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YOU ARE THE REASON
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
#extradirty
KIROKAZE
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@saltbreak
#SALBREAK: [ . . . ] i have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again. a dependent blog affiliated with TIDEPOINT, penned and loved by xan ( she/her ) please do not interact unless a member of the group!
sadie stanton: the townie. ¹. intro, ². stats, ³. pinterest.
this was supposed to be the summer he finally convinced mr. higgins to release a summer special called 'the sadie & tommy' -- a half-and-half sandwich. but that'll have to wait until next year. the silent demand comes on right on cue and, like always, he holds it out of her reach, just enough to make her stretch. only when she offers up a bite of her own does he press his half into her palm. a bite for a half; it wasn't the fairest of trades, but he knew better than to start losing battles. their easy rhythm falters when the photograph is passed over. mid-chew, his eyes land on teddy first, and he almost lets the memory play out. that same laugh, echoing against the pier. then, his gaze drifts, snagging on the figure in the background. “is that..?” he brings the polaroid up close, which bends under the press of his thumb. a swallow works its way down hard, visible in the line of his throat, as he studies kieran's expression. “yeah? ... yeah. like, what's the alternative?” he asks, looking up at sadie, wanting to share the weight of it. “i don't think they were close. maybe teddy told a bad joke or something.” but he doesn't believe it himself. “why, what're you thinking?”
a year ago, it would have been easy to believe his words, to trust with the same ferocious open-heartedness her grandfather used to say she inherited from him. but that trust had fractured the night teddy died; the unspeakable might have bonded them all together, tied them to each other with something deeper than the friendship they'd spent half a decade crafting, but it had cracked them, too. "none of us were really that close to kieran." sadie hates the way it feels like an accusation, hates it even more that she can't decide if she means it as one or not. a frustrated noise pushes past her throat, half drowned out by the angry bite she takes of tommy's sandwich, the familiarity of it only helping her feel a little bit better. "i don't know," she finally admits after a beat of silence, eyes drawn back towards the picture. "maybe what's more important is who took the picture, not what's in it." tentatively, she looks back up at tommy, already dreading what she's about to suggest. while they shared many things in common, there were still some things sadie knew tommy wasn't on the same page about, even if he'd never made her feel bad about it before. "freya was taking polaroids that night, wasn't she?"
closed starter for : @saltbreak
“ like . . . i know it's probably not what'ya wanna hear but , i think it's funny “ hands already high up in defense that he'd soon have to drop again in order to gesture mildly around him - because no sentence of rei sato would be complete without at least a tad of it . ” how some “ and he let a verbal nod towards a certain someone manifest itself on purpose ” deny the text we literally all got , fuckin' hilarious if y'ask me “ nimble fingers card through unruly hair and a chuckle that was way too thin to be considered a laugh died on the tip of his tongue . ” i , for my part , got the text . felt like throwin' my stomach out , but then remembered how stupid expensive the champagne was and then thought better of it . y'know , the old usual , like any other human would do . like , what did you do when you got the text of doom from the realm of the undead ? " mostly rhetorical , heavily ironic and topped off with a sigh rustling through gruff lungs .
"actually, it's exactly what i want to hear," she corrects, perking up like a dog catching wind of a command. sadie would take any moment she could get, no matter how small, to be proven right— especially when it came to those she didn't see eye to eye with. it's nothing to laugh about, yet something about rei's narration makes her want to grin, his company forever tied to the image of her brothers and the years he knew them better than he knew her. "freaked the fuck out, obviously. honestly i wish i'd left the party then." with that she pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek as she mulls over her next words, dark eyes flicking towards his in curiosity. "did anything else weird happen that night for you?"
✦ ⌢ closed for the townie - @saltbreak.
nose wrinkles when sadie sits across from her. onlookers are left to decide if it is an exaggerated display of distaste or a nervous tick. "are you going to show me the text or not?" inquiry delivered with an accusatory tone. she opens her own texts, filled with unanswered notifications to make herself feel important really makes a show of her screen. “i was so busy at the party. maybe i missed it.”
she can feel her eyes rolling into the back of her skull, half of her still wanting to press the other girl for what she believed to be such an obvious lie. sadie couldn't help it, stubborn like an old dog set in her ways most of the time. and yet she relents, not even bothering to give hana's phone screen a glance before she's pulling out her own to show her the text. it's unceremoniously plopped onto the table between them, though her eyes stay fixed on hana, curious to study her face. "sure seems like you missed a lot that night. and i thought party hosts were supposed to be attentive."
