"So you what, sat there watching me struggle and decided to wait for me to ask?" Merritt huffs and crosses her arms, looking between the abandoned step stool, Vic's effortless reach, and the subsequently offered merchandise. Eventually she rolls her eyes and takes the hats, muttering a thank you before tossing them in the big cardboard box she stole from the backroom of the shop. "Actually, you know what, that's kind of woman-forward of you. Like, not offering to help me out when I need it until I ask so you don't look like a man who doesn't have faith that a woman can like, do anything."
After digging around in the box she comes up with two new hats, printed with fresh designs and ready for display. "Would you say that that's true? That you're woman-forward?"
She holds out the hats to Vic, waiting for him to put his long arms to use again.
“yes,” he affirms. despite himself, a smirk tugs at the corner of victor’s lips at merritt’s eye roll and begrudging thank you. he stands steady, watching as she digs through the box and holds out another pair of merchandise. when he takes the offered hats from her, he brings one closer to his eye level, tilting it slightly to observe the printed design.
he’s aware she’s fishing for more information on him. and while he’s not inclined to share anything, it’s more about what has the potential of getting back to frankie and has little to do with merritt herself. “sure. yeah.” victor turns again, placing one hat onto the shelf, then the other a few inches apart. he adjusts the brim of the first, then the second, aligning them like anyone would notice if they were off. “count me in for the feminist book club.”
her eyes narrow when he takes a few steps away but doesn’t completely leave. a wry smile tugs at one corner of her lips. “much better.” now, with the added space between them, it seems like he’s going to ignore her. fine, she wasn’t keen on making conversation either. fallon turns her gaze down to her watch, counting down the minutes until 2nd heaven goes up and she can go home.
then, victor answers and she turns her ear toward him, straining to make out what he’s muttering. fallon’s used to him doing that at work, but here, when the sound from inside fight club is faintly leaking through the door, it doesn’t help that he’s speaking under his breath. she lets out a sigh. “i backed into his car last month while trying to leave a party.” he had been improperly parked. and he’d cornered her for twenty minutes to soliloquy about how he’s also trying to start his own band. but mostly, she didn’t have enough room to reverse out of the driveway. she lifts the cup to her lips, taking a small sip. “your turn.”
fallon’s blunt delivery is unsurprising. what does make victor turn his ear toward her is that her answer is an honest one. he’s learned to expect their limited interactions will always skew towards sarcastic, even when juno is mentioned. “backed into his car,” he repeats with a nod. he opens his mouth to throw a remark her way about how that’s what mirrors are for. he takes a sip of his drink instead.
“my turn,” he mutters, a gruff, singular chuckle following. victor adjusts his stance, crossing his arms over his chest and resting the plastic cup against his bicep. for a second, he thinks he knows where this is headed. flashes of the basement party play out in his mind; the staircase, the paper clip jammed in the door lock, easy and ana’s voices in the distance. he knows fallon knows. that much is a given. it’s all quick, unwelcome, and he lets it go just as easily. he turns his head fully in her direction now. “be more specific.”
does your muse have any short or long-term goals? what are they?
victor has a pretty broad picture of what the future looks like. currently it’s less about goals to reach and more a life to maintain. whatever. i go more into this and his lack of goals in another answer.
what is holding your muse back in life? are they aware of this? are they doing anything about it?
he’s holding himself back and he’s very aware of it, but he doesn’t have time to unpack that. his lack of time to do just that is obviously self-induced… he works so much so that he doesn’t have to consider any of it. problem solved!
i’ll give him some credit and say he’s made minor strides. however, it has all been situational/prompted by an apology he’s had to make. other than that? no, he’s not doing anything.
what steps could your muse take to make headway on what's holding them back?
he could put a stop to seeing his actions in black and white or thinking that behavior is purely “good” or “bad”. he could admit to himself that while his past actions were bad, most of the time they were also out of survival. even though he doesn’t bat an eye at other people’s indiscretions because “you did what you had to do”, he doesn’t subscribe to the concept of nuance when it comes to his own life which is lame.
where does your muse want to be in one year's time? is this feasible?
