there was definitely a downside to renting an art studio right above a nightclub. sure, noah got it because it was trendy, the windows were huge, the view was nice, but most importantly because he only needed to go down a few stairs if he were to be bored. it appeared he got bored every night. that wasn’t calculated.
he wasn’t to blame though. how could he resist, when the music was booming through his floor, rattling his paint brushes and his buckets of paint? right. this particular night was even more enticing, seeing as his day could not have gotten any worse. pulling the muscle of his thigh at rugby practice, collapsing to the ground and eating a fistful of sweat-induced mud. and then trying to finish the day with a bit of painting, only to step on his freshly coated canvas– brrr. tonight, you’re forgetting everything, noah.
he finger paints a line or two over his cheek, rearranges his hair and descends to his own personal hell– to the nightclub. his switch from miserable fucker to dancing idiot feels almost too natural. and his injury? that’s gonna be sore as fuck the next morning. he’s already planned to skip the rest of the week’s classes, poor boy is too wounded physically and mentally, so nothing’s really stopping him from consuming more than he can handle.
literally nothing stopped him because he only remembers blanking out.
( which wasn’t too far off his main goal, at least that was something he could achieve. )
he opens his eyes, doesn’t have time to look around before his body is launched upwards as he runs to the closest toilet bowl, vomiting whatever he ingested a few hours ago. as his eyes get used to the darkness, he recognizes parts of his bathroom– surprising that his own body took care of getting him back to the comfort of his own home. noah is practically patting his own back as he limps back to the living room, bumping into the most random furniture; huh. he snuggles back into the couch, unbuttoning his shirt a bit more and then his pants because whew, he could feel the spectre of an evil stomachache lurking just around the corner, plus the warmth of the booze just evaporating out of his skin- d i s g u s t i n g.
through half-open eyelids, noah makes out a small silhouette ( @ssumariko ), but he promptly ignores it. probably some girl he brought over; and if she is babbling on ( he couldn’t really tell; everything felt like it was screaming at him, even the pillow sounds angry that he’s drooled over it ), he swats her off. yet again, his body was taking over, taking care of his sad, sad mind that was lost somewhere, who knows?
he finally raises his head at her, because between the walls, the pillow and the human being, only one could shut the fuck up.
“listen, uh…, babe,“, one could fall asleep just looking at his struggle to keep awake, his words mumbled through a deep & mellow voice, “the door’s right fuckin’–“, a yawn, “–there. you’re free to fuck off.“ his tone held no aggression, it was almost too welcoming.
it’s been one hell of a long day for mariko.
for starters, one of the new interns at work had spilled a vanilla latte all over her desk while they were returning from a coffee run, turning her designs into a soggy, sugary mess. the designs she’s been working on for the past few weeks, gone just like that. of course, she made sure that they would never do that again, which involved embarrassing them in front of the rest of her colleagues.
mariko’s worked hard for her position ( probably the best intern that damn company has ) so god forbid another incompetent intern ruins her drawings once more because they can’t do something as simple as a fucking coffee run.
so she returns back to the dorms after spending a few hours redrawing everything, a scowl etched onto her face rather than her usual unbothered expression. and as if things could not get any more worse, the elevator breaks down again and she’s left alone to wallow in self-pity and rage for ten minutes, wondering why her father was paying so much for her to reside in the dorms when they clearly use the money for things that aren’t maintenance work.
when she finally gets to her dorm room ( a.k.a. her safe haven, the only place where she’ll actually show more than five different expressions ), she slips off her shoes and makes her way to her bed, letting herself fall face first on it regardless of the makeup she had on. with an audience of eleven stuffed toys, she lets out a frustrated scream, which is thankfully muffled by her pillow because she is in no mood to deal with that neighbour of hers.
once her little tantrum is over, mariko changes into her pyjamas, removes her makeup and piercings before swaddling herself in a fluffy blanket with her laptop in front of her playing pulp fiction. eventually, she becomes so engrossed in the movie that she tunes out all of her surroundings to focus on uma thurman, which in retrospect, was a huge fucking mistake.
as she’s about to doze off towards the end of the film, a noise from downstairs startles her awake. then it hits her that she never locked the door behind her in her fit of rage. “what the fuck...” she mutters, rubbing her eyes before heading downstairs, ready to throw fists at whoever decided to enter her humble abode.
once her eyes adjust to the darkness, she recognises the intruder as her strange neighbour that always ran out of sugar for some weird reason. her strange neighbour who has the audacity to wave her off and tell her to fuck off from her apartment, just when she had calmed down.
“are you fucking serious?”
forgive me father for i’m about to fight a bitch.
striding towards him in her fuzzy purple slippers, she grabs a bottle of water from the few she keeps by the coffee table and twists it open. she lets the cap fall to the ground before proceeding to pour some water over his face, taking a sip from the bottle afterwards. “listen, babe.” yes, she’s really pulling the imitation card. “the door’s right there. you’re free to fuck off—from my apartment.”
tangentwithtanner
titsay
jbbartram-illu
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