for: tommy ( @pineapple1ce ) location: lethe harbor, on the pier time: 1:15 p.m.
spending their lunch breaks together had been their tradition since they were teenagers. sadie can still recall begging to switch shifts at saltbreak with one of her older brothers and the eye roll his teasing had earned when he questioned don't you two spend enough time together? nearly a decade later, the answer was still no, always a no when she knew too well how deceptively swift the summer was. in two months time they wouldn't have this; the ocean in front of them, the sandwiches they'll end up swapping because sadie always claims to like tommy's more. she motions for his other half, feet swinging as they dangle off the pier. the moment was almost too perfect to break. sadie wanted nothing more than to sit like this forever, the sun warming their faces, laughter warming her belly as he tells some ridiculously hilarious story about one of his whale watching tours. but the air is thick with more than salt this year and they both knew it. "so um, remember how i told you i found something at hana's party?" she brushes a hand against her napkin, fingers reaching into the pocket of her backpack and fishing the polaroid out to show him. "i don't really know what to do with it. i mean, i should probably talk to kieran first," she says before glancing up at him, craving the input of the person she knew best. "right?"
tidepoint takes shape of both paradise and prison. like a crumbling castle in an old gothic novel, something that was one beautiful and now lurks over its residents with a gaping maw and an unrelenting darkness. here, cloaked in white, suna makes the picture of the heroine in covers, holding a lantern and running away in fear. they've sequestered themself in a quiet corner. their molars mash together, stone-hued eyes narrowing as they glare at themselves in the tiny mirror they carry around in their purse. if only their stepfather had promoted them, they might have been to busy to make face the summer before, and perhaps then this entire mess could rest on someone else's shoulders. let the rest of the group scatter, run around like headless chickens — if they could have even made it this far without them having been there to clean up the mess. they wipe off their makeup bit by bit, frustration building, something about their bare face looking back at them in the mirror that made suna want to smash it into pieces. they force their features into something recognizable as they finally step back into the light of community. and there: a picture at their feet, beckoning to be taken. they grab it for a closer look before sadie finishes speaking, the contents making suna's ears start ringing. gloved thumb smooths over teddy's features. let sadie think of it as them reminiscing. really, they're aching to claw him out of the frame, make any and all mentions of teddy disappear forever. it's the one pictured next to teddy that has them pausing. it's nothing but fate that sadie stands before them and not kieran — with the way the night has gone, the sight of him after the picture might have been the thing to break their usual neutrality, calm seas becoming stormy. “ who could have had this? ” their voice cracks at the first word. suna clears their throat, willing strength. their gaze meets sadie's, and they morph themselves into a grieving friend, a confused partygoer, their mouth tilting into a frown. throughout the years, suna's learned people like vulnerability. what they perceive as weak is seen as sympathetic. “ it could be fake. someone trying to scare us. we should have it examined. ” anything to keep this picture in their hands and not kieran's. just in case. they edge closer to sadie, lowering their voice. “ did you get a text, too? this all feels like some kind of sick prank… ”
she watches suna with all the stunned grace of a prey animal, rooted in place like a child caught reaching into a cookie jar. there was no logical reason to feel guilty, and yet she couldn't help it, as if spotting the photo first had roped sadie into some scheme she wasn't privy to, one where dead friends kept popping in to haunt the night. only when suna's voice cracks does some of her fear melt away, and when the pair lock eyes it's enough to snap sadie from her stupor. there's a name on the tip of her tongue, but perhaps since the first time in learning it, she swallows the word, unsure of how to proceed. the memory is clear as ever: freya srisawat with a polaroid camera in hand. sadie can still remember the way the flash illuminated the darkness of lethe dip that night, clearer than any star. not once in knowing the heiress had she given her the benefit of the doubt. the grudge she harbored was inherited, heavy in history and soaked with the blood of her town, a web too mangled to unravel, and so sadie had never tried. but this... it felt like a sentencing, the first stone thrown in a massacre. there's a flash then of freya's face not even an hour prior, haughty and accusing, gratingly self-assured. she can feel her pulse spike, white hot and angry, teeth grinding themselves into acceptance. "freya was taking pictures that night," sadie finally speaks, searching suna's face carefully. would they dismiss the thought and chalk it up to petty dislike, or would she be taken seriously? "with a polaroid camera." at the suggestion the picture could be fake she frowns, dark brows furrowed in contemplation. there was no imitation for that kind of emotion, not one that could translate so perfectly without words to guide it. she had no proof except the sureness in her bones, the intuition masquerading as butterflies at the pit of her stomach, but still she says "i don't think it's fake." then, softer, almost hesitant: "and maybe we shouldn't be showing it to anyone outside of the group. just in case." she nods at the mention of the text, a sourness clawing up her throat that had nothing to do with the alcohol in her system. sadie had voiced a similar thought to tommy, though she's unsure if she ever actually believed it. —which one of them was cruel enough to joke about this? "does it feel like a prank to you?" lethe club had always felt so grand to sadie, but now it was suffocating, like the air was slowly being sucked from the room. "because to me, it almost feels like we're being watched." or tested. she leaves that thought unsaid, half because it still felt ridiculous enough not to voice out loud. "maybe we should give it back to kieran."
