𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 : dakota & soren ( @cloyingblccd ) !
𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿: 9:23pm.
𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁: slaughterhouse rave.
* ❪ 🎱 ❫ : 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝗮 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 edm sirens blaring in his ears, bones heavy with the taut yearning for a body that had long separated from his own. he knew it was purposeful, when soren had left earlier in the night, heading out of the house before dakota had the chance to, yelling out a hurried bye! as friday pulled up outside with a beepbeep that sang her arrival. had heard the way ritu hollered to hurry up and soren replying that he still needed to get his damn makeup on, clavicles remaining barren and not yet covered in gold. the truth? dakota didn't really want to go, but maya had messaged him wondering if he was, ilyas not long thereafter babbling on about what they could wear as a duo, and finally kit, who had sprung the idea of him being jesus of nazareth. a funny irony that made him uneasy at first, wondering if it was considered a mockery of the man his family had long worshipped. if it would lead his life toward impending misery. another consequence that would be bestowed upon him. the first, in his father's words, being his blindness. a punishment for choosing to find love no matter the identity. kit had slowly changed his mind, threatening him in a way he sought humor in after a week and some change of nothing but constant upset. they'd come over, fitted him in their best beige fabrics and set a crown upon his head created by their own vision. a biblical amass of steel thorns and twinkling raindrops, glass stained red in a holy massacre of what had been endured by the son of god. luca dressed as a demon only served to further amuse him, katherine starling dressing their men as opposing forces and splitting the room apart as they walked in, exchanging dances and liquids that corroded his gut from the lack of food that lived in his belly. he did his best to remedy that by swallowing down what little entrees were served, what small snacks could keep him upright as the night became crueler, crawling over his shoulders until he could no longer take it. this solitude despite being in a room full of people. he missed soren the way he missed home, but even now, he would trade the entirety of chicago for a kiss. a mere touch even, a curt acknowledgement from soren tonight that didn't end in verbal sparring.
he missed the way soren laughed in his ear about something so trivial, something anyone else could've said and received crickets for. the way soren placed a hand on his hip when they were already so close they could share a kidney, a breath, a heart. organs torn apart and looking for their other half. there's a tiny part of him that doesn't want to brush the situation off, still hurt although no longer confused by soren's behavior, having it explained to him a mile a minute and fighting to catch up. soren's mother had found him, someone who clearly failed in the maternal instinct department. he understood slowly and empathized even quicker, wanting so badly to reach out and hold him. soren insisted he didn't, that he was fine, that dakota listen instead and comprehend why he couldn't let them handle any of it together. dakota had agreed, left soren to his own devices when the conversation became too much for him. finished it off by gently suggesting that soren seek someone who didn't make him feel as anxious to say the wrong words. who could aid in his betterment, who could do the things that dakota could not. he cared about soren enough to let go. release his grip and not be the man that could fix everything. irony once again hitting him as he remembers his costume, a small chuckle elicited as he thinks to himself. if only he could take away all of soren's little nightmares, crush them in his hand or wave them off with one swift flick of the wrist. he was no miracle, and he was no miracle maker, but soren often made him feel like he could produce magic. if someone like soren existed, magic was fucking real. he's leaning over to ask kit where he is and a minute after he's carefully moved in the correct direction, following soren's voice that booms animatedly across zahara who giggles in return. he clears his throat before speaking, apologetically intrusive on whatever cheery conversation they're currently having. ❝ hey, i'm sorry. can i borrow him for a second ? ❞ strangers that crowd them suddenly reach out to touch dakota on his shoulders, his chest, high enough on everything to forget personal space, unfamiliar fingers splaying across his cheek that cause him to flinch backwards, hard, nearly knocking over a glass with his elbow. ' those scars are pretty cool man, they're like super lifelike, ' a voice calls out, admiring and completely unaware of the discomfort that'd driven him away seconds prior.