i can't control

[sonnywells]

text ~ sonny

( many realizations click at once, stupid georgia )

GEORGIA: yeah, i know. sorry it's not ideal

GEORGIA: i didn't bring any intern tasks to distract you

GEORGIA: i am yeah, i'm transcribing interviews right now

( a beat )

GEORGIA: what's your eta?

SONNY: snow is hard for everyone

SONNY: i'm good. i've got some options

SONNY: anything interesting? should be there in ten if mr. daniels doesn't get stuck. it's bad out here.

[sonnywells]

text ~ sonny

GEORGIA: it sucks just as much as it always did

( a beat )

GEORGIA: but it's nice, what they did. the town needed it

SONNY: not for me. it's... you know it's different for me.

SONNY: the town. yeah.

SONNY: are you reporting on it?

[sonnywells]

text ~ sonny

GEORGIA: it's not a fucking party, sonny

GEORGIA: your house will lose power relatively soon and for god knows how long. get your ass here

SONNY: i'm on my way, peaches. chill.

SONNY: i haven't set foot in that place for...

SONNY: years.

[sonnywells]

text ~ sonny

GEORGIA: you're not on the guest list

SONNY: [ unsent ] i can't make it through the snow alone

SONNY: not a party i really care to join

[sonnywells]

text ~ sonny

GEORGIA: get your ass to snowcliffe

SONNY: who says i'm not already there?

[sonnywells]

O L I V I A.

if liv had slept two hours after the tree lighting and everything that happened since then, it was too long. her head was still pounding, all the alcohol in her body and the yelling that she and apollo had to do in order to get the horse outside of her home not making it any easier. her house was a mess after the whole incident, their friend the horse having eating some of the christmas ornaments she’d put up a couple of weeks ago. so after the cleaning team arrived at her house, olivia decided to have lunch outside and to shop around some replacements for the eaten christmas ornaments. she’d been walking around the booths, stopping here and there and already had a couple of bags in one of her hands when she stopped at another booth. she’d recognized his hair anywhere and even if she hadn’t seen him, the all too familiar smell of his cologne would have let her know that he was somewhere near her. she doesn’t have the patience nor the energy to do whatever they’re doing lately, all the back and forth and the lies. so even if she sees him first, she stays quiet and instead picks up a snow globe to check out its details. “greyson,” she tries to mask the surprise in her voice with a nod of her head, but isn’t really sure if it works or not. liv looks down at the gold necklace in his hand, knowing right away that he’s looking for a gift for frankie. and tries to ignore how much she wants to reach out and touch his bruised eye, to make sure that he’s okay. the sight is enough to travel back in time to when it was them exchanging gifts, them walking hand in hand during this festival, making out under the mistletoe, taking care of him after one of his fights. a lifetime away. “that’s really pretty. small but elegant. how jewelry should always be.”

there’s been plenty of years since olivia and greyson fell apart. enough time that he’s been shopping at this very festival a handful of times without her. but even still, as she stands in such proximity to him, the brunette feels like he’s been transported back into high school. bickering over who would get the other a better gift, kissing between whispered innuendos, watching the tree lighting and staying up all night afterwards. this time of year, the two seemed to be better at keeping themselves in check. better at loving one another when he was home, when they were steady, and when the holiday season was under way. how could you not be a better boyfriend? ‘tis the damn season, after all. says the man whose hand is looking at a dainty necklace and thinking about it draped over the collarbones of a woman who is not blonde. a woman very far from his girlfriend. when olivia goes further than simply acknowledging him, greyson tilts his chin her direction, eyes following a beat later. “you think so?” a small smile tugs at his lips. “reminds me of the constellation one i got you our junior year,” he nods, chuckling at the thought. he has half a mind to ask if she still has that necklace, but refrains. there’s a soft gold bracelet he’d gotten her once, too. nothing he’s seen her wear since. sonny’s hands return to his sides. “maybe jewelry isn’t the right choice this year. little too cliché,” he notes, mostly to himself. “what’re you looking for?” a relatively easy question, he hopes, knowing if they talk about the night before it might explode their current ability to be civil.