“ and here i was thinking i'd be able to escape tommy one day, ” milos states, a mixture of bitterness and a cracked attempt at humor. deflecting. distracting. the elephant in the room doesn't even fit in four walls anymore — it's bled out past the seams. his eyes catch with sadie's, noting the scrunch of disapproval that earns a crooked smile out of him. not the first, nor the last time she'll look at him like that. for a second, it feels like the sadie and milos who didn't know what it was like to dig six feet deep. before shovels, silence, and blood-stained summers. her i'm good isn't convincing. not to someone who knows how many ways people lie with a straight face. and god, he's missed her. missed that look she gives when he’s being stupid. eyes lock on sadies, feeling a single drop of his icy heart melt at her words. coming back to lethe had been a war in his own head. a back-and-forth match, until gravity and guilt pulled him home. sadie isn't his only reason for returning, but she was one of few that made the thought bearable. he leans in, shoulders grazing hers. nothing to some. but for milos — a careful, quiet affection, disguised as casual contact. her question draws a snort out of milos, dry and tired. “ if trouble means holding cells — then mostly, ” milos retorts, his nail now mindlessly picking at the label wrapped around the bottle in his hand. flecks of paper shredding off like dead skin. “ but i probably should see a dentist. ” he drags up his upper lip, tilting his chin like he's showing off a prize, revealing the gap where his premolar used to be. “ broke a guy's nose. lost a tooth. karma, maybe.” a beat. then, like he can't help himself: “ worth it, though. ”
there's a feeling inside her ribcage like she used to get when she was a kid and it would storm so hard the weathered windowpanes of her childhood bedroom would shake, when her brothers would barge in just after a clap of booming thunder, armed with flashlights and old action figures, ready to distract her. there was no taking sadie out of the violence of the moment completely, but just like in childhood, she clings to the lifeline milos offers. "tough luck. 'least you've got eternity to try and learn how to get along." they'd never be the people they were before last summer again, ones whose hands hadn't been dirt-caked and blood-stroked. there was no pretending it never happened. but maybe, in the aftermath, there could still be this: someone to bear the storm with. the last twelve months, she'd lived lonelier than she had a name for. a girl untethered, disconnected from the land she could walk backwards with her eyes closed in all it's familiarity. anger had seemed like a suitable companion then, bitterness keeping her from unraveling completely. but sadie knew she had it wrong the moment his shoulder touches hers. eyes soften, a thank you without saying thank you reflected in the dark of her irises. resentment sulks away like a domesticated beast at the first sign of kindness, waiting for a worthier adversary to rear it's head at. because this was milos. steady, even when he was unpredictable, just like the sea. "mostly," sadie repeats, like she doesn't quite believe him, amusement quirking her lips. his proclamation draws another eyebrow raise, though this one is expectant instead of accusing, a low whistle escaping as she leans in to inspect the damage. "it's always worth it to you— that's the problem," she laughs, head shaking in long accepted resignation at his antics. "i can make you an appointment. but i warn you, gregory's a miserable little old man who was definitely some kind of medieval torturer in a past life." her scathing review of lethe's only dentist was completely factual, not at all skewed by her longtime fear of being in the dental chair. "he stopped offering me lollypops after cleanings once i was six, the greedy fucking bastard."
for: suna ( @temerose ) location: lethe club time: 10:45 p.m.
