling out my sugar, some cinnamon and butter, and a soft cinnamon swirl comes together before I even know it. Satisfied with my work after testing it a few too many times, I set it towards the side to start prepping the actual batter. It's a quiet affair. With a cracked open window and my favourite music playing in the back, the peaceful day keeps me calm and content. Within minutes of swirling my batter with the cinnamon mixture and putting it in the oven, the sweet, heavenly smell of sugar and banana fills the space around me.
Switching my coffee out for some home-made iced tea, I lean up against the counter in wait, simply looking out fo the window as I wait for my boyfriend to finally get up. Speak of the devil, I grin to myself as he steps out from the bedroom and trudges over to me. His hair is still cutely askew, sweatpants sitting low on his narrow hips and pale stomach on full display. Before I've managed to push myself off the counter and make his coffee, before he's even actually said good morning, his big hands reach around the back of my thighs and he grunts jokingly as he lifts me onto the counter behind me.
"Good morning, sugar." is murmured into my shoulder as his head drops, and laughter comes easy as I tangle my fingers into his hair. For a moment, he just stays there, clearly still fighting of the last remnants of sleep in his system, and I absentmindedly run my hands across his flushed skin. Finally echoing the statement, my body stays in place as he crosses the kitchen to finally start his coffee. Only for him to stop dead in his tracks and stare at the oven with wide eyes. "You made banana bread?"
I can't help but stifle my giggles behind my hand as I nod wildly, wholeheartedly enjoying his excitement. Three hops over to the coffee machine, starting it quickly before sliding over the big tiles right back towards me. "Oh god, sugar." grabbing at me again, I laugh as he lifts me up and twirls us across the space, "You are the literal best, I've been craving fucking banana bread for so fucking long!" my feet hit the floor heavily as his hands come around and up towards my face, holding me steady as he presses kiss after kiss onto my grinning cheeks. "You're like a literal god. Fucking supernatural entity." mindless chatter, nerdy and outlandish compliments are interspersed between his pecks, and I dissolve under his ministrations.
"Oh!" I squeak as the oven begins beeping, and just as frenzied as his Love found me it twirls away again. Socked feet slide across the floor clumsily, barely managing to slow to a stop before the oven as he rips open the door. The smell is overwhelming, sweet and cinnamony and mouth-watering in it's fullness. Three's groan is almost pornographic, and he basically falls to his knees as his eyes find the bread. "Easy, easy!" I barely have time to react, following him towards the oven and grabbing something to protect his hands from the heat as he reaches towards the pan. "I get that it smells great and all and you're so excited but please don't burn yourself, honey."
Thankfully enough, he grabs the towel before setting the treat out to cool. Blue eyes are shining brightly as he musters it, and for a moment I think he might get all-too hyper again and just bite into the boiling hot loaf. I bully him towards the side as I make an effort to remove the hot pan so it can cool quicker. "Sit down and drink your coffee, I'll see about cutting you a slice." — "Yes boss."
I'm almost surprised that Three isn't complaining about my choice of music, but one look back towards the counter brings a smile to my face. His feet rock steadily, he's even humming at the sounds as he waits. Moments later, I've managed to successfully put an almost steaming slice of banana bread onto his favourite hand-painted plate without burning my fingertips and slide it over towards him. "C'mere." He's clingy as always, urging me to settle onto his lap as he nurses his coffee.
A single bite of the warm bread—obviously blown to cool by yours truly—is enough to warrant a bone-deep moan to fall from his lips. I can't help but laugh, studying his face as he chews. Blue eyes flutter closed, a more than satisfied smile taking over his features. My boyfriend leans back deeper into his seat, letting the burning sun cast his face in a golden glow. Warmed by the sun, his pale skin looks almost golden, his light and almost scruffy beard shifting between almost white in the sun and darker blonde as shadows move with his jaw. Like clockwork, one hand comes up to rub at his chin as he nods deeply. Smacking his lips once, he finally opens his mouth again. "Mh-hm, now that's what I'm talking about."
Satisfied, I peck his cheek before getting up to clean the rest of my dishes. "Very glad you like it, honey." — "Like it?" The gasp he lets out is scandalized, flamboyant and followed up with a giggle right after. "I love it, sugar. You're a literal saint. I have no idea how you knew how much I was craving it, but it's literally perfect. Love that it can like… squirt cinnamon, big kudos for that." Okay, no. Turning briskly, I watch as he cowers into his seat, both hands raising up in a defensive stance. "In the sense that-" Laughter comes easy at his wide-eyed expression, and I shake my head at him to stop his flustered ramblings.
"Easy tiger. I know exactly what sense you're talking about." eyes turn mischievous, and he wiggles both brows at me as I lean over to peck his sugary lips. The sweetness lingers, and I wash it down with another cup of hot coffee as he devours basically half of the bread.
By the time he's packing up whatever's left and putting his plate in the dishwasher, he's still shaking his head in disbelief. "Can't believe you like… read my mind. I've been craving fucking banana bread since like yesterday." he turns around, motioning wildly as my laughter reaches him from the sofa. "Nah, I mean it, sugar. It was all I could think about, I basically woke up with the taste on my mouth. Been wanting it so fucking bad and like boom, there it fucking is!"
His lips still taste faintly of cinnamon, drenched in sweetness as he finds me in the living room. Three drops down next to me, pulling me into him to deepen the kiss further. Buttery warmth fills my chest as his tongue darts out to meet mine, it's slow and content, filling my senses with sirupy comfort. We spend some more time with each other, using the comfort of a Saturday belonging only to us to catch up on random topics, play some video games and of course, eat the entire fucking loaf of banana bread.