ideally? right where he is now. he wants everything, including himself, to stay as it is. he likes his jobs, he likes his apartment, he likes colossal and the small community he's built. he even likes the way his life looks on the outside looking in. unfortunately for him with the answer to the next question, that’s not feasible.
what is something that needs to happen to your muse before they can make any realistic growth?
he needs to be arrested. 🙂 i feel like it’s probably one of the more extreme things that could happen, but he lived most of his life dealing with extremes and realistically, it’s the only thing that’s going to stick. i do think for it to work it has to be because he takes the fall for someone else. wrong place, right time situation. he hasn’t made a conscious decision for himself in years and say what you will, but that was a positive trait of his while living his old lifestyle. it was a horrible circumstance to be in, but it did force him to go after things he needed, as well as form goals for himself (ie. put roots down somewhere, turn his life around, etc).
really he needs to be put in a position that has him grappling with going back to his old ways. he needs something external that forces him into making decisions that have to do with him and the life that is beneficial to what he needs AND wants, not the life he’s trying to cage himself into by simply wanting things to look different than they were six years ago.
does your muse surround themselves with people who help or hinder their growth?
both. some people do help, especially when they push him to think about things he’s historically repressed and/or categorized as unimportant despite being very affected by them. like ana’s gotten him to admit some base level wants vs needs vs what’s easier. but generally speaking, people tend to let him behave the way he does in order to not scare him off and while it’s of good intent, it does cause him to remain stagnant.
“Nosy is one way to look at it,” he replied, half chuckling. Hearing Vic say he thinks the power the crystal’s hold is real made him nod and look back into the shop. That was enough for him to make up his mind and decide he didn’t feel like messing with the universe today. “Mi-…” his words trail off when Vic mentions the line is long for the milkshakes, sighing to himself, silently accepting that he’ll just be going home empty handed. Until he realizes the door is halfway open and Vic is looking at him like he expects him to follow. There is a brief hesitation before he ultimately does end up reaching out to hold the door and follow in behind Vic.
“It’s not my movie," Dario replies, stepping beside Vic, looking around for a moment. “It’s Easy’s movie. I’m just here to help with the ride and attempt to offer some ideas. I can only hope that I’ll think of something good enough to will help further his film." He looked back to Vic, smiling warmly, "I do like your idea of getting a crystal. I'll give it to him as a gift for good luck on the journey ahead. Hope you know I will be giving you credit too. It was your idea." And he was sure that Easy was going to like the idea that it wasn't just him supporting his film, he had Vic too, plenty of others wanted to do just the same. Any little chance he could take to show his best friend that he was supported Dario was going to take it.
"Besides keeping your promise to Juno," he says, "are you here for anything else? A crystal for you too, perhaps?” He stops to look at a couple of purple crystals, holding one out toward Vic, “What about these? Amethyst Crystals. They help with peace, spiritual protection, and mental clarity. Huh.” He snorts, “I’d probably need at least fifty for any mental clarity.”
victor wanders a few steps ahead, leaning down slightly to read the little placards in front of the crystals. he keeps his hands to himself. it’s a habit he hasn’t been able to kick when entering velvet moon despite his incessant apologies for pocketing a handful of the more expensive items. even with the rapport he’s managed to build with juno over the years, it’s hard to shake the feeling he shouldn’t be here. “right. that’s–” he clears his throat while straightening his posture, “nice. you don’t have to give me credit.” he glances over at dario briefly to offer a tight, somewhat smile, then looks back to the display. “i’ll hold a camera. it’s fine.”
“juno’s been asking to read my cards,” he says, continuing to look over the crystals like one of them would be practical enough to keep, but he supposes none of what’s found here could be considered so. “figured i’d throw her a bone.” it’s a pipe dream, he thinks, that it would stop her wanting to know more about him. if anything, it’s more probable one reading would prompt another. still, he’s not sure he cares.
when dario holds out the amethyst, victor squints to examine the polished stone. “mental clarity’s a lot to ask from a rock,” he jokes, letting out a huff of laughter. he tilts his head, vaguely gesturing toward another tray full of light green crystals. “aventurine,” he reads from the labeling on the display. “attracts luck.”