[sonnywells]

P E A C H E S.

georgia lets an amused grin lift her lips as he salutes her, hoping he can’t see it as she turns away from him to work on the layout. it’s an easy choice, really. she’ll copy-edit her colleagues’ articles later, when she has a clearer mind and she is back to her normal self, the one that will judge their word choices in google doc comments and trim half of their nonsense just because she knows she could do better. once she is not the woman that allows bruised men to bribe her with instant peanut noodles. georgia begins to play around with the layout of the third page, one that she has never cared about and never will, just so that she can pay attention without showing it. greyson’s hand enters her field of vision and she is too late to move out of his way, his touch sending goosebumps up her entire arm, luckily hidden under cable-knit yarn, it takes everything in her to keep her voice steady. “he’s mia,” she confirms, lifting her phone to see no messages from skyler and she frowns, worried. her expert fingers move things on the screen as her trained ears hang on to every word greyson wells speaks. master eavesdropper, georgia never misses a word sonny says, today is not the exception. the rhythmic ripping sound of the paper as greyson opens envelope after envelope softens the blow as sonny shoots at georgia the question that plagues her every sleepless night. ellie’s teary eyes flash in her mind, the phantom satisfaction of such a heartless stab burns down georgia’s spine and her hand flexes in discomfort. let me know when you figure that one out, sonny, she wants to scoff. instead, she turns around, reaching past him to grab a stack of pastel blue post-its, discarding the pen she had been nibbling on to write a couple of notes to herself on the layout with one of her pencils. “so, are any of those questions not rhetorical?” she asks after a beat, eyes lifting to his face so he knows she is sincere. if he wants an answer, she’ll give her opinion. otherwise, she’ll keep listening. she has all night. 

being in an office isn’t a normal thing for sonny wells. he’s sure some of georgia’s coworkers are confused about him being here, alone especially. but he has a wide expertise in letters. mostly ones from adoring fans, professing love, thanking him for showing them that skiing is a passion, and always being a great role model. a great role model… fucking funny now, isn’t it? opening envelopes feels like an old friend, a welcome distraction for hands that might usually knock over a coffee with their expressive nature. the tearing of the seal is like music to his ears each and every time, refusing to allow his mind to think too much about the words he’s saying. “i mean any and all of them could go either way,” he admits, setting the letters down in defeat, letter opener falling on the same surface beside them. there’s too much in his mind in this very moment, too much for him to focus on to know if he wants answers at all. “don’t you think it’s fucking dumb as shit for people to comment on things they know nothing about?” a definite rhetorical question. “like, riddle me this, reporter girl, how in the fuck does apollo matheson have the right to tell me i don’t deserve frankie conte when the door isn’t locked. she could leave whenever she wanted to, peaches,” eyes bore into the stack of letters before looking up, desiring to meet chestnut hues affixed to a computer screen. “in fact, the door is not only unlocked, it’s wide fucking open. i am not holding this chick hostage in our relationship,” a sigh, hands punctuating his sentence before picking the stack of letters back up and pulling the first one’s contents out. “is it wrong for me to think that if she had enough self-respect, she’d just leave?” it is wrong. “don’t answer that. but i don’t care if i’m hurting her. i didn’t care when i hurt apollo,” one letter for the printing department. “i don’t give a single fuck if i hurt the majority of people in my life aside from maybe you and skyler and… jesus, isn’t that shit? shouldn’t i… care?” a letter for advertising. “i know i’m wasting your time. i just keep letting this shit sit in my head and it feels like i have to let it out.” and he does, but perhaps his best friend’s sister isn’t who you’d expect him to open the floodgates for. later on in the night, on his way home, greyson would be surprised ( confused, even ) by it, too.

[sonnywells]

imessage | greyson

skyler: i left early

skyler: ended up at the bar

skyler: dude, you don't have to be. what the fuck happened?

sonny: aight and no text saying so? cute

sonny: he said i don't deserve frankie

sonny: right tf in front of her

sonny: now i have a black eye

[sonnywells]

imessage | greyson

skyler: hey man

skyler: heard about what happened with apollo

skyler: you good?

sonny: where were you?

sonny: lit looked everywhere for you

sonny: i'm fucking fine, right? always fine.