"Can't believe you made the best fucking banana bread in the world, when all I did was think about it obsessively for like... days. Never even said a word and you knew. Fucking gorgeous."
april is over & i have a will to live again yay!! the horrors persist but so do i or whatever
so confusing to be hit with wave after wave of just... wrongness and then suddenly i wake up & the sun is out & breathing is a little easier again
You often find yourself observing IV’s mannerisms when you’re at home with him. He’s always gentle. Never raises his voice at anyone or anything. Unless he’s recording screams for Vessel, obviously, but that’s always a joy to witness. He’s musical, clearly. The flat is never silent when he’s around, always filled with guitar strumming or quiet yet soulful singing that he’s too shy to let project any louder. But your favourite thing by far has to be his tendency to chase after your touch - every time you want to give him a quick peck on the cheek he’s turning his face so you can kiss him properly, and bringing his hands up to cradle your face to keep you there for longer. When you lean against him on the couch during movie nights, he’ll just rearrange you to sit across his lap as a satisfied grin makes its way onto his face when you do nothing to resist his schemes.
Make no mistake - IV is not touch starved. He’s just greedy for it. You know when cats act like they’ve not been fed for a thousand years as if they haven’t just finished dinner? IV pouts when you have to get out of bed and not give him 5 more minutes of cuddle time after he’s just had you cemented in his arms for the last 8 hours.
It’s even worse (correction: better) after you’ve been away. If you went to visit friends or had to go away for work, he’s making sure he can pick you up the moment you step out of the train and get you safely back into his grasp. IV just needs you to fill all of his senses and the sooner he can get you back home the sooner he can do just that.
When he’s away on tour he’ll bring one of your shirts with him, dousing it in your usual scent so he can have it with him when he sleeps. He loves performing with his best friends but he hates going to bed alone. And time zones don’t always allow for a good night video call either, so when he finally steps foot into the airport after his flight back home, seeing you standing there just as giddy as he is and ready to take him back into your arms, all the restless lonely nights become worth it. He lifts you off the ground just to feel the weight of you, grounding him and washing away the dull exhaustion of the flight.
Back home, after you make him eat a fulfilling meal which he scarfs down with haste, he needs you in bed with him as close as physically possible. What time of day is it? Who cares. Doesn’t matter. It could be a bright and sunny morning and all he’d want is you to lay on his chest and just be with him. His hands will wander over your body as if he’s rewriting the map of it in his head, an adventurer well versed in these lands but never any less amazed by their beauty each time he visits. You’re his home.
Blasting great horned owl inspired vessel into your brain directly. I've always wondered if the ARG for EIA would influence vessels costume in the end, would have loved to see him in a pretty white coat
Two sets of footsteps, a smidge too heavy for the late afternoon and lead by perfectly tiny paws, mark their way up the old steps. Cold water still drips steadily behind us, and we stop dead in our tracks just outside of Fours opened door. "We should, uh…" he trails off, looking down at his dripping jacket.
warnings: swearing, mention of verbal abuse, nakey boys
words: 6.2k
"Give it here." I hum, easily reaching a hand out towards Four to carry his tote for him. I know for a fact that my boyfriend would have pulled back and insisted on carrying it by himself just weeks ago, but now he gives it to me without much of a complaint. The hand it frees up follows quickly, fingers lacing with mine as we stroll in comfortable silence. Simba trots along quietly, just by his other side as if he wants to build a protective bubble around his human. It's quite funny to see the hard shell of hyper independence Four had built around himself be dismantled and replaced as if it had never been there in the first place.
The eagerness, maybe even apprehension, has worn off within the last few months. Months, phew. In it's place, something deeper has taken shape, something that wraps my hand around his like it was always meant to be there. Something that makes me want to carry his groceries or bags and watch him brush his teeth and journey across the whole city just to see him on our lunch-break.
Absentmindedly, my fingertips rub across the reddened, tender spots his bag had left behind in his palm. Gently, as timid as the spring sun, I lift his hand to press a kiss onto the warmed skin. Our steps are unhurried, regardless of how filled with people the streets are today. In the face of fresh leaves and longer days, the whole city has woken up and apparently decided that everybody has to be outside right now. It's quite miserable to be caught behind one slow walker after the other, but being by Fours side does make it worthy.
Enjoyable even, but don't tell him that.
Despite my best intention, a long and hefty yawn leaves me while we wait for a street light to turn green, and Four grins from my side like an idiot. "Told you it was a bad idea to stay up all night playing video games." I'm dragged across the street with intent, then led towards the closest café. "You were literally the only reason I stayed up that long, Baby. If your dumbass hadn't been out mining all evening I wouldn't have had to build a whole mansion and would have been asleep by like, ten."
Four hums out a mocking 'Grandpa' but before I have the chance to pout, he lets me pull open the door and kisses my cheek in passing. To say I'm regretting the long hours we spent playing Minecraft at his place would be a lie, even if I might need a bit more time to renovate our mansion at some point. While I would never find the motivation to stay up for it if I had been alone, being curled up on the couch with my lover is nice regardless of what we're doing.
I'm dragged from my thoughts as the door of the café falls closed behind us. The place is one of those trendy, clean-girl-aesthetic spaces that are so completely and utterly beige the world momentarily feels as if I'm looking at it through a filter. Ignoring the loud chatter and finance bros in their ugly coats, I reach for Fours hand again to beeline towards the counter. Even if we had the time to stay, which we don't, this whole coffee thing needs to happen quickly before my eyes forget the colour of his.
Being so focused on fleeing this place, I almost miss the low grunt of my boyfriends name being uttered from a few paces away. Before I have the chance to gather my bearings, Fours hand tenses the slightest bit in mine as the stranger comes over. He's all sharp lines and control, dark hair slicked back and dressed to the nines in what might be the ugliest fucking suit I have ever seen.The wide smile on his regal features is enough to make my brows knot together. Plus, even though Four clearly knows the man, Simba's making no move to greet him like he would any other person he considers to be a friend. That's a red flag if I've ever seen one.
