#behindawn

[anglerfishnabe]

behindawn“– do you have any regrets?”

THE FUCKGIN ACTOR F A CE ENOGUH

have pity on this poor man.... his family is DEAD 

[myentropy]

“ @behindawn ”  - nocture op. 9 no.2

heat rising to the back of fugo’s neck it felt like a lasting burn. the warmth coveting to cold fingers as he ran his hands through his hair pulling out the peak of his bangs. fugo’s slowly been disheveling over the course of these past hours. starting just after his dismissal; with nothing in fugo’s arms he was ashamed to consider how he looked as he left. faster than normal in his leave; a head bowed deeply towards his don. apology slipping as he excused himself. 

a miscommunication fugo suggested when he first started pacing, head craned to the phone discussing giorno’s building curriculum. it wasn’t a debt he agreed, if nothing short a favor between friends, still fugo’s thoughts never wavered. he would have nothing to ask of giorno anyway, even as his pacing increased fugo slipped off his shoes at ease of the hardwood. fugo raised his voice within; the next couple of hours. phone pressed to his hear, hunched over rolling up his pant legs to his knees. bile filling the back of his throat as he yelled at a woman about some seeming validity of homeschooling. 

he skipped dinner but he wasn’t hungry anyway, attention focused on at least presenting something to giorno for tomorrow. a stack of piles was pulled together in his hands; rereading it over and over again. satisfied; he read them out-loud himself. it was every requirement giorno needed to finish his secondary education. fugo smiled for the first time that day.

where fugo was now, seated at the bench of one of the grand piano’s around the estate his suit jacket folded on the space beside him. white collared shirt unbuttoned, arm sleeves rolled evenly up to the elbow. fugo’s fingers hovered over the piano’s keys. ghosting as he played a melody out on the open air above them. he wondered what he would play? bare feet pushed at the pedals, index finger to key he committed to it. 

[anglerfishnabe]

❖ do you have any regrets?

send me a ❖ + a question and my muse will be forced to tell the truth.

“ As they say.... “

“ Don’t we all? “

[myentropy]

‘ @behindawn ’ - fugo’s 77th icon

“sheila think’s she’s funny.” fugo continued to gripe; well within the comport of his own solitude. no one was laughing, well not anymore considering all the commotion died down just past the lunch hour. twisted laughter spilled from between sheila’s fingers as she tried her best to keep herself from looking so guilty. ‘you’ve been de-holed’ and at the observation fugo turned to his sleeve, affixed patches sewn together with a thick thread. 

the appearance was to be endured at-least till the late hours where fugo currently sat hunched at the shoulders; his back turned to the grand piano. canonical green suit spread out on the music room floor “...she did a terrible job.” and fugo ripped at a knot in his sleeve with his teeth, wishing he had picked up knife from the kitchen 

[strawberryrots]

JSUT CALL HIM PRETTY ANNOYING, DRAG HIM, END HIS LIFE

behindawn // 🍓

hey giorno...i-i think you’re pretty....PRETTY ANNOYING!!

[strawberryrots]

“ah yeah...” he’s suddenly looking a little bit more vigilant than before... more aware of his and giorno’s position in the center of the rink. willing the thought to pull away from any imagined attention he stays fixed in place with giorno’s hand at his arm. “i wouldn’t really mind straying away from the center..” more people could make better use of this space anyway, professional skaters, amateurs, friends, lovers...mista when he laps infront of fugo almost carelessly

he’s sure he’d get lost into it...chasing after him on inexperienced legs. sure he’d meet the floor almost comically.  “just let me...” fugo wipes his hands along the legs of his suit..nervous still as he reaches to link their hands together. 

“i’ll follow you..”

@behindawn​ // 🍓

[dreamair]

behindawn replied to your post: why is it that all the stupid ones want to fight...

listen

i’m listening

[myentropy]

“i’m worried about him.” and concern pulls like a string to his heart not even five minutes after narancia left. fugo’s eyes trace back and forth along the the suggested route, over and over again. slowly giving up on the hope that narnacia will end up using it. the lines burn like an abstract shape when he blinks. though narancia knows what’s important; getting back in one piece with trish’s requested things in hand..and making sure he wasn’t being tailed.

 peeking over the map, giorno’s just out of his vision. he ends any thought of doubt in his team with this. “i trust buccellati...he made the right call”

“ @behindawn​​​ ” // ‘rare icon’ starter call