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YOU ARE THE REASON
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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KIROKAZE
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@seabled
#𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃 : and we were made to make our own graves, and those of the ones who mean it all to us. and we had done monstrous, shameful things to survive. FREYA SRISAWAT. the heir. a dependent character study, penned for tidepoint. ( loved by steph ! ) introduction. pinterest. interactions.
location : the bluffs. time : approx. 3:12PM open to : @onimpact !
❛ i’m not going to apologize. ❜ an entry without preamble, sharp — down to the very point. something akin to a scowl takes shape in the purse of her lips, in the furrow of her brow ; she isn’t sure what it is that she expected, having concocted a hazy, far - off sketch of reintroduction in the far corners of her mind, but she’s certain that it wasn’t this. ❛ i’m not going to apologize because chicago sucked without you, and you just assumed that i was going to be here, and you never even picked up the phone and thought to ask — and that’s fucked, alena. that’s fucked and you know it. ❜ and at the proverbial crossroads, they stand ; it bothers her in a way she wishes it hadn’t, aching like a bruise, and here she is, pinching at the edges to bring the color back to the surface. ❛ you could have called, or texted, or fuck, sent me a letter. and you didn’t, so i’m stuck trying to figure out what i did wrong. ❜
location : freya's apartment time : approx. 2:39PM open to : @frontrose !
❛ i don’t want to talk about sadie, or that stupid text message, or that party — no offense, han, i know you worked hard on it. ❜ subtlety, try as she might, is lost on her : she has always been too brash, too abrasive, too crude. it rears its ugly head now, even in the quiet moments, and she winces, sheepish with the smile she tosses in her best friend’s direction. she means well, because of course she does, but freya doesn’t wish to dwell on what she cannot change. theodore is dead. someone killed him. someone is apparently intent on making sure they pay the price for the crime. two truths and a lie : she thinks they’re all being dramatic. a series of coincidences and cruel jokes seem easier to accept than the alternative. ( i know what you did last summer ! ) ❛ i want to talk about you — we haven’t caught up in forever. i need all the good gossip, you know ? what’s the state of the union on your love life ? i have to live vicariously through someone somehow. ❜
closed starter for : @seabled
it's between a passive drag of the cigarette now dangling between two fingers and a frown so deep , he was certain it was soon to invert back into his forehead . . . somewhere amongst those lines rei was left with no other choice than to succumb to the truth of gravitational pull , something that roped him in and ultimately kept him anchored in front of freya's door . not entirely sure how he even recalled her address . hesitant , more than he liked to admit , knuckles rapped against wood before he could think better of it . if fate was kinder than the dread within his stomach , the door would stay closed - his call unanswered . yet , a miniscule part hoped and itched . for what , he did not know .
❛ jesus, han — did you forget your phone or something ? relax, i’m coming. ❜ there’s something about sorrow, the way it sticks to the skin, seeps into the marrow, tucks itself against bone. it’s part of her now, a silent companion, a thorn in her side. she’s never alone now, not really. in an instant, freya’s propelled forward, the door thrown open abruptly, her eyes finding rei’s rather than hana’s soft gaze — it’s far from an unwelcome sight, quite the opposite if she dares to be honest, but she pauses all the same, hesitant. ❛ sorry, i — hana just left. i thought she might have forgotten her phone. and to be fair, you usually text first. ❜ and as quickly as her defenses had risen, they fall : this is supposed to soften her, thaw her, and somehow, it does. ❛ if you snuff that shit out, i’ll let you come in for a bit. or we can stand out here until the neighbors start to gossip. up to you. ❜
location : freya's apartment time : approx. 11:56PM open to : @pineapple1ce !
❛ i just dont get it — why would someone want us to think that teddy’s still alive ? obviously . . . you and i both know that he’s not. no offense to theodore. but he’s not. obviously. ❜ there’s a sheet mask stuck to blemish - free skin, head tilted back against the couch, a picturesque display of relaxation. yet inside, a sense of unease digs into the spaces between her ribs, settles down behind her heart — held close there, just like teddy. ❛ okay, i take it back : there’s plenty of reasons as to why someone would want us to think he’s still alive. so let me rephrase — i don’t understand why any of our friends would want us to think that. or why they’d even joke about something like that. ❜ it’s a typical friday night for them : face masks, pizza, shitty boxed wine. like hell is she letting anyone take this away from her. ❛ what’s your theory ? you have to have one. ❜
location : the boardwalk time : approx. 10:56AM open to : @incaelestis !
