* ❪ ⛓️ ❫ : 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗱𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗼, not necessarily in a way that permits anyone to walk all over him, but in the genuine want to fulfill their request. a wall that was never really there to begin with, all loose nails and rotting wood, caving in on itself the moment they take an interest. body language mirroring his in a way that gives way to an old habit, attaching itself to them whether they asked for it or not. still, it's moments like these: trapped without anywhere to go, an endangered animal being hunted from the outskirts, he becomes something new. more irritable. prone to a nasty riposte. a threat to go back home. everything on the tip of his tongue, ready to shoot out and stick into the vulnerable parts of rafael like a poisoned dart. but it never comes. instead, greer's gaze lands on the takeout that chills in a pitying crumple of plastic. the warmth in his gut goes unspoken. just as it did everytime the older man was near. unfamiliar in this familiar territory. greer, confident and forward with his desires, usually basked in such short - lived intimacies — brooding women across the bar, faces filled with piercings and sharp scowls, uninhibited in the way fingernails drag cruelly against chafed shoulder blades; women with locs pinned up in a chic array of gold beads eliciting a purr as they pet his chest syrupy slow; a small sprinkle each passing stranger had to offer, watering the plant of romance kept alive once his divorced had settled — felt stumped. the way rafael had looked at him once, had been enough to send greer reeling back into the same pattern. following behind like a rescue that had been adopted out and returned over and over again. this time, however, he's cautious. uncertain in his attachment. here, exampled by the way greer is hesitant, posture straightening with the confidence to rip the bag out of his hands and shoo him off ( regrettably ). i can be quiet, greer. a breath, caught in his chest. like a damn mouse. all reluctance washed away within a single sentence. digits clenched around the glock shove it back into his beltline, tee shirt pulled over to conceal it. the door is yanked open with a sigh, a noise riddled with future regret. anything that happens now is his fault entirely. all because he couldn't say no to rafael velazquez.
the house is dark save the few candles that cough out their last moments of life, an unsettling hush that's never usually there. an indication if any, that whatever was happening was more than the public made it out to be. this wasn't a PR move, something to entertain the masses by sick curiosity and fun mystery. it was his past. history come back to collect its dues. ❛ you can put your coat there. or wherever. i'll bring you a towel. don't move anywhere. ❜ finger pointed at the coat rack as he moves toward the bathroom hall, full of nour's differently colored jackets and two of greer's, worn and weathered by labor. the skitter of pawpads echo down the hall, darla loudly announcing her arrival, finally waking up to see who's at the door. a tiny yip at the sight of a friend. greer shoots her a look, quieting her down but doing nothing for the tail that whips around at breakneck speed, muzzle shoved into raf's hands ( cleverly sniffing at the takeout ). greer's voice calls from afar. ❛ what kinda burgers did you bring her ? ❜ something light for the situation at hand, savoring casual normalities for as long as he can. knows for certain rafael's itching to ask him what the fuck is going on. and with every right to. he's just, hoping, raf can afford him a couple of seconds in blissful ignorance.
greer returns with a slightly damp towel, having been used a couple hours prior, an apologetic look crossing his face. ❛ sorry, we're outta fresh ones. laundry is kinda last on the to-do list this week. ❜ he clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck, tattoo there a raw pink with the anxiety that creeps back up to the surface. though the nerves aren't from harrowing anticipation that works at his psyche. rather, the sudden proximity between them. the droplets that slide off raf's neck are a sheen wax on inked skin, watching intently as each one dips down into the curvature of his clavicle, disappearing beneath his shirt. ❛ christ, i didn't know it was that fuckin bad out there. you look like pirate after a bath. ❜ that goddamn cat. yowling with all his little might as he'd swat at the sink's nozzle, covered in the same mud that coated his nine year old person. he's taking the bag from raf so he can sort himself out, settling it down against the granite island that's occupied by several coloring books and crossword puzzles. greer's own workout gear is out: black over the ear headphones, house keys, half empty hydro flask, and an apple watch to track his progress. a used home, shared by two souls intertwined. a pang of yearning hits his chest like a bullet. wonders what she's doing now. ❛ wasn't expecting visitors. sorry about the mess. it's usually a lot cleaner than this. ❜ and truthfully, it is. a man set in his ways about making sure the house smelled clean and appeared maintained. not precisely clinical and stale, but one full of care for the space he worked so hard on for years, making it comfortable for both parties and anyone who wanted to join them; decor a mix of his taste and nour's, a clash of bright tones and matte accents in a tastefully loud concoction.
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