Yeah, Booker would never fire him, not unless Noa decided to shit where he eats and swipe a few twenties from the register - and even then, if he could convince Booker that he really needed that money for 2nd Heaven, they might be able to work something out. Stealing's never been his thing, though - he'd rather straight up ask - so he's not worried about his job security in the slightest.
Much like his cigarette habit, Noa doesn't usually bother to finish his coffee, or drink much of it at all. It's a glorified hand warmer at this point, one he holds close for some sort of tethering. Everything feels up in the air lately, and for Noa, who often feels perfectly in control, that's maybe the worst place for things to be. Victor's aborted small talk helps the world feel at least a little more normal.
"Yep." A quick, tight answer. Noa wonders if the rest of the band will even make it to the show; maybe Birdie would cop out, ditch them, disappear into nothing the same way they'd appeared in Colossal in the first place. "Why? You coming? Gonna' bring a little girlfriend?"
noa being the only real reason booker hired victor six years ago means he lets more slide than he normally would. if it were anyone else, he’d be less considerate, less willing to stomach anything unsavory without a look or a remark in return. besides, their equally non-forthcoming nature was a kind of reprieve. he expects neither of them to say much, which is more than he can say for any of the other conversations he’s had since the year began.
“thought about it.” not one to pass up on good music, he’s been considering going before 2nd heaven even left. though, now, the thought of trying to navigate his way through the crowdedness of fight club on a saturday night made him uneasy. not to mention he still hasn’t fully recovered from his and easy’s apartment becoming a revolving door a month prior. the list of people he could tag along with his short, two or three at best. “friend. ana, maybe. haven’t asked if she’s going.”
finished with opening the register, victor shifts to lean against the counter. “customer’s missed you. couple of groupies.”
"A trap? How would be a trap?" Easy briefly imagines the kitten animorphing into a snake - an angry tiger - a crying infant. He's not sure which would be worse, or if any of those are what the other might deem a 'trap'.
When Vic lifts himself from the chair, Easy holds the kitten closer - instinctively protective over the thing until it's clear that Victor's actually coming to do is exactly as he was told. Immediately, a part of Easy melts; nothing he chooses to dissect right now past the vague thought that seeing such a tiny animal in such a large pair of arms is beyond the constraints of the word adorable.
"Real nice way to talk about a little guy, Vic. He needs help - it's not like he can find his own food in weather like this." The kitten must be scrappy enough to survive this long, but with the way storms have been moving, who knows how long he'll last. Easy reaches out, scritches between its ears, lets his fingers brush against Vic's arm on the way down. "Tuna isn't that expensive," he argues quietly.
victor furrows his brows. “forget it.” perhaps trap wasn’t a good word to use, and while easy’s fingers brushing against him don’t go unnoticed, it does go ignored. in the subsequent weeks to the basement party, victor’s done his best to avoid what he’s found to be a common occurrence in his life; one mistake and he’s no longer welcome. there’s a backpack in the corner of his room that he’s packed and unpacked a hundred times before emptying it completely after things between them have relatively gone back to normal. a part of him thinks that disrupting their routine with a new addition would put a dent in the progress they’ve made. the other, far more logical part is able to write it off as overthinking.
as easy argues his case, victor is already prepared to cave. this isn’t something he particularly wants to argue about. easy’s right. no matter how scrappy it might be, colossal is definitely due for another storm or two before spring arrives. the kitten shifts, pressing its face into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. his grip adjusts and softens as he eases into the idea, his thumb smoothing over the fur on its side. “fine,” he caves, quicker than he intends. “you’re feeding him at five in the morning. cat’s scream.”
ana will admit she can be a pain in the ass. like right now, for instance. she stands there with an exaggerated pout, dragging out the moment to give off the impression that she’s contemplating his apology. she isn't. she's already forgiven victor. finally, ana sighs and says, “it’s okay.” if it were anyone else, her response would be very, very different. ana is just glad she doesn’t have to fight for an i'm sorry. it's simply too difficult to stay mad at victor, especially since she’s thought it over and ended up only finding fault within herself.
truthfully, this has more to do with her than victor. this past week has been quite the wake up call for her friendships. she obviously hasn’t been the best when it's come to creating safe spaces for them. ana has spent so much time crying about her current situations or crying if a situation wasn’t about her that she's rarely checked in. conversations consisted of a whole lot of her problems and never asking about their issues. unless, it benefitted her, of course. maybe it’s why victor kept his hook ups private, maybe it’s why mila didn’t speak on issues with milo, or maybe this is ana still making this about ana when it shouldn’t be. jeez, breaking old habits is hard.
she cracks a soft smile and rounds the corner of the counter, “and for whatever it’s worth, you can tell me anything. if you want— because yeah, life sucks. but, you don’t have to suffer through it alone.”