she has a wolf’s focus, palms splayed out against sun - warmed metal, still hot to touch. it’s the one thing separating her from the expanse of the ocean — the secrets clutched tight in its depths. it’s surprisingly quiet, save for the shrill giggles of the gaggle of toddlers along the ocean’s edge, their moms huddled together not far behind, almost certainly exchanging town gossip and secrets like currency. and at any other point in time, she might find it comforting, familiar. now, she recoils, the familiarity the enemy — hardly a friend. what happens in the in - between ? when the past comes back to bite, yet never breaks the skin ? bruises, yet never draws blood ? they’re gluttons for punishment, coming back here. victims of a haunting by their own design . . . of their own creation.
she hears him approach, feels it more than she’d care to admit, a sixth - sense born from a moment of weakness. she’s a proud woman, deservedly so, yet summer already has her playing defense, though she wouldn’t dare breathe a word of it. ❛ i’m surprised you came back, ❜ she murmurs after a moment, letting it hang in the space between them, a thread pulled taut. they don’t talk about it, they don’t talk at all, and maybe that’s for the best. it’s safer that way. ❛ if i was in your shoes, i don’t think i would have. that either makes you brave or stupid, you know ? ❜
seldom eyes wander , not by much . . . though , as far as curiosity led him . freya , a miracle wrapped in satin and sin . something most would admire , from mere distance - a gem that's held against light , only to come across layers on layers of riches . she did her part in maintaining that reputation . everything was perfectly laid out upon and afront her , meticulously so . . . if one was to ask rei . alike manicured nails , her life was just as precise . every detail manufactured to enhance the following and freya wouldn't be freya if all of that didn't bled straight back into her intentions . mostly , at least . someone is bound to notice , a person well endowed in the likes of the woman clad in designer and utter desperation . a person that would be low enough to not sing praise to her every step , instead track the way something deeper , nastier , curved amongst eyebrows that left no hair up to chance . someone . . . like rei sato . and he should say something - definitely , he should . seconds turned to minutes turned to hours in shared presence , that was barely a hushed whisper in the night to begin with . reticence thick in the way that could easily rip open the floor beneath and swallow them both . which , in hindsight , could be a potential indicator for the act following . . . a laugh . not a fabric of pretense to shield off what yearned to cling - in lieu . . . real . rei's eyes crinkle and the action forces a cough out of his lungs , tired body creaking to life against the odds of rust and rot . it's quick lived and just alike snaps back into shape of a frown . " y'might have a point there " a thought lingers . and he considers breathing it into the space between them . " feels cursed , misplaced . to laugh while someone is dyin' " but it's not just someone , right ? it's teddy and at the end of the day , he's already dead . no flowers or good will would be able to conceal that fact . " has . . . i mean , died . has died " slender fingers move in a hurry of distraction - paper , tobacco and expertise . rolled up nicotine snug between slightly parted lips as they spoke . " how 'bout this , y'talk an' i won't question the truth behind it " cigarette sparks to light where he certainly shouldn't smoke but all in white , who was to deny him ?
❛ it’s funny, isn’t it ? ❜ it isn’t funny at all, none of this is, but fuck it : she’ll bite. in another time, another place, her jaw may have clenched, muscles working against the secrets hidden between her teeth, tension gathering in the long line of her neck, down through the slope of slender shoulders, settling into the flexing tendons of her hands. her mouth may have fallen open, silence piercing through it all, a scream lodged in her throat — the decibels never come, try as she might ; an un - spoken protest of the blood on her hands, a stain she can never wash clean. but alas, she isn’t that girl anymore, and perhaps that’s for the best. now, she eyes rei with measured understanding, fixated on the movement of his hands, muscles flexing under the surface. he lights a cigarette and rather than scold him, her fingers extend in a silent plea, longing for a hit. it isn’t the first time / won’t be the last.
❛ we’re all walking on egg - shells, trying to be respectful about it, like we’re trying not to offend theodore. and it’s like . . . we can’t offend him. he’s dead, isn’t he ? ❜ a question rhetorical, but sometimes, she isn’t too sure : he’s there, in every room she walks into, a lingering ghost in every corner. freya takes a pull from her half - empty glass, wishes it was something with a little more bite, a little more burn, just enough to feel something for a change. ❛ you know, ❜ she starts, after a moment stretched thin, meeting his gaze once more. this time, it’s honest, open. vulnerable. ❛ i thought about not coming back this year. i wasn’t going to, actually. i had a trip booked — shanghai, bookended by bangkok. it would have taken all summer. ❜ but there’s no escaping a haunting, no matter how far you run. ❛ i don’t know why i did, honestly. i could have gone anywhere, but i came back here. ❜ a breath / a pause. ❛ did you have any doubts ? even for a moment ? or were you counting down the days until you got to come back here ? i know it’s hard to believe, but i won’t judge you either way. ❜
when he thinks about it, it always comes down to two possibilities. those are the only two that make sense. the thing is, both possibilities do — a little too much, really, if he were being honest. maybe it really is both things all at once. but that’s always what it comes down to, when the vicious little snake coiling in her belly decides to rear its head and ask the questions. he's not even sure which one of them is to blame for this weird distance, the text messages that are a piss poor replacement for a real conversation.