it felt familiar in all the wrong ways, steadying herself against the bathroom countertop, the cool marble grounding beneath her fingertips as sadie reckons with her spinning reflection in the mirror. how many times had she spent her nights like this? head deliciously light in the bathroom with a sense of comfort knowing her friends were right behind that door, and that the summer was only beginning? only that comfort was gone now, warped into something nauseating. the text looms over her head like an axe; the next three months no longer the coveted promise they once were, but a sentencing instead, damnation awaiting. the cold water she splashes against her burning skin does little to settle her nerves, dark eyes snapping open in frustration. and that's when she sees it— the corner of something stuffed behind the mirror, a welcome distraction from the doom spiral. sadie tugs it free, the object coming into focus bit by bit. a polaroid, stained and weathered, yellowed and blurred from where water must have gotten in. yet the picture is clear: teddy. that night at tidepoint, before their worlds had changed forever. thumb traces the curve of his face, sadie's heart thumping against her chest like a sneaker trapped in a washing machine. she could hear his laugh through the photo, the same one he'd shared with her once in this very bathroom as he beckoned her over to show off his loot; a pocket full of tiny hand soaps, that devilish glint in his eyes as he proclaimed, "they've got the fancy shit." but the smile on her lips falters, eyes taking in more of the picture. there, in the background, is another familiar face. kieran's sharp jaw is unmistakable, though the expression he wears isn't one sadie recognizes. the way he's looking at teddy is raw, unguarded, the kind of look you give someone only when you don't think you're being watched; except someone was watching. sadie tightens her hold on the polaroid. the decision is made quick— give it to kieran the way she'd hope someone would do the same for her, an extension of the benefit of the doubt on a night where paranoia was very well taking over. only the universe, not for the first time that night, had other plans. the picture slips from her hands, and sadie can do nothing but watch the slow flutter until it lands face up, right at the base of suna's feet. "i—" the words catch in her throat as she realizes whatever plan she'd made would have to be abandoned. and yet, there was a certain comfort in sharing this with suna, their genuineness exactly the reliability sadie needed. "i found this in the bathroom. it was just tucked behind the mirror. like...like someone wanted us to see it."
location : the lethe club time : approx. 10:16PM open to : @saltbreak !
fear : noun. an unpleasant, often strong, emotion caused by the belief that someone, or something, is likely to be dangerous, a threat. it sits heavy, the weight of it pressing against the cage of her ribs until her lungs burn, gasping for air, fighting against the rock in the pit of her stomach. white looks good on you. if she had to recall how this all began, that night nearly a year ago, she would be at a loss, grasping blindly at the memory she’s unable to remember, yet finds impossible to forget. shame it won’t hide the stains. he’s a ghost in every room she walks into, and even now, teddy won’t leave her the fuck alone.
the turn of it is quick, eyes locking in on her target, a predator starved and met with prey. sadie stanton — a thorn in the tender flesh of her side, though she’d be wise not to give her the satisfaction. freya crosses the threshold, veering off - course, pulse thudding in her ears, a hummingbird heartbeat, something wild. see you tonight. yeah, whatever fucking game they’re playing is about to end before it ever really begins. ❛ i’d say hello, but i’ll spare you the pleasantries. ❜ it’s hissed as she slides into the open chair opposite lethe’s hometown loyalist, meeting a smiling face with inexplicable hostility. a flame drawn to fire, two sides of the same coin if they’d ever find it in themselves to admit it. and then, hushed : ❛ look, i don’t know what the hell you think you’re up to, stanton, but stop fucking around, yeah ? don’t make tonight harder than it has to be. ❜
the room rears in and out of focus; one minute she's looking out at the party that continues on, undeterred by threatening text messages or the ghosts of dead friends, the next she's at the bottom of tidepoint, saltwater stinging the eyes that roam over the unnatural bend in teddy's lifeless body, the stench of iron thickening the air. one blink, and her hand is gripping her cellphone. another, and she's holding the shovel. it was like being seven years old again, in the midst of the night terrors that used to plague her, the kind that would leave her unsure if she was awake or dreaming. it's only when freya slides into the space across from her does sadie have something to tether onto, though she quickly realizes it's no blessing. the accusation takes a second to process, her body reacting first. shaking hands ball into fists across her lap, teeth gnashing like a dog backed into a corner. "—are you fucking serious?" the question hangs, charged like the air that separates them. the shock that had seemed paralyzing just moments before gives way to something hotter, a flame only the other could stroke. "if anyone was going to pull a twisted stunt like this it'd be you." sadie leans closer, and maybe to an outsider they look like nothing more than two friends sharing a piece of gossip over the drowning beat of a pop song. "maybe you couldn't stand the attention not being on you for one single night, so you had to find a way to ruin it."