“though, i do have to ask,” because ana is turning a new leaf, mending those old ways. and she'd like to confirm her suspicions, prove she's right. that no one enjoys being someone's secret. “is that what you want? casual and never talking about it? be honest,” she holds up a pointer finger, warning him with no real heat behind the whispered words.
victor takes ana’s pout with a grain of salt. it’s not the first time he's been on the receiving end of one, nor does he think it’ll be the last. in a way, it’s endearing and comforting to know that not much has changed between them. victor appreciates it more than he lets on, especially when lately, normal has been rare. if he wasn’t at work, he was spending all his time in his head, turning the same thoughts over and over.
he shakes his head, more as a way to cut her off opposed to disagreement. “i know.” it’s true he does know he can tell her anything. he’s just not used to people offering him that. he’s used to keeping pieces of himself contained, offering only what's necessary in the moment and nothing more. it keeps his life and his relationships with others predictable. when it comes to ana, she’s always been able to corner the truth out of him without trying very hard. he figures that’s why he barely bothers with building a wall between them. “you don’t either.”
the answer to her question is simple; no is an easy word for him to say. explaining himself is the complicated part. he's learned the hard way that certain situations require honesty and more than monosyllabic answers. ana deserves more than one. “casual’s easier,” he starts, a faint twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth as ana holds up her pointer finger. “no one expects anything. i don’t expect anything. but it’s not–” he struggles to remain eye contact with her, but forces it anyway. “it’s not what i want. no.” what he wants and what he needs, he’s finding, are not that different from each other. then, he abruptly faces the register. “you didn’t scare him too much, did you?”
the openers are about halfway through their set when fallon and juno arrive. fallon would’ve preferred to get there earlier but juno lost the car keys, so they’d spent twenty minutes rummaging through drawers and coat pockets just for juno to realize she’d accidentally slipped it into her purse already. she doesn’t rate dickache so it’s not a huge deal but it does mean she has to elbow her way into making space for herself at the bar just for a coke with a lemon wedge.
fifteen years later, the bartender finally slides her drink to her and juno, unsurprisingly, has already abandoned her. for a while, she stands at the back of the crowd and tries to enjoy the music, which isn’t an easy feat when a new someone jostles against her every few seconds, threatening to spill her drink (definitely diet). and the music’s not even good.
fallon gives up eventually, slipping out the door to get a little air until 2nd heaven goes up. she’s leaning with her back against the wall, arms crossed as she holds her still nearly full cup by the rim when victor steps out. a huff, barely audible, escapes her when he positions himself just a few feet away. “hey, i called dibs on this corner.” she watches as he sips his drink. “did damien get your order right or is he still harboring that grudge against me?”
“my bad.” he shifts to the right to put more distance between them. there’s another corner just across the way, but moving feels unnecessary and, more to the point, he doesn’t want to. not with the group of people loitering near the entrance. he hears the rest of what she says, of course. victor’s too alert in his surroundings to miss anything. that doesn’t mean he rushes to respond.
the soda’s right, just as he’s been ordering all night. dr pepper with light ice. he’s sure the only reason it’s right at all is due to his habit of overpaying, even for soda, which means a heftier tip. he surveys the parking lot as he leans his shoulder back against the brick, his eyes snapping to the door as it opens and the sound of a guitar tuning filters out. once it shuts again, he looks back to the parking lot. finally, he mumbles, “it's fine.” victor lifts the cup, the ice knocking against the plastic as he brings the rim to his lips. a brow raises. “what’d you do to him?”
for: vic ( @scrtissues )
location/time: outside of velvet moon ( 1pm in the after noon, whatever weekend day works best)
Dario’s been standing outside Velvet Moon for the better part of an hour, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, staring up at the letters for the store sign. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, torn between walking away to get a milkshake instead of walking in to take advantage of the 20% discount. What was the point, really? He already had a pretty solid guess where things would go in regard to his love life—murky, complicated, probably self-inflected. And did he even want to be put on the spot like that? Publicly perceived? Evaluated by the universe? Just the very thought of it twisted his stomach into knots.