From the outside, the hello's they're exchanging might seem pleasant, if not a bit detached, but there's something about the way Four seems to struggle with getting his words out easy that stops me from leaving his side to order our drinks. The stranger nods into my vague direction, tight-lipped and barely there, and yet he doesn't even look over to acknowledge me. To my surprise, Four squeezes my hand once before handing me Simba's leash, willing me to step away slowly to give them some privacy as I order. Not once—even as I almost bump into a living barbie doll—do my eyes stray from their interaction. Because what the fuck?
It feels like my Toots was exchanged, abducted by aliens and cloned and somehow the person they sent down is grey. Like they ran out of the colour that made him him. I don't dare dwell on it any longer, not when I could be getting our drinks, scaring the baristas out of their minds so that they rush our order, and return to his side. We should go outside before all colour drains out of his rosy cheeks.
Finally, as we reach the short queue, the dog's tongue darts back out to pant, and he lays down between my slightly spread legs as we wait. I backed off, sure, and I'm glad about it given that Simba had been so tightly-wrung just now, but my eyes never leave the two men. He's conceited, this stranger. Fucking condescending and arrogant too, judging by the way he looks at my Four down the length of his nose. Between the sharp jaw and the smile that hardly manages to differ from a sneer, this cold shell of a person is so uncanny, I'd call him a skin-walker to his face if I weren't trying to be a good man.
What I am willing to admit without hopping off my pretty little high horse is that evident by the messy hairline, his trip to turkey simply didn't pay off. Serves the fucker right.
He reaches out, what the fuck, the palm of his hand may land gently on Four's elbow, but one look at his strangely pale face, what the fuck, at the way his eyelids flutter as if he's trying not to flinch and the unmistakable tightness of his shoulders gives away just how uncomfortable he must be. What. The. Actual. Fuck. And yet, my boyfriend's eyes are stoic where they meet mine across the room, just barely certain enough to make me move with the line instead of walking back over and just fucking pummelling that fucker.
Ordering our usual drinks happens naturally, even though my tongue feels laden, causing the words to tumble from my mouth way too quickly and clumsily for my liking. Quietly, I note that my usual café keeps dog-treats for four-legged friends, and reach into my pocket to pull one out for Simba absentmindedly. If one of us is getting a treat, all of us should. Leaning onto the counter, my eyes never stray from the weird interaction happening across the room, and I dart over without as much as a thank you when our drinks are finally done.
My boyfriend's fingers are strangely cold against mine as I hand over his cup, and not another second goes by before he's pulled into my side and my arm is thrown around his shoulder. Beady, bug-like eyes stare up at me, and I revel in the fact that it's this stranger's turn to be looked down on. The same old snarling smile—openly unpleasant and as condescending as it is cold—breaks apart on my face, and I gesture mildly to my occupied hands as I address the situation.
"Mister." followed with a mocking nod and a once-over of his pretentious attire, "Would shake your hand but I don't really want to. Plus, my boyfriend and I have places to be," I finally discern the burning in my chest as possessiveness, raw and biting, and guide Four from the space with as gentle of a nudge as I can muster. The stranger opens his mouth, but my head tilts the slightest bit, just enough to shut him up.
Get the fuck out of my face, loser.
And with that, the bell rings above us, the door falls shut and the sun brings colour back into my vision. The outside world comes crashing in so quickly it almost gives me whiplash, but I welcome the sweet relief that floods my senses. My arm doesn't leave Four's shoulder, no matter how uncomfortable it might be to walk like this, and I find our way through the crowded street as he walks in silence. The coffee warms my hand, and I once again want to reach into my pocket to give Simba a treat for sticking with me when my hold on his leash is as weak as it gets. It's like the leather hanging off my pinky is just for decoration, and the dog comes along purely because he wants to. Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't really blame the bugger because same.
No matter how easily the calm has returned to Simba, it doesn't require a genius brain to feel the tension still rolling off of Four in waves right now, so I change our direction at the last minute and drag my boyfriend into the closest—albeit tiny—park. Beneath old and young trees alike sit a few chess tables. Regardless of the fact I have no interest nor clue how to play the game, I guide us over there to sit for a moment. Four lets me, still entirely caught up in his mind. Quietly, a hand reaches over to pull his bottom lip from where he worried it with his canines so it stops fucking worrying me in return. It makes his eyes snap up to stare at me, still wide and more glassy than I'd like.
He clears his throat once, as if something in his chest needs to give in order for him to get the words out, and the second his tongue darts out to drag across his reddened and chapped lips, my head shakes once. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, Four." Almost imperceptibly, his eye twitches again, and my voice softens in return, "I don't need to know who that was, baby, not if you're not comfortable telling me. Okay? It doesn't matter right now. Just-" he's curled up in the rickety chair, shoulders slumped forward as his fingers grip the paper cup tightly. Simba's snout is rested on his leg, and I sigh quietly as he reaches out to pet him.
"Breathe for a few seconds, I don't like it when your eyes get like that." — "Like what?" he snorts, eyes finally gaining a weak, teasing glint. Rolling mine in return, I lean back and nudge his foot with mine, "Like all, uh, watery and shit. It's like somebody knocked the sun out of your sky."
He just stares for a moment, gaze still caught somewhere between weariness and exhaustion. And no matter how much time passes, he doesn't calm down. Doesn't stop wringing his hands, or twisting the paper cup when my gaze takes a decisive edge to get him to stop.
"Just breathe, I meant it. Let yourself settle."
Thankfully, he listens to me for once. With his dog sheltered between his legs, Four pauses, just sits in his own silence. At some point, I reach out towards him to hold his hand as he breathes. Blue eyes dart across the board between us, and I can't help but snort as his brows furrow. My free hand comes up to rub across my chin in an attempt to soothe my smile into compliance as his stoic eyes snap up to me.
"Sorry," I hum, nudging his coffee cup towards him, "We must look stupid to everybody else, thinking this hard about the first move in a chess game." thankfully, the irk between his brows eases, and he snorts into his drink. Four's voice is meek, as if he's confessing some huge, embarrassing secret to me. "I don't even know how to play fucking chess." — "Neither do I, Baby. Who gives a shit?"