[sonnywells]

E L L I E.

ellie’s morning has gone by in a blur, her body falling into the usual routine, hands moving while her mind wanders elsewhere. today there is no new creations, no soft music through the bakery speakers, no playful back and forth with her regular customers. the early morning crowd comes and goes, thinner than usual, though she blames it on the headaches she’s sure the cider from the night before must have left behind. usually she’d be upset about the lack of business, but today she’s grateful for some time alone. she busies herself in the back room, taking on the task of organizing the shipment that had come in that morning, when she hears a familiar voice calling her name. she takes an extra second to check her reflection, doing her best to wipe off any last traces of smudged mascara and make her tangled hair look somewhat presentable, or at least make herself look like she hadn’t slept on the bakery floor. she emerges moments later with a small smile, a soft shake of her head, “only if the hungry is paying.” 

awaiting a certain blonde’s appearance, sonny glances to the bakery case. countless times, he’d stood right here picking out something to take home to the girl he’d called his own. the one he fucked over any chance he got. but today? today he was here out of a navigational coincidence. he’d turned left instead of right. “i can pay, i can pay,” he mutters as ellie appears behind the counter. the newspaper is set atop the case as he leans against it, still not wanting to put full weight on his left leg. “if you have a kolache for me, i will take that heated up – if i’m too late, and even if i’m not, an apple fritter,” he’ll stop a few shops over for a coffee and to read the black and white in his hands. there’s a slight silence that trickles between him and the blonde before he speaks. “didn’t see you last night. did you have a good time?” he asks, not knowing why he feels the need to make fucking small talk with the girl who gives him olive branches on a weekly basis. “also, you should really play christmas music in here. might help customers feel… in good cheer.”

[sonnywells]

P E A C H E S.

one a.m. and the night is only just starting for georgia. as usual, she was able to shed all of the weight of the outside world as soon as she entered the newsroom. once the paper is ready and sent to the press she will be free to torture herself with flashbacks of the festival. the hours trickle by like water, by then the front page article has been sent to her editor for approval, and georgia has time to catch up on other things. the photo story she will save for last, knowing that along with pictures of the crowd’s disappointment there are a couple of shots of her, pictures by greyson wells himself. georgia’s skin burns in the spot where he touched her earlier ( accidentally ) when taking the camera from her. a cold hand to her neck, end of a pen in between her full lips, she is absolutely lost in thought when her name brings her out of a trance, the man that lives in her thoughts always now standing in front of her as if conjured straight from her dreams. “sonny.” curious eyes land on the peanut noodles, heart summersaulting at the fact that he paid attention all those times he accompanied skyler to drop off some supplies for her to survive the night shift. georgia’s brown eyes catch every detail: the limp, the forming bruise, the way she could almost see his head spinning on the outside the way it must be on the inside. and yet, she can’t bring herself to be anything but herself. “make yourself useful at least,” she instructs, opening a drawer on her desk and handing him a stack of letters. “open them, sort them by the department they are addressed to.” georgia allows herself to take one more good look at him before returning her eyes to her double monitor to keep working on layout. “i’m listening.”