closed for : 𝙎𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙉𝙏𝙊𝙉 , @saltbreak
thumb smears tobacco into a straight line while the party staggers around him. the ritual steadies zakaria’s hands. he’s already got one cigarette riding the corner of his mouth, unlit, tasting want in every dry pull. from his post he watches sadie claim the center of the bar — too casual, too placed, like she wanted to be seen by him. some broad-shouldered summer guy leans into her; zakaria watches him with the detached disdain of someone who’s already picked him apart and found nothing worth keeping. he knows the type. too eager. the sort who calls sadie “ babe ” before he’s even learned what she hates. zakaria's lighter sits abandoned on the bartop beside him — proof he doesn’t need what he’s about to ask for. shirt open to mid-sternum, linen sticky with dried prosecco, heartbeat knocking against it. one step forward and he’ll slip into her gravity, that summer pull that burns itself out every september. one step back, and she stays a constellation he won’t name. free to let the stranger beside her map new territory on skin he pretends isn’t his favorite atlas, even though he never once called it his. he hears her laugh. not the real one — not the one she gave him last july, bare-legged and sitting on his lap on the back steps of the five like she wasn't waiting for him to say it meant something — but bright enough to prickle under his skin, to get him up and moving. the cigarette leads him. and when he interrupts, he doesn’t look at the stranger. just stops at her side, lips against her cheekbone in greeting, fitting there after 9 months of nothing. “ got a light? ”
she can feel his gaze like the moon tugging at the tide, a gravitational force sadie still hadn't quite figured out how to fall out of, no matter how crowded the room was. and she can't stand it, the way it makes her aware of every breath, every blink, every hair on her head; an ant being placed underneath a magnifying glass, seconds away from bursting into flames. she keeps her attention on the out-of-towner next to her, his name already lost to the buzzing of the other patrons— not that it mattered. lethe was full of guys like him this time a year, no shortage of options if she wanted. guys that were easy, predictable, who ordered her fruity drinks at the bar without even asking what she wanted first. guys who don't make things confusing, who wouldn't be hard to let go of once autumn rolled around. but zakaria's eyes continue to bore, a fire igniting underneath the cotton of her dress, heat licking down exposed shoulder blades until it settles in the base of her stomach. she won't turn, that old excitement sadie swore she buried last december sparking, the same kind she used to get as a teenager when she'd do something she wasn't allowed to. it was a tired dance, the way they slipped into each other's orbit, one that never seemed worth it once the silence rolled around, yet impossible to stop in each other's presence. and so it wasn't surprising when his body claims the space next to her just as she let out a laugh, a gesture as arrogant as the lips that brush against her skin. she holds her companion's gaze for one, two seconds longer before finally allowing zakaria an inch of her face. "you know i don't." an answer just as revealing as his question, maybe, a reminder she can't help herself from doling out. i'm not a stranger. though it's familiar, it startles sadie still when she feels her heart leap into her throat as her dark eyes rake down his frame, a year's worth of changes drunken in an instance. —would he notice those things about, too? like if her hair got longer, or the new ear piercing, or the little scar above her right eyebrow from when she'd gotten too close to her brother's foster cat in december? sadie tilts her head back toward the stranger who still lingers, the high arches of her cheekbones catching the light. "maybe he does."
setting: in the main room, lethe club. after receiving the text, with @saltbreak
the room coils in on itself as the text lands like a hammer. he wants to go home, he thinks. instead, he looks to his left, then right, as his eyes find sadie, like they always do, and then his feet follow suit. a single glance passes between them upon his arrival -- are you alright? yeah, me neither -- and that's all it takes. he nods in understanding, and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “shall we go outside?”