My fingertips never stop their movement, drawing hearts and circles and little stars across his skin. His head lands softly in my palm when he loses the strength to hold it all up on his own. I'm not sure how long we sit there, Four all caught up in his mind while I can't do much but stare, but it doesn't actually matter to me. Not until there's a droplet on the tip of my nose, and then one on the pinky that rests on the back of his limp hand. Ah, fuck.
Quick as lightning, Simba's stood up and crouched by Four's chair. The man just groans, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "You ready for cardio?" huh? His grin is lopsided, still somewhat wobbly, and the laughter that falls off his lips when I utter the worst joke I can think of is gruff in it's entirety. "Puppy hates the rain."
The clipped sentence is followed by the scrape of his chosen seat against the floor, and Simba darts between the both of us as the rain picks up. Nodding once, both of our cups are disposed off, then we're off towards home. Two brisk steps into our escape, a clammy hand finds mine and squeezes. I don't answer verbally, not when we're getting wetter and wetter and Simba's pulling on his leash as if the world will end with wet fur.
I'm almost scared he'll go running straight into traffic with how quick he's rushing. But then a red light comes, and through some miracle, this little Angel stops dead in his tracks and watches the cars pick up speed as they pass. I can't help but giggle, I really really can't. Clutching a hand over my mouth at the sight of increasingly wet—and therefore less voluminous—fur and unsteady feet.
Four only sighs, clearly used to these antics. "I thought he loves water? What happened to all the time spent jumping through puddles?" I grin as the light turns green and we make our way across the street. "Water's only his thing when it's below him. I wish I knew why just as much as you do." Judging by the heavy clouds above our heads, it's only fair to assume our way back home will be a true fight. My suspicions are confirmed when a loud thunderclap shakes the sky.
"Ah," my boyfriend groans, grabbing my hand tightly as he picks up his steps. "If there's anything worse than rain, it's gonna be storms." just as the words pass his lips, it's like the sky opens up to ruin his poor puppies life. Big, striking raindrops fall all around us, and before we've even begun jogging properly, before we've rounded the corner or thought about finding a tube station, our clothes are completely, entirely drenched.
Between hurried steps, his Tote falling off my shoulder, the impatient scrape of Simba's paws across the wet asphalt and the strong, insistent hand dragging me along, laughter comes stupidly easy. All the way we have to cross, it bubbles from our chests. Finally, we reach his doorstep, and even if there's hair in my eyes, and water squelching in my shoes, I have no choice but to double over. My chortles are loud, breathless and racking through my whole body.
Thankfully, a steady and somehow still warm hand finds my middle, wrapping around my securely as Four fishes through his pocket for his keys. His dog is so impatient by now, he's begun nipping at our wet pants as he rounds us. His leash is forgotten, and I beg and pray that there won't be more thunder to scare the boy.
"I know, I know." Four answers his yips, reaching out to unlock and push open the door. The dog darts through and up the stairs immediately, urging us to follow on the first landing. But pale blue eyes look at me through soaked curls, smiling wide and honest, and he presses a hard kiss to my chilled lips. It's urgent, and deep, and I shiver when his free hand finds the back of my neck. My hand flies out towards the doorframe, leading us into the dry corridor as I grin into the kiss. His lips are still chapped, regardless of the raindrops that map across the skin, and I can't stop my tongue from darting out to run across and steal the taste. A stray droplet drips from his hair, runs across the bridge of my nose and right from my lips to his, just cold enough for the both of our grins to crack into giddy giggles.
Finally, when the shiver in my limbs has me pulling back and straightening back up, his eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, blue as a wild ocean. "There you are." I hum, reaching for the sides of his face to press a kiss onto his cold nose. "My prettiest boy." Just as Simba takes another impatient step down towards us, I hush him and we ascend the winded staircase.
Two sets of footsteps, a smidge too heavy for the late afternoon and lead by perfectly tiny paws, mark their way up the old steps. Cold water still drips steadily behind us, and we stop dead in our tracks just outside of Fours opened door. "We should, uh…" he trails off, looking down at his dripping jacket.
"How do you usually handle this?"—"I strip." the oh that falls off my lips is quiet, a little coarse as it lands between us, and I almost choke on my own spit when I go to clear my throat. Four grins widely, tilting his head in that teasing way that lets me know my cheeks are about as red as I fear. "Smooth, handsome. Real smooth."
He frees his feet from his boots without batting an eye, leaving them standing on a mat beside his door. His socks with the sardine pattern as well, and I can't help but stare as he shrugs out of his jacket. Only when his calloused fingertips fumble with the edge of his sweater does my soul return to my body, folding in half so quickly I'm dizzy as I undo my laces. The soaked clothing lands in a forgotten corner as he throws it, and I follow in his footsteps in dropping my jacket. Like it's the simplest, most natural thing in the world, he pulls his shirt up, up, up over his plush hips and perfect chest and wrangles the fabric over his freckled shoulders.
Focus. No need to worry.
There's nothing to worry about. No room for insecurities as he stares me down in waiting. Okay, okay. Time to be scared, he's grabbing my hoodie. The back of his fingers rest heavy and warm and present on the sides of my tummy. He's waiting. Not pulling, not asking or pressuring. Just there. Bright blue eyes search mine, switching between one and the other like a broken record. And then he takes a step towards me, our toes almost touching.
Four is half naked in this random fucking hallway and I'm frozen solid by the weight of my own insecurities. Quickly, shaking fingers reach for his to leave the hoodie behind, only for him to grip tighter. wha— "I can deal with a few droplets on my living room floor, Sweets." with a jerky shake of my head, I tug the fabric from between his fingertips and just drag it off. It's halfway to my chest when he lays his palm flat over my heart.