“Do you think this is real?” he asks aloud, mostly to himself, eyes still trained on the sign. “I mean, I think it’s real to an extent. All magic is. This is considered magic, isn’t it? Magic is spiritual, in my opinion.” He exhales softly, realizing he’s rambling, the internal spiral very much external now. When he finally turns his head, he nearly jumps out of his skin. Not because he was scared, just because, of all people, he didn’t expect it to be Vic next to him. “Oh, Vic. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” He straightens immediately, like he’s been caught doing something suspicious instead of just loitering on a public sidewalk.
Anyone could’ve walked by, that’s how sidewalks work, but Dario still apologizes on instinct, like taking up space requires permission. But for someone like him he does feel like it does require just that. On instinct he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish half-smile. “I swear I’m not skipping a shift today. I am actually off.” He gestures vaguely around them. “I was just…debating. Whether to go in or walk off in the direction of a milkshake.” He paused, looking from the shop back to Vic, suddenly curiosity won over common sense. Per usual. “Wait. Are you going in there?”
victor has never done well with a saturday afternoon off. too much idle time makes him think there’s something else he should be doing, like he’s forgotten to swing by someone’s house or he should be browsing the aisles at pieces and parts for a project another has him on. he’s already circled eden park a couple times to convince himself he wasn’t missing anything important. the only thing that had caught his attention was the hot chocolate booth and he’d patiently stood in line for an hour just for a small cup. eventually he ends up cutting through the foot traffic, walking down the sidewalk until he comes to a halt in front of velvet moon. it was the one place he actually promised to stop by.
he listens to dario ramble without interrupting or otherwise making his presence known. he’s more focused on looking through the window at tarot decks and crystals, trying to decide exactly how long counts as stopping by. when dario acknowledges him, victor keeps his expression blank. “it’s nosy as shit,” he shrugs. he’s declined any of juno’s offers for a reading, not out of disbelief, but because it feels a touch too invasive and he’s too superstitious to not believe what the cards have to say are right. and if they are, he doesn’t want to jinx himself by carrying around answers to questions he didn’t ask. “i think it’s real, though.”
“line’s long,” he tilts his head in the other direction, “for milkshakes. wrapped around the block.” victor tugs on the door handle to open it, the smell of incense wafting through the crack. “i told juno i’d stop by,” he nods once, taking a step forward into the store and holding the door open halfway as he looks back toward dario again. “get a lucky crystal or something. for your movie.”
closed starter for victor tavi ( @scrtissues )
-> the apartment, sunday 10am
It started with a faint mewling: a sound underscoring the raw footage he was scrolling through that Easy was certain he was imagining. The sound continued after he hit mute, though, and got stronger when he stepped out into the living room. Nothing behind the couch, nothing behind the armchair, nothing inside at all, so Easy cracked the window to the fire escape and his eyebrows rocketed to his hairline.
This is how Easy finds himself standing in Vic's door frame, a small, dark taupe-furred kitten in his arms and a sense of pleading in his expression.
"I don't know how he got up here but we have to keep him," Easy says. The kitten squirms in his arms to find a more comfortable way to rest before closing its eyes. "Hold him and tell me you disagree."
at the sight of easy in his doorframe, a kitten resting in his arms, victor tugs his headphones off and lets them rest around his neck. he thinks, just for a moment, he should’ve shut his door after breakfast. he lets it go, deciding normalcy within the apartment is more important after the last month.