it was like the world tilted off its axis. teddy's name across her screen was enough to make the phone slip right from her hand, the thud muffled by the rowdy buzz of a crowd who hadn't just received a message from beyond the grave. someone places it back into her shaking fingers, but sadie doesn't say thank you, doesn't say anything, not even as doe eyes meet the gaze of her best friend across the room. but he understands anyway, of course he does, the hand on her shoulder her tether back into reality. she nods, squeezes his hand yes, body angled into his like when they were kids and she was still scared of his grandfather. tommy had shielded her then, too, no judgement or hesitation, not even after she'd discovered her fear had been nothing more than one brought on by an old town wise tale. it's only when they're outside that sadie untangles herself, but she doesn't stray far. when she finally speaks, her voice is small. "it's a joke, right?" only jokes were meant to be funny, like the ones that roll off his tongue with no effort at all. her dark eyes are rounded, pleading, like she could bend the universe itself to her will, or perhaps just coax the validation she's desperate for from tommy's lips. "it has to be."
milos watched sadie's fingers dance across his collar, a grimace on his face. not from her touch - though normally that would be the case. unknown touches, no matter how delicate and short-lived, usually makes milos's skin crawl. sadie had bandaged up his wounds, both visible and invisible, too many times to count at this point, that the point of contact didn't phase him. in some essence, it grounded him. like a tether. a brief illusion of normalcy , even if it was all a facade. like slapping a band-aid on something that needed stitches. " white is for heaven though, yeah ? " milos notes, quirking an eyebrow at her, eyes scanning her own white attire. " hell's the only place we're ending up . " the smell of dirt infiltrating his nose. sadie and milos gripping rusty shovels; their hands shaking and blistered. unveiling the ground beneath them. flashbacks that remind him exactly why they'll never make it to the pearly gates. milos slowly starts to roll up his sleeves, but quickly resorts to shoving them up to his elbows. neatness seems like an oversight, at this point. he lifts the bottle of beer to his lips, close to lukewarm now, but he doesn't care. " so, " his voice cuts through " how's lethe life ? any ghost sightings ? " his voice low, almost casual. he pauses for a beat, and his tone softens. " you good ? "
it wasn't a new thought in her head, but there was a certain finality to hearing milos say it out loud that made it realer. do you think we'll see teddy there? the question almost slips, drowned instead by another generous swig of champagne. "at least it won't be lonely," is what she quips, lips pulled into a wry grin. she used to dream about something stronger than lethe to tie them all together, terrified that she'd wake up some day in the future and they'd stop showing up until she was the only one left still waiting. now, she'd do anything to go back to a time they didn't share this burden. eyes catch the movement as he rolls up his sleeves, nose scrunching in disapproval as he gives up the careful movement for the violent alternative, her earlier handiwork be dammed. sadie raises a brow, as if to say really, a look no doubt familiar to him. and it was comforting, knowing not everything had changed. "just about everywhere i go." she means for her answer to come off lighthearted, but her words can't help but betray some of the resentment she carries. he got to leave, just like everybody else. he didn't have to walk past mizu, or tidepoint, or see teddy's face in every old hangout spot every day for the last year. but that envy cracks the moment milos softens his voice, shame heating her neck. "i'm good." and then, half to make up for feeling angry, half because she means it, "i'm glad you're here, you know." she lifts her glass for another sip, willing the bubbles to go straight to her head, to unwind some of the tension from her spine even if the lightness doesn't last. "what about you, huh? —kept yourself out of trouble alright?"
ghosts have a way of seeping their way into your daily life. like teddy now: a drifter between life and death. “jesus, sadie. why don't you call it out to the whole club?” hana scolds, brows furrowing in displeasure. her arms fold over her chest, a defensive wall to shield herself from the responsibility. “anyways, he would've loved it." (not her motivation for hosting the party this year, but—) “you think he wouldn't be finishing off a champagne tower right now? be real." hands raise in surrender, "next time i'll just let you be miserable all by yourself, lest you sign a confession in the bathroom.”
she wasn't sure what was worse— the words falling from hana's lips, or their ability to rile sadie up like she was still teenager. anxiety was a hell of a regressor, patience worn thin in the twelve months the virtue had gone unpracticed. "like anyone can hear me over this playlist. how long did it take for you to make it, by the way? i bet you agonized over each individual song for at least ten minutes because you wanted everyone to like it so bad." it was an uncharacteristically childish jab delivered sober, the few sips of champagne she'd drank hardly an excuse. but hana had hit a sore spot mentioning teddy, pressed down on the wound that refused to scab over. "you be real— as if this night has to do with anybody except you." long gone were the days she couldn't see past the smokescreen, when sadie still believed hana's intentions were as genuine as her words were. like a child confronted with the fact that fairytales were only made-up stories, there was nothing but the bitter bite of disappointment in the aftermath. she takes a step closer, voice lowered even despite her earlier stubbornness on the matter, though the eight inches of height difference between them renders the fact less agreeable than it could be. "do you know what really pisses me off? six years, and the only time i feel like you've even been a fraction of the way real was when you were holding that shovel. i'm not like you, han. if i wanted to blow our lives up i wouldn't be here pretending."