the two possibilities stare back at her tonight, wearing the face of freya srisawat. possibility one : last summer happened. the mangled body, the haphazard cover - up, the aftermath . . . all of it. you don't get through that together and come back the same. it was stupid to think otherwise. but here's where possibility two comes in. alena's stomach coils around itself. it's not your fault. how many times has she told herself that, fingers hovering over freya's number? did i leave you behind? he wants to ask now. if they'd held onto each other like a pair of shipwreck survivors this past year, would he ask? there's a text message already deleted on his phone. which is it, alena? teddy's voice rings in his head. is it possibility one or possibility two responsible for this particular distance? alena shrugs.
"it's lethe," she says. like that explains everything. maybe it does. "figured there was no point in coming down to chicago for a visit when you'd be here." he hadn't asked — before summer rolled around, he hadn't asked where freya would be. it seemed like a given, he'd reasoned. and he really would come visit otherwise. she allows herself a hint of a smile, for freya's sake. "anyway, it's been weird." it's also more honest than she'd planned for. "i haven't shown you my new place, have i? i'll facetime you whenever we're both back."
it’s a careful waltz, toeing the perimeter between anticipation and dread — the moment feels fragile, curled up in the palm of her hand, and she can do nothing but stare as alena lies clear through his teeth, a stoic allocution. figured there’d be no point in coming down to chicago for a visit when you’d be here. she scoffs, hiding it neatly behind the palm of her hand, a beacon of decorum. if her eye - roll is caught, she’ll do what she does best : deny, deny, deny. nothing about alena’s behavior surprises her ; the tension predictable, formulaic. inevitable. their penultimate dialogue feels as if it had taken place ages ago, years upon years rather than a few short months. hell, freya doesn’t even remember if alena had said goodbye.
❛ and what if i hadn’t come back this year ? ❜ it spills from her quick, sharp, glinting through the night like a blade. it turns quickly, temper flaring under the lights, against the thud of the bass. it’s disingenuous, the whole lot of it, and that may be the part that she hates the most. she’ll entertain it from the others, smile while they spin their lies and half - truths, weave the web of a story of their own creation, but she won’t do that with her. not with alena. not after everything. something accusatory simmers under the surface. this, a familiar arena : on the offense, swift to bite. it easier this way, at home in her own skin. yet her opponent is unfamiliar, foreign, a blindspot. they’ve always been on the same side, the two of them, thick as thieves. freya isn’t sure when that changed. or why. ❛ want me to send you a calendar invite ? that’ll keep it top of mind. get you to pick up the phone occasionally. ❜ her voice is saccharine, sticky - sweet. she smiles and it doesn’t reach her eyes. not even close. ❛ how do you like it out there ? it’s spokane, right ? ❜
if suna could arrive at an event three hours early to oversee every little thing, they would. any party not run by them inevitably falls short of something in their eyes, though they feign high spirits as they enjoy spirits, the drink in their hands being savored languidly. an excuse to remain at the bar, to have their eyes on others instead of being the one watched. a body slips next to theirs : freya. “ yes. it's always so peaceful here. outside problems just melt away, don't they ? ” except for this year, where death hangs over everyone's head. if they had confidence that no one would fall out of line and try to spill what they'd done, suna might not even be here this time around. what good had teddy ever done for them that they should bother mourning him ? the ghost of him had been lingering over them long before he'd died, and they were sick of it. the thought is quieted by another sip of their drink. burn down their throat is a soothing balm, a cleansing ritual, ridding their mind of sin. this is not the first time they’ve done this song and dance, trying to wash themselves clean of guilt — but the sin that was theodore is raw in a way all others weren’t. “ i think all of us have been feeling about the same. it's why we're all here, isn't it ? ” finally, they return freya's smile. sad, mourning, a little tremor to their lips, hints towards a grief they don't feel. “ let me have a question of my own, then. is water really all you’re drinking tonight ? ”
❛ do they melt away, or do we just get so caught up in our own little world here that we forget to come up for air ? ❜ curiosity lingers in the flexing tendons of her hand, her question somehow genuine as nimble fingers tap a forgettable rhythm against the breadth of the bar — is life truly simpler here, or do they just find themselves underwater, caught in the rip, losing sight of themselves until they breach the surface when summer inevitably bleeds into fall ? ❛ but speak for yourself, suna. i have a partners call at seven - thirty sharp monday morning. turns out partners don’t respect pto requests when there’s a billion dollars on the line. who knew ? ❜
