#birthdcy

[saliida-blog]

behind bars

Send “behind bars” to visit my muse in prison 

Chef waits.

Wait for their medication. Wait until they can eat. Wait for the number of days to tick up to a new, clean set. Heaven knows they wait, but they don’t wait for visitors. Never. That would be too painful and Chef isn’t coherent enough to hope or fight anymore.

Until they shuffle around the corner, and Birthday is sitting patiently behind a wall of glass. If they weren’t so heavily medicated now, they wouldn’t believe it. In fact, maybe they would run, tear at the walls and beg God to stop torturing them until they could be sedated again. Remembering a time when they weren’t drugged and dulled and alone in their head - Chef started having trouble with that within the first 2 months after the treatment became more intense.

Chef sits down in front of the boy, and the emotions come in as waves; creeping in closer and closer with every movement. Within seconds, it’s full force and Chef needs to be out there, they need to be where he is now. Their fingers scream with the desire to break the glass and make a run for it. He says something, and suddenly, tiny, desperate words squeeze between their fingers as they try to cover their mouth.

“—–oh mija—-oh my god—-…oh god—” Chef’s voice shakes like it shook when they were free, free out there. 

“—–this ain’t—no—–oh god this ain’t right—”

[saliida-blog]

"We can stay here until you feel better. I don't mind."

Chef has to fight the urge to lash out. He isn’t doing anything wrong, but every one of their nerves is on edge, so much so that even the soft voice of the teenager sitting next to them is close to sending Chef over the edge.

It was supposed to be fine, things were supposed to be normal. Functional, functional, Chef was supposed to be functional, and they were. He wanted to get out, just for lunch.

Two police cars in less than 15 minutes. Chef has seen two, and they’re not even close to the city yet.

Pulled over on the side of the road, they’re still gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, and staring, panicked at the expanse of desert. Chef can’t spare a look towards him, not when he’d see it in their eyes-

–Kidnapping. That’s what they’re gonna say. They’re gonna say you snatched him up, and then they’ll get you, because now they have a reason, probable cause, there’s nowhere to hide and you don’t even have a gun–

Chef shouldn’t have done this, they should have put him on a bus to Los Angeles. A mistake, no–

–He isn’t who he says he is. That’s why…That’s why he won’t say what’s happened to him, because they sent him. He’s gonna turn you in—This kid is gonna hand you over on a silver platter because they knew you could never hurt a lost kid like him, because you’re fucking soft now–

They screw their eyes shut, as if that might make the noise stop, and only open them when the silence outside of their head becomes unbearable.

“—-we need to——-go,” Chef’s voice is barely above mumbling, and they’re clearly speaking through clenched teeth.

[saliida-blog]

@birthdcy

Chef doesn’t expect the unspoken tension between their new found companion and them to ease up any time that night, but they’re more than ready to get out of the car. On their own, the silence of isolation and a radio that doesn’t work anymore is almost a comfort; with a stranger, a teenager, riding shotgun, it’s more stifling than they can bear.

And so they usher him inside with a careful sort of haste, taking a moment to lock the door behind them. For the time being, it’s only going to be Chef and the kid at home.

The living room feels too comfortable, Chef instead taking a seat at the kitchen table, motioning for him to sit across. Once he’s settled, they inhale and exhale silently, before breaking the silence that’s hung over for too long;

“------look, you uh----you ain’t gotta tell me. why you were out there, i mean. shit----it happens and it ain’t my business,” To fight the urge to fidget or nervously drum their fingers on the table, Chef folds their hands together in front of them.

They keep their tone low, but as comforting as they can. “-----but whatever you wanna get out, get it out here.”

[saliida-blog]

6, 7, 8, 10, 13, 20, 30, 31, 42, 43, & 46

here we go

6. big spoon/little spoon?

spencer/chef respectively. chef discovered the little spoon life and never went back.

7. who made the 1st move?

it’s kind of complicated. chef made the first actual like (albeit a little disastrous) this is how i feel, but spencer probably started dropping subtle hints way before.

8. any nicknames?

chef calls him spence a lot. i dont see him having many for chef besides like……affectionate terms. (chef would probably die if he picked up on the cute-dumb variations of chef that everybody else seems to think are so great)

10. what’s “their song”?

this is obvs…the impossible question but, tbh, tbfh, i’ll write an essay over why rhythm of devotion is pretty close to being the #1 song for me.

13. who is better with kids?

spencer, hands down. #1 dad.

20. who said “i love you” first?

again, chef, but impulsively. spencer probably said it with confidence the first time.

30. how do they cuddle? when and where? (god bless this one)

every night since chef started sleeping in the same bed as him, give or take some. big spoon/little spoon is good, but chef really loves resting their head and hands on his chest with his arms around them. it feels very safe.

31. how did they meet?

through the trade. plus the desert community’s not exactly big or friendly, so when you meet someone reliable or likable, you don’t go out of your way to not see them again.

42. when they can’t sleep what do they do?

when they can’t stand just laying there anymore, they try to remove themself as quietly as possible, and do something productive (or just sit on the couch in the living room and stare mindlessly at the wall, and think, that happens a lot too). chef’s also not proud to admit how often they wake him up for the company.

spencer, though, i can see him quietly getting up, going to the bathroom or getting some water, then eventually slipping right back. i don’t think he has the same tendency that chef has to completely remove himself all the time.

43. what order do they wash themselves in the shower?

chef usually goes first, because they’re already up way early and they don’t want to get in his way. but. maybe every once in a while they shower together. maybe.

46. what are their coffee orders?

these sorry old losers and their black coffee.

[saliida-blog]

♢

Send ♢ for my Muse to make yours some dinner.

Silence is hanging dreadfully in between Chef, and their unexpected guest. With only the low, simmering sound of cooking food as ambiance, the discomfort of the whole situation is very real, and very apparent. Even with the long drive, they still have yet to get much information out of the kid, and not being one to push anything, Chef has mostly left him alone.

Instead, they’re standing awkwardly with their back to him, pushing a friend egg around the pan. Chef has never been a huge fan of eggs, but it was the first thing they saw in the refrigerator, and the quiet boy wasn’t exactly being very picky. The egg is eventually thrown, with little confidence, between two pieces of bread.

Chef finds at least a small amount of relief in being able to provide him an actual plate, as opposed to whatever they would have had to cobble together in the lab if the house hadn’t been available. When they pull up a chair, a hand comes to nervously rub the back of their neck, and they always keep their eyes just enough to the side to avoid eye contact.

“————i can make more if that ain’t enough.”