The hood throws a shadow across my head, and I blink through the cold droplets that fall from it. "I'm good. I trust you, Four." his hand warms my skin through the thick material. For a moment, it's like he's holding my heart in his palm, and I swallow deeply before shrugging my shoulders out of their uncomfortable position. The sound of my hoodie against the floor is deafening, and my breath comes in embarrassingly quick bursts as he stares me down.
He nods once, all stern and assertive, and his hand burns on my bare skin as he pulls me over to kiss the exact spot his hand had just warmed. It rings like a shot to the heart. Tumbling out of our clammy jeans is as hard as it was to be expected, and laughter finally frees me from the unease of my own making as Four almost tumbles into his entryway. The door falls shut behind us heavily, and between the warmth of his flat and the proximity of his naked back to my chest, it all doesn't feel so hard anymore.
"I'll go dump our clothes into the wash, you make sure Simba's dry before he develops a grudge." he smiles at me, squeezing my hand as he gives me the towel before disappearing somewhere in his flat. "Okay," my voice finds me timidly as I crouch down towards the dog. "Let's get you dry, sweetheart. Sorry about all that rain. Really does suck to be so cold and clammy. And look at your little legs!" With every new drag of the towel over his fur, accompanied by gentle strokes of hi soft-bristled brush while I'm at it, the volume returns to him. By the end of it, he stopped looking like a stick-figure and more like himself again.
Only when he's satisfied and done grunting in my ear whenever I rub over his ears does he get up and waltz over towards the bedroom. Glad to have him warmed up, my shiver is easy to ignore while I go look for my boyfriend. He's still only in boxers when I find him brewing tea in the kitchen, a towel slung over his left shoulder. It's almost embarrassing, really, for me to be this unnerved because the singular, meaningless barrier that is clothing is missing between us. He's still my Four, still hums as he prepares our drinks and still looks at me the same when he finally turns around.
With our roles reversed, he reaches out to grab my hand where I'm lingering at the kitchen island and pulls me towards him. I swallow around the lump in my throat, hands hovering above his gentle hips for a moment too long. "You can go grab some sweats and a shirt if you want, sweets." Four offers, even if he makes no move to release my hand. All words die on my tongue when the space is finally closed. I feel him before I actually touch his skin. Smell the rain in his curls and his favourite blend of herbs in his mug. His skin is running so hot, the sound of his humming so comforting, my fingertips have no choice but to dig into him. And then it's like I never knew restraint. He doesn't jerk away as his back makes contact with my cooled chest. Doesn't make a single sounds as my face burrows in the back of his neck, doesn't even complain when water drips from my own hair onto his skin steadily. His warmth stays, solid and trusting beneath my barest touch. Dragging my hands all over his tummy, I wrap my whole being around him, and yet he remains warm and comfortable and here as I forget where I end and he begins.
"Or don't." the words are quiet, uttered just for the sake of it as they fall on deaf ears. It takes every fibre of my being to inhale again, and it only makes me want to curl into him tighter. Four coaxes my hands to loosen on his waist, turning around to face me as the tea steeps. The constellations of freckles on his tummy span wider than I ever knew, and it startles me to see the way they crawl all the way up towards his chest. He says my name once, reaches out right after and dumps the towel onto my head. With the grace of a baby giraffe, I drop forward and onto him. The cold tiles beneath our feet, one white, then black and white again, distract me enough as his hands come up to rub my hair dry. Four's all over me, running fingers up the back of my head and dragging the damp strands away from my forehead.
Never rough, never impatient.
Finally, he reaches around to nudge my chin up and towards him. With nothing said but everything done, I can't really help but smile at him again. "There you are." the words ring in my ears, and suddenly the whole world feels too loud for me again. But his eyes are warm and blue and just the way they always are when he's happy "My prettiest boy." It's a statement. Firm and sure and undeniable as we stare at each other.
And then he turns away and takes our tea towards the bedroom and I'm reeling from the certainty he welcomed me with. Not a moment later, I turn in my spot, drag a hand through my freshly-fixed hair and dart after him. We lay in the same bed, his chest on mine, listening to the same music we always do. His hands find the same pattern, and the drag of his fingertips across my skin is enough to remind me that just the way I looked after him, I was never unsafe with him either. It takes basically no time for me to warm up, cradled safely beneath him and his favourite navy blue sheets. And then Simba crawls up towards my other side.
He nudges Four's restless hand once, causing him to reach across me and pet him instead. Now that my heartbeat isn't the only thing I can hear anymore, I notice that the storm outside has only picked up. Wind whips against the rickety windows, and the sky lights up in random intervals as lighting strikes off in the distance somewhere.
"Drink some tea before it cools off completely." we're still pressed close together, and with the mug in one hand and the other slung across his shoulders, I finally have the time to look at his tattoos. Intricate line art meets bold blackwork and I watch the motives change and move and distort as he reaches for my hand. "There's so much to talk about right now." Four simply hums into his mug. "But I don't feel like saying anything at all."
We twist and turn as time passes, rearranging our hold on each other between gasped laughter whenever a limb falls asleep. It's dark out already, and the rain still pelts against the window without remorse. My boyfriend's face is inches from mine, breaths mingling where we meet in the middle. A hand on my hip, the other holding mine in what little space we kept between our hearts. I don't pay any mind to his wandering eyes, not when I'm busy counting freckles on his shoulder and neck.
"That was my ex boyfriend earlier." His voice is barely a whisper, finally voicing what both of us already knew. "Thought so."—"He's a real asshole. The one that my Ma is scared will always linger in the back of my mind."
"He won't."
Blue eyes finally meet mine as I muster him, and the tight-lipped smile on his face shows less doubt than I'd feared. I squeeze his hand anyways. "I won't let him." his short breath lingers just between us, and then he sighs deeply and talks.
"I don't think he ever liked me. Not really. He's the kind of man that likes the idea of having a partner but isn't actually comfortable sharing his life with another person. Whatever I was asking for, I was always being clingy." He swallows deeply. My hand wraps around the back of his head, pulling him right under my chin. "I was always too clingy. Wanted to hold his hand on the way to work. Wanted to kiss him goodbye and hear about his day and it was always too much. Always. And then I became ugly. Uninteresting, somebody just good enough to drag into his bed when it got a smidge too cold."