open to : four replies. location : lethe club, 10 p.m.
she shows up late. always does. not fashionably, not even carelessly — just wrong, like a glitch in the night, like something lethe tried to spit out but couldn’t quite manage. her heels are mismatched. she lost one of the original pair days ago and never cared enough to replace it. there's a smear of lipstick on her cheek like she forgot where her mouth was, and her pupils are blown wide, black holes swallowing what little light’s left in her. she's wearing a white slip — something thin and askew and wrinkled from where she slept in it on someone else’s floor. it clings like humidity, like a fever, like guilt that never dried out. one strap’s slipping off her shoulder and she doesn’t bother to fix it. her ribs show. she knows she doesn’t belong here — but the night is predatory, and it pulls her in anyway — slow and sweet like poison disguised as honey, like the way black mold grows behind wallpaper. inside, the party swells. champagne towers glint like knives. someone laughs too loud. the music cleaves like a migraine. she doesn’t go in. not yet. she hovers on the threshold, shoulders bare, glitter clinging to her skin like fallout. a cigarette dangles between two fingers, already half ash. her lighter’s almost out of fluid, but she keeps clicking it anyway. eventually it catches. she inhales — like she’s trying to burn something out of herself. exhales like maybe it worked. but there’s a bitter punch — of caffeine. of nicotine. of something else she can’t remember taking. her hands twitch, her jaw locks, and her heart stutters in that way it sometimes does, like it’s trying to warn her. she ignores it. footsteps approach — slow, cautious, like whoever it is already knows better. she doesn’t turn. doesn’t acknowledge them. just stares into the dark like there might be something in it worth finding. ‘ what. ’ there's no inflection — just flat. hollow. like a snapped wire, without urgency. the cigarette burns to the filter.
being back together again was like waking up and realizing she'd memorized all the right steps to the wrong dance. the music was still the same, the setting hadn't changed, but what was once effortless as puzzle pieces clicking together felt clumsy and disordered. their garden of eden was thrust into an entropic state, one sadie had little clue how to navigate, despite lethe being her home. still, she'd tried. no one could deny she had, the way she'd flitted about the last two hours from face to familiar face a testament to the childish desire she had yet to completely abandon; a secret hope that somehow, their lives could remain the same. but no amount of nostalgia-tinged comfort could outweigh the guilt or chase away the anger she hadn't known she'd been harboring, surprising like the discovery of a bruise you had no recollection of earning. for twelve months, sadie had resented them— resented ever meeting them, resented their presence in her town. she resented the mark all fourteen of them had made on her in the years she'd been pliable as dough; resented how just because they'd made an imprint didn't mean they'd stay. because one of then was gone now. teddy was never coming back. and only in his absence had sadie been able to come to terms with the harder truth: maybe she didn't really resent them at all. it was conflicting, feeling both like she couldn't breathe and like she'd only now, in their return, taken her first breath all year. but she should have known better. the text from teddy wouldn't stop repeating itself inside her head for the last hour, borrowing his voice without his consent, words he'd never uttered now seared like a false memory. yet inside, the party marched on. the dance continued. but she'd had her fill of wrongwrongwrong. the june air is humid against her skin, thick with the scent of saltwater. sadie lets her eyes close, lets the buzzing cicadas transport her, just for a moment, to the innocence she's outgrown. somewhere inside, a glass is shattered. a round of muffled cheers follow; the fantasy cracks. her eyes fly open, and there rue stands, illuminated in moonlight like lucifer just cast out of heaven. she stares— of course she fucking stares. but there's no pity reflected in the darkness of her gaze, only a quiet curiosity, one that has her feet moving before she can register, the slow steps of a sleepwalker. a moth drawn to the flame, not because it doesn't recognize the fire, but because it'd like to know just how close it could get before it burns. "just wasn't counting on hearing from two ghosts tonight," she says, watching the last of cigarette smoke disappear into the air. there's a beat as sadie considers what she asks next, just a breath really, but there all the same. "did you read it? the text from teddy's phone number?"