peanut noodles. countless nights he’s seen her deep into a carton of these, eyes focused in on a computer screen as he and skyler wandered into the room. attention hard to pull from her work, he was always told. georgia cares most about her career, she doesn’t handle interruptions well, let her do her job. then how, greyson wonders, is he able to take her camera in the frigid cold when she must get the perfect shot? how is she allowing him to just waltz into the newsroom at one in the morning to bug her? either everyone else was full of shit or… no, no way. “useful?” he grunts out, a groan fumbling from him when she opens up a desk drawer. of course. what else had he expected? “yes, ma’am, captain, ma’am,” a lazy salute is offered as he takes the letters, thumbing through them. an intern’s job at best. it’s just the sort of backhanded thing that georgia laurier would do, just the thing that pulls his mind from thinking he’s distracting her from her work and she’s allowing it. “i can’t find sky, i don’t know if you’ve heard from him but –“ he pauses, reaching over her for a letter opener, his hand brushing her arm as he did so. “now you get to deal with me,” an exhausted laugh as he settles back, beginning to neatly slice open each letter. hands usually fly through the air as he speaks, now contained in their duty. “i fucking hit apollo,” a chuckle. “decked him right in the ribs, told him to go fuck himself like i used to in high school… you know, the entire fucking town just watch that happen,” he pauses, continuing to cut open each letter. he’ll go back to open them and organize. “you ever wonder how i can just do that like it’s nothing? i mean,” he motions to his bruising face. “not nothing, but god i just wanted to keep going and that’s gotta like.. mean some dark shit, right?” his laughter is cold and bitter. “it’s not normal to hurt someone and it.. feel good, right?” mind flutters to frankie, too. hurting her in a different way with little to no remorse – a habit of his at this point.

[sonnywells]

closed starter for @ellixsss​ ! 

[ DAY AFTER TREE-LIGHTING | 7:21 AM | THE FLOUR GARDEN ]

can’t sleep, can’t sleep, can’t sleep. sonny’s eyes flutter open, sprawled in his own bed for the first time in countless weeks. turn of the head – the clock’s red lights too blurry to make out. by the time his vision is fully clear, his boot clad feet are trudging through a new dusting of snow. the town is sleepy after its late night, much like greyson wells. thoughts of the tree lighting’s events filter through his mind. sabotaging the evergreen’s lights, seeing bennett and treating him like absolute shit, the horror of letting georgia’s germs permeate his apple cider, a brief moment of levity with frankie, his fist to apollo’s stomach, apollo’s fist to his face, searching high and low for skyler before ending his night in the stowe globe’s newsroom. he couldn’t blame the town for being tired when he’s sure it handled much worse. hands pull from their place tucked into the pockets of his heavier jacket, thankful for the frostbitten air across his aching face, as he passes by a newsstand. TREE (NOT) LIGHTING CEREMONY BREAKS ATTENDANCE RECORDS by georgia laurier, news staff writer. leaving a couple bucks and a grin behind, he tucks the stowe globe’s sunday edition beneath his arm, continuing on his way. it’s not until he can smell whatever ellie has crafted filtering into the air that he stops again. surely she wasn’t too busy to hand over a pastry, for him this time. the bell over the door sounds and greyson recognizes there’s no other customers, allowing him to call out. “oh, eleanor,” a singsong, far from indicative of his true mood. “car to feed the hungry?”

[sonnywells]

F R A N K I E.

Frankie didn’t move right away. She couldn’t, rooted to the scene of the crime unable to will herself forward— torn. Her best friend in one direction and her boyfriend in the other. Two people she cared so much about scattered to the wind in the aftermath of what she could only describe as a deadly hurricane. Olivia seemed to have already gotten to Apollo by the time Frankie had regained her composure, making the blonde’s decision on what to do next for her. She drew in a sharp intake of breath and pushed passed onlookers with as much force as her ballerina frame would allow. “Greyson.” Frankie called when she was finally within ear shot. Her cheeks burned like she was the one who had been punched in the jaw, white hot tears beginning to cloud her crystalline gaze before she blinked them away and got a grip of herself once more. She had heard tales of her boyfriend’s anger, even experienced some of his grumpiness firsthand, but what she saw tonight was something the blonde didn’t know he was truly capable of. “Wait up.” Frankie tried a again, masking the tremor in her voice. But it was those damn shaking hands of hers that gave her away as she reached for his shoulder, bracing herself for the version of Greyson she was going to get. 