"Hey, Four, baby. We don't have to talk about him if you're not ready." — "I know that," fuck, he's sniffling already. "But I want to."
Before I know it, hot tears slide down into the dip between my clavicles, curving with the skin before getting lost on my chest. And yet his voice is as steady as can be. "He was so, fucking mean about it. Gave me a piece of what I wanted when he thought I would go, and then reared his head and broke me down further when I couldn't. Belittled my job, was weird with Simba and complained the entire time every time we visited my family." His chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, matched perfectly by my own hiccuped breaths.
"Sometimes I think I'm lucky he never laid a hand on me. But I think the only reason he never took it that far was because I was pathetic enough to crumble beneath his words. He never had to get his hands dirty to ruin me."
His words hang above us, and it takes me a moment to understand that he genuinely means them. When I do, a hand reaches his jaw, holding him gently as I move away enough to meet his eyes head on. "He didn't ruin you, Four. I don't believe that, his hatred has nothing on your love. There's not a single thing he could have done that could ruin you. Because I look at you now and you're the best man I've ever known." he's trembling, still practically naked by my side and it makes me drag him closer again. "You're not ugly, or clingy, or too much or not good enough. You're none of the things he did or didn't do to you."
"He manipulated you, used you and treated you in a way no person should be treated even when he never had the right to. And you and I both know, deep down in our chests, that it was all in vain. You're still loveable, still creative and kind and pretty and trustworthy. Open about your likes and dislikes, great at your job, good to your family, gentle when it matters most. You know what that means?"
If it were any other situation right now, I might have laughed at the meek shake of his head, but right now the only thing that's running through my mind is getting him to understand. "It means that you're a good Person. It means that you and your huge heart have won."
"Out there, just earlier. I thought I had to throw up with the fear that you'd take one look at my body and see me the way I see myself. And you didn't. You laid yourself bare for me like it was the easiest thing in the world when I know for a fact it's the hardest. You let me show you that trust in my own time, on my own terms. Showed me that just because we're skin to skin doesn't mean the both of us are anybody but us. In all the time I've known you, really known you, you've not given me a single reason to doubt you. Not once have I felt the need to hide, to hold back and break myself down into some bastardized stomach-able version of myself. You're yourself with such certainty you've never given me the chance to be anybody but my truest self as well."
His quiet tears have turned into sobs, and I card my hands through his hair as he hides in my chest. Stop the millions of thoughts that beg to leave my mind in favour of whispering sweet nothings in his ear. My own tears don't matter, I let them run across my cheeks and dry in the hollow of my throat without care.
"And I know just how much strength it must take to live your life like that, but I admire you so much for it. The way you carry yourself while uplifting others, giving your love freely and offering you own heart up in the midst of it. I think you're the strongest person I know."
"I've been nothing but weak since I've met you." the words hit like a punch to the chest. Like he reached his hand beneath my skin and squeezed as tightly as he could.
"You let me in. Four, I-" my mouth snaps open and then closed again, wholly overwhelmed with the love I want to hurl at him, "I meant it when I said you're strong. With every fibre of my being. But that doesn't matter, because I want you to know that you don't even have to be. At least not all the time, you know? Fuck it, fucking fuck it all and be weak. Stay in bed for too long, cry without having a proper reason and don't quit that stupid habit you consider to be bad. Be weak and silly and afraid and let me be there with you. Let me be there for you. Lay in my arms and get it all out of your system and let me like you even more when all is said and done."
There's more words on my tongue still, restless and angry and begging to just finally be let out in all their raw, overwhelming truth. It feels like I could talk for hours. Could list off every single time he showed up for me, could name every plate he removed from his armour and could thank him with every new word. But I don't because no matter how teary his eyes are as he picks himself up, the hand he clasped over my mouth is quite insistent on ending my ramblings.
"Gotcha." — "Too much?" he just nods, grinning as the mumbled words pass his fingertips. "He's not man enough to ruin me, understood that much. But let's save the rest for some time where I can actually believe them. For a day when weakness doesn't feel like resting beneath Damocles' sword." I could fight back, could say all the things I want to say and hammer them into the folds of his brain right now, but I don't. Because if anybody understands that trust, and change and love need time to grow, it's me.
Instead I let my tongue dart out to lick at his hand, watching him fall back onto his haunches as laughter spills from his lips. He runs his spit-covered hand across my torso without a second thought, turning so that both his palm and the back of his hand are cleaned before he drops down and lets his laughter fade into childish giggles.
"Why the fuck are you such an emotion roller coaster, dude?" he's grinning, laid on his side as he stares over at me. "What do you mean?"—"One moment you're all sappy the world isn't ending you're good and okay and I've got you and the next it's all over and you've decided that you should annoy me to death instead."
All I can do is hum, turning onto my side to mirror his position. And then my gaze flits across him, settles on what must be goosebumps that are covering his tattooed arms, so I reach out to drag him closer. Hooking one leg between his, I turn both of our bodies to lay him halfway across mine. Like a literal space heater, the warmth of his skin finds mine, his wandering fingers lighting me on fire.
"I like talking about sadness. Like being deep and complicated and impossible to handle, but I don't believe in ruminating about these things. It's good to get things off your chest, just for the sake of understanding yourself and the situation, but once that's done it's time to let things go again."
"That makes sense. The only thing that should be on your chest is my head, Baby." Stupid, stupid perfect boy. His giggled breath falls over my chest, tickling the tender skin with every new huff. Despite my better judgement to make fun of his idiotic joke, I laugh along with him. Even Simba seems to want to escape our melancholy, and he stands up for a moment to lick at our heads.