somehow, the air is thick — heavy, pulled taut with something she can’t name. refuses to name. it’s suffocating, being back here, lost in the tide of the crowd, head barely held above the surface. and when she closes her eyes, there’s one face that threatens to pull her all the way under. freya musters a smile. ❛ is it wrong of me to say that i’m surprised you came back ? ❜ her head tilts to the side, gaze soft when she turns her attention to suna. poor thing. after everything, being back here . . . well, if the shoe was on her own foot, she isn’t sure she’d be able to do it. ❛ i’m glad you’re here, though. i fear i’d be pretty bored without you. — also, i’m doing a start - of - summer detox. juice cleanse. i’ll be back in old form before you know it. ❜ she won’t be, but what suna doesn’t know can’t possibly hurt them. ❛ you’ll have to hold it down for me where it counts. ❜
the night hasn’t unraveled far enough for them to find each other, but they already have. not by plan. never that. just instinct. corner of the bar, wrong side of the light. where freya can watch everyone, and zakaria stays hidden. we just pick up where we left off. a laugh close to a scoff drops from zak's lips. “ funny how that works. ” he signals the bartender, orders shots of tequila. doesn't look at freya, not until the glasses drop against the bar, twin thuds in the hush between songs. “ been working on self-improvement, ” he says after a beat, deadpan. nudging the shot her way with the back of his knuckle. he flicks the lime wedge off with a black-painted middle finger and downs his own shot before freya can touch hers. the burn familiar and welcomed. “ cut back on nicotine. started journaling. found inner peace. ” each word roll dry across his tongue like a spent shell casing, clinks quiet between them. “ showed up in white, so. i figured tonight's as good a time as any to ascend. ” he looks at her then. just once. long enough to say he remembers what she looked like nine months ago. longer still to prove he's got the same dirt under his nails. his grip around the shovel so tight it blistered. the five of them hunched over a grave that didn't look like one yet. just a hole. just a body. just teddy. “ quiet, ” he finishes, voice dropping to something that doesn't ask for forgiveness. “ mostly. ” and that’s the real answer. or at least the part he’s willing to give. he never did like talking about himself. “ what have you been up to ? ”
she stares ahead almost blankly, with barely a glance of acknowledgement thrown his way, a glorified figure - head of sorts, stoic in her observation of the court. they’ve changed, every last one of them, but have they in the ways that matter ? in the ways that count ? she clicks her tongue against her teeth, a judgmental tut — concise disapproval, as things so often are with her. ❛ that’s hilarious, ❜ freya murmurs, equally as flat and dry in delivery. they’re quite the pair, the two of them, going toe - to - toe : she, the golden child, and he, the red - headed step - child, the shadow. ❛ if this is your new and improved form, you should probably keep working at it. ❜ and the corner of her mouth twitches, nearly giving her away. she nudges the glass back in his direction with a slender finger and no explanation, gaze expectant.
there’s an understanding that falls between them that she can’t quite pinpoint, one bond born as they buried another. she dwells on it for a moment : the weight all - consuming. she’d cried that night, from what little she can remember, dark hair sticking to wet cheeks as she hunched over the hole in the ground. the grave. she thinks zak was kind enough not to mention it. maybe he’d even looked the other way. — well, none of that matters anymore. ❛ so you picked up a self - help book. riveting stuff, zakaria. ❜ and though her eyes chart her exits, tracing the invisible path that would guide her through the doors and out into the damp heat of the night, she softens minutely, guard falling just enough for him to breach. they’re not all that different, after all. ❛ i went to work. i went home. i had fun. and every road i took this year led me back to here, so what does that really say ? ❜ she eyes him sagely, eyebrow meticulously arched in question. there’s blood on her hands — and it’s the same color as the blood on his. not all that different, indeed. ❛ i’m surviving. same as you. isn’t that enough ? ❜
setting: walking towards lethe club lot, with @seabled
were they being haunted or hunted? which one shows more mercy? and were they about to find out? the questions trail past them, caught in the wind like loose thread, as freya and tommy walk side by side. it's a relief to find that the night air bites more softly. it washes over him desperately, peeling off the last of the tension still clinging to his collar. he'd almost enjoy this pocket of silence, if it wasn't for the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes, taunting him with whispers that something was wrong. suddenly, he spins on the heels of his foot, standing beneath a flickering streetlamp with the parking lot stretching behind him, blazer slung over one shoulder and hands on his hips, he makes a proposal: “how about this -- you come back to the five, we can order pizza, we can finish off the booze, and just forget about whatever the fuck that was?”