nothing would really make up for how greyson feels after the show he and apollo had just put on for the entire town. a brief one, at that, but a performance that would surely filter through the locals with whispers and the tourists with utter confusion. why had they each taken a single punch and called it a day? sonny’s fist itches for more contact, but the thoughts are pushed aside as frankie’s voice pierced his ears. the brunette’s anger isn’t new – in fact, those who chose to love him knew that high school rage wasn’t left behind and he could feel himself slip into the familiar feelings quite frequently. and in current days? he has all the fucking reason in the world to be angry. to be mad at people for being successful, to hate people who take pity on him, also those who don’t, to be fucking enraged at this damn world for handing him shit cards. and then, apollo looks in his eyes and tells him he doesn’t deserve her. that frankie deserves better than him – and it only hurts because it’s so damn true. a hand to his shoulder stops him in his tracks, on the outskirts of the crowded festival beneath twinkling white lights. “frankie,” her name comes out in an exasperated sigh, turning to her. his eye is already red and swelling from where apollo hit him. “i’m fine. go be with apollo. this is nothing,” a muttered response as sonny reaches to his leg, rubbing at his thigh a little. in all honesty, the fall was a hell of a lot scarier than any little boy’s fist.

[sonnywells]

closed starter for @georgialaurier​ !

[ POST-TREE LIGHTING | 1:13AM | STOWE GLOBE NEWSROOM ] 

no sign of skyler. anywhere. and how’s sonny wells supposed to get through anything without a laurier? at every turn, the bright blue eyes of the fallen olympian seem to not be able to find what he needs. in his pursuit for comfort after a stupid fight, in his navigation of his situation with frankie, in the way he yearns for more and more attention – anything to replace the way he had once felt on the side of the mountain. and nothing works. so here he is, pack of instant peanut noodles in his hand, walking into the newsroom without the matching set to georgia’s twinship for the first time in his life. slight limp in his step, more prevalent than usual from the fall earlier in the night, greyson navigates through to the back where the late night work is well under way. one in the morning and a luminescent georgia laurier pours over the paper. it takes sonny just one brief moment to remind himself that anyone, surely, would look good in dim lighting, a sweater, and the end of a pen in their mouth. “georgia,” a rare moment of her actual name leaving his lips as he sets her comfort food atop her desk. there’s a bit of purple rising beneath his eye, the yellow will come later and he’s sure he looks like hell, but as he sits down in a chair beside georgia, his thoughts spin to something else entirely. was he too out of control to trust himself? too angry to handle people telling him the truth about himself? he needed someone who really knew him to look into his eyes and tell him he was ( or hopefully wasn’t ) the monster he seemed to be becoming. blues meet mahogany hues, a soft sigh as he shakes his head. “i know, i know you’re working. but can you work while i say some shit i never expect... want you to remember?”

[sonnywells]

closed starter for @oliviabulut​ !

[ DAY AFTER TREE-LIGHTING | 2:41 PM | WINTER FESTIVAL ]

it’s just weeks before christmas and greyson is positive that the winter festival is one of the only good opportunities to buy gifts for people that you don’t have to order online. the convenience of online consumerism had neve tugged at the brunette’s heart, always desiring something new, unique, and different to give to those in his life. high school had been no different – this was just where he most enjoyed finding the right gifts – right here in town square with a thousand tourists. a soft wave is tossed the way of a booth’s barista, smile left to be desired as he made his way to the next booth, coffee in hand. eyes flick up to the woman he can see standing beside him, charm at the ready. it’s immediately holstered when his victim appears to be his longtime ex-girlfriend. “liv, hey,” energy has been depleted from his body, the pulsing of his black and blue eye distracting him from any quip he could muster. ice blue hues filter back to the booth’s contents, a gloved hand reaching to touch the charm on a gold necklace. perhaps he and olivia didn’t have to make a scene or talk. maybe they could each just walk away without it this time around.

[sonnywells]

text ~ greyson

GEORGIA: ... sure?

GEORGIA: you know i did. front page news. you’re going to love the look in the mayor’s face when the tree didn’t light up

SONNY: ( thumbs up emoji )

SONNY: looks like you're gonna be up late tonight. don't work too hard.

[sonnywells]

text ~ greyson

( 11:57 pm - getting to the newsroom )

GEORGIA: hey, you alright?

SONNY: yeah i’m cool

SONNY: your tree didn’t light up. you get your story?