starter for : @saltbreak !
the condensation from the beer bottle drips onto milos's hand, his tattooed fingers gripping the bottle with a force that felt like it could potentially shatter it. it felt comical, almost, the contrast between milos's borrowed, expensive white-collared shirt ( the only white he owns has band logos on it ) , and the cheap miller high life. the fact that they're even here, together, eating dinner. carrying on. pretending. the tension in his shoulders has been constant since the second he saw the pristine table setting, feeling it radiate throughout his entire body. as if on cue, milos finds sadie and like a boat drawn to shore, milos drifts over to her. "i hate this fucking shirt," milos grumbles, glancing at her before settling somewhere ahead. "i mean, thank you for making it presentable. but you can't tell me the all white doesn't feel fucking culty, yeah? jebote." he takes a swig of his beer, his 4th of the night. anything to make it through. anything to survive. "please tell me you see it. i'm not crazy, right," milos mutters uneasily.
june used to be magical once. it was a sentiment built on lemonade stands and splashing through sprinklers, a childhood excitement that carried over and morphed into something new as she grew. counting down the days until school ended was traded for counting down the days until they all arrived in lethe again, the first official month of summer the backdrop to it all. —and now? the cicadas still buzzed, the air was still humid with salt and sweat, the sun continued to rise; but the magic was gone. it was splashed out on the rocks in crimson the same way teddy had been, abandoned at the bottom of tidepoint with the rest of their secrets. being at the party almost didn't feel real to sadie, a wake-up call clad in glitter and hors d'oeuvres. for her, there'd be no pretending. this was a reckoning. the blow is softened by the familiar grumble, the corner of her lips twitching upward with fondness, or perhaps just gratuity at his intervening. she tugs at his collar, dark eyes roving over her work with the iron approvingly. "i like the shirt," sadie lilts, her tone teasing. "never seen you look so angelic." but after a moment, the smile falters. "you're not crazy. honestly, cult might be exactly what hana was going for with the dress code." the champagne is cold as it slides down her throat, yet still her insides burn, uncertainty lighting a fire in the base of her stomach. "s'better than what i was thinking, anyway." she tries for a smile again, a small shrug rolling off thin shoulders, desperate to be the anchor once more and not the ship drifting out to sea. "i think we all look dead."
✦ ⌢ open to unlimited replies. ✦ ⌢ ＠ lethe club, around 8:30 p.m.
like narcissus and the water, peering down at the party reflects all of hana's best & most well-crafted assets: extravagance, abundance, luxury. this had been a non-negotiable of her return, a much needed reset button. the intentions had been to curate a space so lively that there would be no space for reminicsing. so when she spots someone hovering near a back corner of the club, it's registered as a personal attack. “what are you doing over here?” she asks, already closing in on their personal space. a frown threatens to cross her lips, “don't you like the party?”
teddy would have loved this. that's the thought that refuses to leave her brain since the moment she'd stepped foot into lethe club. sadie could picture him here so clearly; always a glass in hand, always a laugh at bay. alive, he'd been larger than life. it only made sense he'd be no different dead. they weren't comforting thoughts, and she found no solace in the exaggerated opulence of her surroundings. the champagne flute trembles in her hand. if she gripped it any harder, it might shatter. she just needed one last moment alone before having to face anyone. all year long, it'd just been her and teddy's ghost haunting lethe— she didn't know if she was ready to share her town again with everyone else. as it turned out, sadie had no say in the matter. hana materializes, a poltergeist in her own right, one made up of smoke and mirrors. "i'm standing," is how sadie chooses to reply, unable to keep her tone impassive. disdain creeping in. she blinks at the follow-up question, once, twice, as if waiting for the punchline. "oh yeah han, it's great. our friend's dead and you decided to throw the met gala. i'm sure freya's impressed."
( courtney eaton. cis woman. she/her ). ⸻ sadie stanton, a twenty-seven year old cafe and surfshop manager, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the townie, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by the bittersweet ache that comes with the last fireworks of the season, the sound of cicadas and rolling thunder from an open window, the hand that surfaces just before the tide pulls you under. they've always been disarming and strong-willed, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