❛ jesus, cabbage patch, are we back in college ? — shitty beer, shitty pizza, commiserating about our shitty lives ? it’s giving junior year crashout, huh ? ❜ it’s light ribbing, coy grin tugging at the up -turned corners of her lips, a rare display of carefully guarded affection reserved for a select few. categorically, pizza and beer aren’t among the most desirable of her seldom indulgences, not anymore, but — there’s worse ways to spend an evening, with far worse people, nonetheless. she juts her chin in the direction of the parking lot, popping the clasp on her clutch to fetch the valet ticket, eyebrow arched. ❛ it’s not like i dri— ❜ the words die on her tongue, caught in the column of her throat, a flame snuffed out as her gaze focuses on somewhere in the distance — something. someone. her phone vibrates in her bag. ❛ hey tommy ? ❜ her hands are shaking. ❛ what the fuck is that ? ❜
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘. the lethe club, june 20th, 2025.
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. ❜
location : the lethe club time : approx. 9:43PM open to : @onimpact !
it’s difficult to remember the existence of herself that pre - dates this very moment, almost impossible to think back to the before : before the missteps, the mistakes, the miscues. before that night, and the fight — before the shovels. before teddy. maybe she’d been softer back then, or maybe she’d just gotten good at concealing this ugly little thing clawing at the cage of her ribs, begging to be let out, stuck in the spaces between bone. her phone feels heavy in her hand, and try as she might to ignore it, her gaze remains fixated on the dark screen, daring it to light up again. daring whoever to do it again, whatever sick fucking game they’re playing. it always comes back to that damn night, like a haunting.
❛ i almost thought you weren’t going to make it tonight, ❜ in lieu of a greeting, murmured just above the thrum of the party spread out before them. i almost thought you were avoiding me, is what she doesn’t say, though it sticks to the roof of her mouth, pressed tight against her teeth. she swallows around it and pretends it doesn’t burn. did you get the text, except that self - incrimination is frowned upon . . . allegedly. i missed you, except that she never called, never even so much as thought to. it’s good to see you, except that it’s not, not really, because if it was, she probably would have thought to make this moment happen before now. she settles on instead : ❛ you have to give me an update on your new place, yeah ? are you finally all settled in now ? ❜
✦ ⌢ closed for the heir / @seabled. ✦ ⌢ ＠ lethe club, around 10:15 p.m.
question sits on the tip on her tongue. five easy words: did you get that text? if the answer was yes, the mutually assured destruction continues. if the answer was no, there's a risk-- an assertion of guilt that hana isn't made to withstand. as quickly as she had approach, she slows down. she turns her phone off entirely and presses it to her chest, a facade set to test the waters. “freya! i've been looking for you all night. are my texts not going through? please say you aren't miserable here too.”
in any conversation, there is always a trap - door — unstable beneath her feet, teetering, ready to allow the floor to open up beneath her feet and drag her down, down, down. her phone burns a hole in the confines of her bag, but she doesn’t dare touch it, doesn’t dare reach for it. not when . . . white looks good on you. shame it won’t hide the stains. see you tonight. her heart beats wildly against its cage, adrenaline thrumming just below the surface, a plea to be let out, be free. he should be dead. he is dead. he has to be.
hana approaches her without preamble, and something in the center of her chest settles, familiarity sinking in. yet when she opens her mouth, she does the only thing she can think of to do : she lies. ❛ oh my god, i’m so sorry han — my phone’s dead. i thought i plugged it in while i was getting ready, but i guess it didn’t charge or something. i’m so sorry i was late. ❜ her bag hums in her hand, the faintest vibration, and freya sucks in a breath, hopeful that hana will stay none the wiser. lying to her best friend . . . it’s not something she’s proud of. ❛ i could never be miserable at a hana sayoc party. it came together perfectly, don’t you think ? plus you beat me to the kickoff party this year. — come on, you’re having fun, right ? ❜