Four was right, the chaos erupted so quickly it's giving me whiplash, but there's something so natural, so us about it that I don't have it in me to care. The storm might be all the way around us, loud and persistent and ever changing, but we're here and we're okay and that's all that matters right now.
i'm still alive yaya!! ik this is a smidge messy but it's been sitting in my drafts for too long atp there's no getting better
mental health is lowkey worse than ever, but I got my sleep token tatt i've been wanting for a year & there's still good music to be discovered & also i get to see my mom on my birthday so maybe it's not all horrible
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💛
muh-me?!
feel so thought of so honoured ily omg i'm giggling & kicking my feet rn :3
this is literally so sweet i will think of it for the rest of time mwuah <3
trying to edit the most hurtful chapter i ever wrote in a story has me sat staring at my laptop like the world has stopped spinning. like what do you mean 19 year old me just... felt like that?
cue me putting on sleep token so i have familiar background music to keep me from losing my shit at how true this shit still rings and the first song that plays on shuffle is gethsemane.
fucking gethsemane. when i'm already fighting fucking demons.
switched to bad omens so i don't cry. lanky tree man has never done me wrong. nuh uh, there's nothing bad that could happen at all. maybe it's dethrone or somebody else idk anything could play
trying to edit the most hurtful chapter i ever wrote in a story has me sat staring at my laptop like the world has stopped spinning. like what do you mean 19 year old me just... felt like that?
cue me putting on sleep token so i have familiar background music to keep me from losing my shit at how true this shit still rings and the first song that plays on shuffle is gethsemane.
fucking gethsemane. when i'm already fighting fucking demons.
Replied to a recent comment on a fic that I wrote years ago and then took the time to revisit previous comments and I say this with complete sincerity:
Leaving a comment on a fic provides compounding delight. Authors will love initially receiving a comment, will love later recalling this and that particular aspect of a comment, and they will love rereading comments and being reminded how readers enjoyed the work.
Comments are not a one-time act of kindness and consideration. They keep giving.
Thank you to those who take the time to give a nice word, describe an excited reaction, point out favorite parts, and generally let it be known that not only has the work been read but it had some effect. :)
Two rounds the sofa quietly, still stripped down to a tank and his joggers and comfortable as ever, and trudges right over into the kitchen to prepare tea for us. He doesn't seem to mind the silence that settles, surely aware of my inner turmoil and doubts, but not pressing for answers or tears or anything I'm not ready for. Instead, he lets his fingers tap a beat against the counter top, watches the water dance in the kettle and waits.
۶ৎ warnings: angsty, i suck at feelings, swearing
words: 2k
"You know that you're allowed to be angry with her, right?" Two's voice is quiet from across the room, melted and soft around the edges as proof of his split focus. With my feet kicked up and over the backrest of his sofa, I watch lazily as his hand drags his razor down his cheek in slow strokes. Compared to the usual strength and speed of his movements, the constant flurry of his limbs, he's careful, even gentle in the movement. The lack of force behind his actions might give any other person whiplash, but between late nights and quiet mornings, I've gotten quite used to seeing him this unguarded.
"What if I don't want to be mad at her?" all I get in return is a hum. Not even a twitch of his eyebrow. "I don't want to hate her when she so clearly doesn't give a singular fuck about the fact that she let me down." — "You mean fucked you over." — "Two" his name falls off my lips harsher than I intended. And finally, he looks over at me. Only his eyebrows are knotted together and his eyes are cold. Cringing lightly, I fight the urge to hide from his steely eyes and climb over the couch to go right towards him.
I don't apologize verbally, because regardless of his initial reaction I know I don't have to. Instead, I slide up by his side, resting against the counter to watch him work. "I don't want to fight a one-sided war. It feels pointless to be angry."
"I get that, bub." he hums, still focused on his task. And yet I know him well enough to understand that now the jar is opened, he knows that I need it off my chest one way or the other and I'm not leaving until I figure it out. "But do you remember what you told me? When you said you wanted to stop brooding over your fears and bad days? Wanted to stop letting them consume you? Maybe this could be your chance to go through with that." it's my turn to hum. To hum and to stare and to think about what I did to deserve a friend like him on my side.
"So…" he grins, flicks foam-covered fingers into my face and then washes his face off without another word offered. "Let's just do it. Let's lose our minds about it today and then let the rest of the world be whoever they want to be, hm?" At the bottom of my heart, I don't want to lose my mind about it. I don't want to think about it, don't want to let it cut, and bleed, and hurt. But by the look in his eyes and the heaviness in my heart, I know that there's no real way around it. "You're safe here, you know that. I'm not gonna laugh at you or belittle or invalidate you for something you can't control."
Two rounds the sofa quietly, still stripped down to a tank and his joggers and comfortable as ever, and trudges right over into the kitchen to prepare tea for us. He doesn't seem to mind the silence that settles, surely aware of my inner turmoil and doubts, but not pressing for answers or tears or anything I'm not ready for. Instead, he lets his fingers tap a beat against the counter top, watches the water dance in the kettle and waits.
"It just makes me feel like an idiot, you know?" I stand by his side again, intent on counting the rows of glasses that fill his cabinets. "All this time, I thought she was doing bad. Was going through things and just needed a few more days to figure it out. And then she'd help me. She'd show up and share her ideas and take part in our project. And everything would be nice and we'd get good grades and be friends again. I thought that she cared."
The kettle clicks off, Two fills our favourite mugs, and then trudges over towards the couch like a mother duck that never dared to think her children would fall behind. He looks at me once as he sits down, leans heavily on the backrest with spread legs and just enough space for me to tuck myself into the corner beside him. "Except she never did show up. And I was too dumb to see that it wasn't a lack of trying but rather a lack of wanting. And then it was too late to back out. Too late to tell her to do things on her own and stop dragging me down with her."
Sat by his side, I watch his brows pinch together "You can tell me if I'm overstepping, you know." with a resounding grunt, he runs a hand through his cropped hair and finally meets my eyes. "I know that, bub. But you're not. And you're also not stupid for not wanting to see others in a bad light. If anything, she's stupid for abusing the kindness you offered."