“is this a trap?” he takes in easy’s pleading look and the kitten, who is no doubt worn down by the handful weeks it’s spent out in the blanket of snow around colossal. victor hangs his head, pausing for a moment before swinging his legs to the side of his bed and coming to a stand. he meets easy in the door frame, gently handling the kitten as he takes it in his own arms. the kitten immediately snuggles into the crook of his elbow. “we don’t have money for this thing.”
closed starter for victor tazi ( @scrtissues )
-> sit and spin, thursday, 9:55am
For the first time in a long time - a year, or maybe closer to two - Noa is not only on time to his shift, but early. This is the first red flag. The second is the cup carrier he wields: two large, black, steaming hot coffees from Fast Breaks carried in with benevolence and presented to Vic who stands dutifully behind the counter, his crossword book partially hidden beneath the register.
Noa Sweet does not show up early, and he most certainly does not bring anyone coffee. Yet here he is, silently pushing it across the counter and swiping the second for himself.
"Fuck off about it," he says, jumping ahead of whatever comment Vic might have about his timeliness. Not that Vic usually has much to say about anything - or at least, if he does, he keeps it to himself. "Booker said he'd fire me for real if I didn't come in today. Probably bullshitting as usual."
when the door opens, victor’s crossword book disappears beneath the register with a shove. there’s something wrong. that much is obvious given noa’s punctuality, but victor’s never been one to press an issue. especially when it has nothing to do with him. he raises a brow at the cup carrier–one for each of them. if victor’s learned over the years of working with noa, it’s that he should never turn down a gesture. he doesn’t mind they’re few and far in between, though more often than not, they include him having to say ‘please’. this one, thankfully, does not.
he nods in thanks as he drags the remaining cup closer to him with two fingers before lifting it. victor’s eyes lift back to noa over the lid. “bullshit,” he agrees, setting the cup down. he turns to begin starting the register for the day, punching a few buttons until the drawer rattles open. “last show’s saturday?”
with his back half-turned to the bar, victor catches the last few seconds of the opening band. there are a few scattered whistles and clapping, but mostly the crowd looks antsy as they wait for 2nd heaven to grace the stage. he watches it for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes drifting over the stage before settling back on the bar in front of him. when the bartender passes, they give him an expectant look. “dr pepper,” he says, his voice even, as if a soda is a natural thing to order here.
once the cup is placed in front of him, he sets a few ones down on the counter, sliding them closer to the bartender.
the crowd moves closer to the stage now that the break between sets has begun, shoulders bumping, voices rising as people try to claim better spots. someone laughs too loudly behind him, another already complaining about how long the changeover is taking. victor takes a slow sip before taking a step away from the bar, heading for the door without much thought.
he steps outside, dragging a hand over the back of his neck as he takes a deep inhale. the noise dulls behind him as the door swings shut, and victor easily finds a more secluded corner. he’s not alone. fallon’s a few feet away, but with the way they’ve maintained their typical behavior of staying out of each other’s way, he pays no mind. he takes a slow sip of his drink.
the dissatisfaction from victor at seeing her gives frankie a little surge of enjoyment, which undoubtedly says something unsavory about her, but she stopped worrying about psychoanalyzing herself a long time ago and doesn't dwell too much on the fact.
frankie's eyes widen a little bit. "you're funny! i didn't know that about you. not that that says much, right? i could fill the bathroom stalls with things i don't know about you, victor. well, that's an idea, isn't it?" she jests in turn, or at least she thinks she's joking. her curiosity about victor is reaching peak levels of desperation at this point, so she should probably keep that one in her back pocket. just in case.
is there anything she could write in a bathroom stall that would get him talking?
frankie stares blankly at him, allowing a long pause to stretch between them, one that says she might be considering answering his question honestly. "where were you running off to?" she asks, instead ignoring the question altogether. "don't tell me you were trying to sneak off with the snow. some people might call that a little suspicious, especially since the best place to be during a storm is usually at home, which this is for you, so..." her eyebrows lift, the gleam in her eyes expectant.
the stretch of silence and staring is unnerving, but if there’s anyone victor isn’t willing to show that to, it’s frankie. he blinks once at her question, evading an answer with his own, “why? gonna stalk me?” there is nothing abnormal about where victor is headed. the list he’d written earlier, folded in his coat pocket, is more of an ordinary occurrence than anything. all the names were those he believes expect him to show up regardless of the weather, which means there’s no reason to hide his plans.
