#brody;

[parasympathic]

It was still early, Montgomery hadn’t begun to dive into his work for the day, though right now doing any of it seemed more appealing than his current consideration. He sat at his desk, coffee warm and steaming next to him, and phone in his hand while he debated whether or not this was a call he really wanted to make. If he wanted any information on what was happening in New York, he knew the woman to ask. He just didn’t want to. Evident by both his hesitation, and how many months it had been since so much as a text had been sent between them. He would prefer it if it were years, or never again, but family was supposed to mean something, so he’d heard. It felt like a mercy when a knock came at his office door, the odd rhythm to it making him think it was probably personal and not business. He still put his phone aside so he could at least try to look like he was working. “Come in.” 

@nullxbrody​

[parasympathic]

Montgomery had gotten to the Witches’ Brew almost embarrassingly early, but at the time it had seemed better than the alternative, when it would’ve just given him more time to remember why this was a terrible idea. It was, he already knew it, and even without a wealth of experience behind him, he was pretty sure trying to remain friends with an ex was one of those things no one really managed to pull off successfully. But the man had called him, as promised, and right now he was at least pretending to buy into the illusion that there was any good way this could turn out. It left him more anxious than he liked, even knowing that scientifically it was almost the same as excitement. There’d been enough studies on shifting one into the other, anxiety reappraisal, but even with that knowledge, it felt like he was failing miserably, made up of nothing but nerves and uncertainty. 

He was already one cup down, something that had been more foam than coffee, which was probably for the best, halfway through a study on tissue engineering, with the growing awareness that he hadn’t absorbed any of it. A glance up was enough to kill any further attempts to care, the man walking through the doors all too familiar. He pushed himself to his feet, journal set aside, wondering not for the first time what the hell he was doing.

“Brody. Nice to see you again.” A smile followed the words, an attempt at a more familiar humor, but nothing about this felt familiar, and he could’ve winced at just the sound of his own voice right now. This used to be easier, but then he used to know where they stood. 

@nullxbrody​

[parasympathic]

honesty hour: have you ever considered going public with brody?

“No.” 

[parasympathic]

♭ - from Brody

“Jesus Christ” - Brand New

I know you'll come in the night like a thief But I've had some time alone to hone my lying technique I know you think that I'm someone you can trust But I'm scared I'll get scared, and I swear I'll try to nail you back up

So, do you think that we could work out a sign So I'll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try?

[parasympathic]

monty & brody drabble prompt: destination

destination. →

Monty knew where they were going before they got there. he could feel it coming, the advent of the holidays only making it worse. more obligations to his house, even if it was just being present for the only family that he’d really ever cared about, the only one that ever mattered. he knew what that was doing to a relationship he hadn’t told any of them about, felt the strain of it every time he climbed out of Brody’s bed at some obscenely early hour of the morning. trying to see him on weekdays meant he couldn’t stick around and wake up next to him, and he could recognized the lie every time he told him it was fine, because he never looked at him when he said it.

it was fine, until it wasn’t, until it wasn’t enough to just tell him he had to go. he wanted to know why, he wanted to know where he went, who he was with, and none of those things were anything Monty wanted to tell him. it didn’t matter, it didn’t have anything to do with him, but those words only ever seemed to make it worse. it was all crumbling, it was all falling apart, and even knowing it, even seeing that end point in sight, he didn’t know how to stop it.

New Year’s Eve came. he’d promised to be there, he’d promised to make up every missed date and early abandonment by being there before midnight so he could kiss him when the clock struck twelve. maybe if he had, it would’ve changed the destination. maybe if he could’ve given him that one night, that illusion of a fresh start, things could’ve been different.

he meant to, he wanted to, and he still fucked it up.

it was almost one by the time he got there. it was barely two when he left for the last time, accusations still ringing in his ears that he couldn’t defend himself from. and walking back out on the street on the way to his car, he could only think that it made sense, that it was justified, because he’d always known this was where it was going.

[parasympathic]

[text] So at what point of the night are we going to decide everyone at this party sucks and we should just fuck each other? - from Brody

[text] That’s what most of these parties are like. [text] But I’m pretty sure that violates our ‘just friends’ policy. [text] ...Meet me outside in ten?

[parasympathic]

“you’re blushing” -- from Brody

The man sounded half surprised, and Monty couldn’t blame him. He didn’t get flustered, at least not easily, but he was right, even if Monty couldn’t explain to him why. The subtle differences between kissing a man in a crowded club where no one who could see would care, and where they stood now. Outside of Brody’s apartment, still standing on the sidewalk, in the daylight, both of them sober. Where anyone driving by could see the man stretching up to kiss him goodbye. He couldn’t help the quick flush, the nervous flutter of his heart, some irrational fear that someone he knew might somehow see, even if he was miles away from home. A fear that was hard to shake, even if he thought he could be someone else here. Someone unafraid of being that openly gay.

If he wasn’t ready to be outed, he didn’t want to tell Brody he was still in the closet either, and he was worried he’d keep going, ask why this of all things was what made him blush. So far there was only one surefire way he’d found of making the man stop talking, so that’s what he did. Palm on the side of his neck, thumb tipping his jaw up. “Shut up,” he told him, words quiet and half murmured before he was kissing him.