That seems to have done it. Tears threaten to spring to my eyes, evident by the stinging burn. In a hopeless quest to hide from his eyes and get a chance to sort through the jumbled mess of thoughts in my mind, my eyes search the room. From burnt-down candles to randomly laid out music sheets, I don't have it in me to actually focus as my vision blurs. "I'm so fucking disappointed." it hits me that this grown man, no matter how patient he may be, probably couldn't care less about problems as silly as mine.
"And that's it, basically." disappointment does sum it up, stupid as it is. No need to break my own heart and ruin his day. I'm disappointed. Except I don't get up from the couch. Can't. Can't pretend to forget the steaming mug of tea right before me. Or that his stare doesn't pin me down in my spot. "What?"
"Say it."
The shake of my head is weak, almost imperceptible. My nails bite into the skin of my thumb, an old habit I'd been meaning to drop when I was seventeen. "It's no big deal."
"Say what's on your mind, bub." he reiterates, throwing a hand onto the cushion behind him to reach for my shoulder. There's mere centimetres between us, and yet I don't have it in me to reach out.
All it takes is a singular flick of his fingers to have me shifting in my seat to lay my hand in his. "All I really wanted was to be close to somebody." the words fall from my lips in what is more whimper than anything else. "Wanted to spend time with somebody without having to hide who I really am from them. That's all I wanted from the start."
"And I thought she could be the somebody that would let me open up."
His finger pulls my thumb from the centre of my fist, soothes the slight red spots without ever mentioning that he saw them. The free hand pulls feathers from some old pillow by his side, more restless than I've ever seen the usually so collected man.
"I thought all it would take was time. And I waiter and I hoped and I filled the empty space around her no matter how tiring it became. Devoted myself to her like she was a god." There's the tears again. My hand leaves his to rub at my eyes. No time to cry, no need to either.
This was a mistake. Like always. I shouldn't have said it, shouldn't have tried to reach into my chest, bare my heart and let him see when it is covered in thorns and will only hurt the both of us.
"Stop that. You're not hiding yourself."
"Not from me."
But I do.
My feet land on the ground unsteady, half stumbling before I've even escaped from his arm's reach. The breath I force myself is so deep it rattles my frame, and yet I gather all the strength I don't have to take another step.
"Bub."
Two looks over from the couch, legs still spread, reclined in his seat as if he knows my knees are to weak to even reach the door. Eyes trail across my face silently, and suddenly my resolve grumbles.
"I can't." I won't.
"Yes you can." His hand lifts, calloused fingers outstretched. Trusting, calming, waiting. A tear lingers in the corner of my eye for so long it takes everything for me not to wince at the burn. His mouth moves, but the sounds never reach me.
The distance between our bodies closes quickly, too fast for me to control my movement and I'm dropping into his lap before the first sob even surfaces. It's pathetic really, weakness so visceral it takes everything in me not to pull back as soon as I feel his warmth. But then his fingertips reach the divots in my spine, and his breath musses up my hair and I swear he's speaking to me and suddenly I can't fathom ever letting go of him.
Somewhere between tears and whimpers and the overwhelming defeat that courses through my veins, my entire body goes limp. With every new drag of his fingers, every hushed 'you're safe' and every ounce of pressure he eases onto me, my tears ebb off. All at once, my sorrows overtake me, drag me down and consume me in wave after wave of endless sobs.
Broken words spill from my lips before I can ever think to stop them. A jumbled mess, why not fall apart beyond recognition while we're at it, hm?
"I'm so fucking alone."
"You're not alone, bub." he hums, still steady, as if this isn't the end of the literal world. "You have me."
"I've shown you all the good parts about me, all that is to follow is hurtful and scared and sharper than a butcher's knife. I'll hurt you like I hurt myself." finally, with a sniffle, wholly embarrassed and shook to my core, I lift my head from the space by his collarbone. Somewhere between laughter and sob, I apologize for the odd mixture of snot and tears I'd left on his pale skin. Two's hands rest by my sides, never stopping the gentle movement or easing the pressure that keeps me stuck in his hold.
"Nothing of the sort will happen- stop that and let me hold you." the weak push against his chest is almost laughable, and if there had been any fight left in my weary bones, it leaves me the second his eyes meet mine. "There we go." he sighs, clearly as calm as ever.
And then he's quiet. Even in the absence of my tears, when the rush of my heartbeat leaves my ears and my thoughts feel like mine again, Two holds me steadily. Draws shapes into my skin and makes me guess what it is, laughs when I think he's drawing dicks and reassures me when I inevitably get embarrassed by the thought. We drink our tea even when it's cold, and sit there on our own without ever really feeling alone.
"That person doesn't deserve your energy." Two states as he rearranges our bodies to stretch out across the cushions. "She never did. You deserve friends that let you be yourself around you. Friends that hold your hand when you're anxious and hug you when you say hello. You deserve all the kindness you put out into the world to be returned to you tenfold. Somebody to have your back when it feels like the world is ending, to give you the things you're too scared to ask for."
Someone like him.
The words die on my tongue, but he takes one look at my eyes, wraps an arm around the back of my neck and pulls me down onto hos chest. For the first time since I've known him, the first time since he entered my life like the force of nature that he is, his heartbeat is unsteady beneath my ears. "I'll be that person, bub. No questions asked. No matter what happens, no matter how you change and grow and open up, I will always have your back."
pro tip if you ever have creative block: make ur thoughts unbearable to listen to & become the worst person in the world frfr
barely managed to proofread this shit but at least this little cry has eased the lump in my throat (for now)
i love two i wish he were real, thank you for listening to my ted talk
do we want heavily self-indulgent "i hate uni and all my friends and also myself but at least you have my back as i lose my mind" ft. mr two as a little return ramble or should i take the L and hope i'll figure out how it feels to be me by next week?
theartofmadeline
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
dededos
titsay
origamiaround
gummygunk