“some of us have places to be. snow and all.” he knows he should be kinder, and can be if he tries hard enough, but minimal conversation with her has worked. it almost surprises him how well he’s stayed out of the colossal rumor mill. after so many years, he prefers to keep it that way. every so often he considers placating frankie, throwing her a bone, but the thought passes as always. “maybe i’ll spill my secrets next time.”
The grin he wears only stretches at Victor's denial. It might've been believable if he'd bothered moving away, but there's that brushing touch again, so soft and subtle it could be excused away with little more than a shrug. Easy knows better. Soft and subtle is Victor's whole thing. Blink and you miss it, words cut short if bothered with at all. Victor's a puzzle locked behind a trap door in a room filled with bear traps. He doesn't want to be observed. But if you wait for him - if you sit with him on the fire escape in silence while he smokes a cigarette, or hold his tools while he fixes the kitchen sink, or catch the way his face twitches while watching What's Eating Gilbert Grape at two in the morning - he will emerge.
Easy's caught glimpses of the man behind the leather jacket more than enough to know that the soft, subtle touch at his cheek and the gentle deflection mean, at least well enough. Victor, for all his history stealing, has trouble taking what he wants.
Easy? Not so much.
"I think you are," he murmurs. Moving slow so as not to scare the other off like a nervous deer, Easy reaches to anchor his hand at the back of Victor's neck; an evening of the playing field. Touch and be touched - seen and be seen. For a moment, they can be the only two people in the world. "Don't worry. I was going to suggest it, too. Why do you think I came up for water?"
( What they are, what they do, is not simple. If Easy ever bothered to unpack the situation with Victor, he'd know that, but ignorance is bliss when you gets to pull your roommate close and kiss him in the pale yellow light of the kitchen, warmth spreading and sizzling between you like butter in a hot pan. This much is simple. This much - the slow drag of their lips and the careful press of their touch - is simple. So Easy doesn't focus on the layers, the scary parts, the confusion that clouds whether or not what they're doing is normal. He focuses on Victor, because Victor - kissing Victor - feels right. And that's all he needs. )
“to drag me back downstairs.” he barely recognizes his own voice when he responds. with his thoughts still stuck on the idea that he is decidedly sober and easy is not, victor’s not so sure he knows much of anything. it would be easier then, to continue standing firm in his belief that wants are something only others are allowed to have.
they’ve come a long way from their serenity hollow apartment, their relationship previously consisting of open invitations for late night movie marathons and monosyllabic answers from victor. he likes to think he’s gotten better around easy. better at voicing simpler boundaries in a nicer manner, allowing him to share a quiet space without turning it into a negotiation, better at not disappearing into himself when things get too close and cut too deep. they’ve settled into a seamless routine these days, with at least one night a week consisting of a movie easy throws into the dvd player and victor bringing home their milkshakes, hot dogs, & french fries orders after work. some days he even believes it. other nights, like this one, victor is painfully aware of how much of that progress is just practice and not instinct.
so, when easy’s hand settles on the back of his neck, he does the only thing that is instinctive. he leans in slowly like he is giving himself one last chance to change his mind. he doesn’t, and his mouth finds easy’s as he kisses him back, careful and certain. the basement party long forgotten, it’s only them, in a situation they’ve been in a handful of times, yet this time feels different. it feels like in the light of day, victor won’t be positive their unspoken agreement to never speak about their drunken nights will be unspoken anymore.
he’s unaware of the time that’s passed until somewhere behind them, a floorboard creaks. victor opens his eyes, catching a shape in the doorway and the dim, flickering light from the hall filtering into the apartment. the simple fact he doesn’t tense at the footsteps tells him all he needs to know about who it is. both his arms drop to his sides as he pulls away from easy, frozen in the kitchen as he’s left alone with only guilt that pours in from keeping something from ana.
𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 : @scrtissues.
𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 & 𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : late afternoon at sit & spin records.
“you're the best,” she tells victor, and means it. as soon as her meeting with reenie concluded, ana rushed to the record store to grab a new cd victor put aside especially for her. she's so excited to listen that she can't even wait until she gets home. swiping the album from the back counter, ana hops and skips to the stereo. within a matter of seconds, it whirls to life and a familiar pop song is blasting through the speakers. a wide grin quickly appears on her face, completely lighting up at the sound of …baby, one more time.
oh, baby, baby, how was i supposed to know? it should come as a shock to absolutely no one that ana knows the choreography and she does it with ease while singing along to the lyrics. that something wasn’t right here. she doesn’t notice them right away but there are two other customers in the store with them. one guy who’s nodding along, mindlessly flipping through records. and a young girl who is staring at ana in amazement. she should really start charging for these performances.
it’s not until after the first chorus that she dances over to victor again. “thank you… for… saving me a copy,” ana can barely say the words, out of breath and apparently out of shape. it’s been several days since she’s seen him, when she briefly caught him in the apartment the morning after the party. despite all that occurred that night, victor still offered ana his bed. he's too good to her and she’d never say no to him. although, they didn’t exactly have the chance to talk with everyone else filtering in and out. “i do have another favor to ask,” and she couldn’t hold it in any longer, “tell me— what the hell is going on with you?”
as soon as the words leave ana’s mouth, victor hangs his head. he knows she means it. he’s not convinced he deserves to hear it. he’s not the best–not by a long shot. there are a multitude of reasons to the contrary, the most important one being that he’d been kept a secret from her. if anyone else had walked in on him and easy, he certainly wouldn’t feel this level of guilt. with most people, it was easy to write silence off as his need for privacy, to keep waters calm. his silence was the reason the life he’s spent years building in colossal has remained untouched by anything he might perceive as a threat.
when ana dances over to him, he meets her grin with an unmistakable smile that falters slightly as she mentions another favor. “what you saw…” even knowing he had nothing to worry about, victor was almost grateful they didn't have a chance to speak that same night. for every question that could be asked, he had a dishonest answer. the longer he watches her dance around the store, he takes note of how these few moments of normalcy are a nice reprieve from stewing in his room or while shoveling snow from driveways. he realizes, now, that he doesn’t have excuses when it comes to ana.
victor rubs a thumb along the edge of the counter, a habit he picked up when he’s stalling. the truth sits heavy in his chest, and he hates how much he wants to keep it there. he pauses, waiting until the customers who were close by return to browsing the selections. “it’s casual. not serious. we never talk about it.” facing ana, he looks her in the eye before blurting out a foreign phrase to him, “i’m sorry for not telling you.”
closed starter for vic tazi ( @scrtissues )
-> sit & spin records, bottom level
The worst part about making art for a small record store is being in charge of displaying said art in said small record store. Now, don't get her wrong, there's nothing Merritt loves more than being in charge, but in this specific case - wobbling on the ancient step-stool trying to grab one of the screen-printed trucker hats from the top shelf - she desperately wishes this were a task she could pawn off to one of the Spin staff instead.
With the way her fingers swipe desperately, she may have to.
The only one near her right now is Vic and he's not paying her any attention. His expressionless brooding is aimed at the register, obviously staring into space and thinking about, like, stealing cars or whatever he spends all his time doing.
"Um, Vic?" Merritt catches her breath as she steps back onto the sturdy floor. The step-stool is only a single step, but the adrenaline pulsing through her veins would have someone believing she'd been balancing on a twelve-foot-tall stiletto. "Can you come grab those hats from up there so I don't, like, kill myself in front of you?"
in hindsight, victor knows he should be doing something productive. there are boxes of new arrivals to stock, an entire display of band tees to refold for the fourth time today, and shelves that could stand to be dusted off. still, he remains behind the register with the daily newspaper unfolded across the counter, open to the crossword section. it’s mostly filled out save for one row. he stares, tapping a pen on the counter as he racks his brain for an answer to seventy-eight across.
his attempts to tune out his surroundings have fallen short, especially with the rattling step-stool. just as he’s about to make his way upstairs to see if he can pawn the bottom level register off to someone else, merritt speaks and her voice breaks his concentration entirely. victor blinks once, twice as he looks over to finally acknowledge her presence. “honestly, i was wondering how long it'd take you to ask.” he approaches, coming to a halt in front of the shelving. with ease, he reaches to grab two screen-printed trucker hats. he turns, offering them to merritt. “anything else?”
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