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The moment his iPhone screen blared to life, Dennis scrambled for what could pass as his belongings. A leather messenger bag, his wallet, and a bounded journal that appeared to be his. Thank God he’d retained his sharp organization despite this mess he’d been thrust into, whatever it was. As he left the house in a rush to catch a moment for himself, he answered the call miliseconds before it went to voicemail.

“You better tell me what's up, D. Are you having a fight with Ryan right now, cause I'll go there and kick his ass.” Oh, how Gio’s voice still sounded smooth and comforting, like hearing the folks Seafood City speak Ilonggo. Days after school were left finding his way into the other’s arms, never crying but hooking his chin over the other’s shoulder and inhaling deeply into his embrace. And Dennis just about needed that right now, certain that some people never changed.

“I could really use a hero right now,” he whispered softly. If only Gio could see the huge grin on his face at hearing his voice. “Ryan’s fine though, I think. I’m not too sure. He’s acting a little weird.” He paused as he tried to find the breath and vocabulary to voice his concerns. “Or maybe I might be? Semantically, I can still name off benzoic acids off the top of my head, I just feel like maybe I have some PTSD that might be affecting me temporally? Something about entorhinal, perirhinal, kind of hard to explain. Blood rush, amygdala -- just throwing things out, don’t mind me.” A deep inhale to catch his breath, clear his thoughts. Ryan’s words came to mind. “It’s just weird hearing him call me sexy, you know?” He sharply regretted saying that the moment they left, feeling awkward. “Never mind, you can ignore me. I’m just a little confused, that’s all.” @giogreco

#CH. ◁◁ 001_ERROR #*#• • • interact. | ◂◂#giogreco

TEXT 📲 GIO/DENNIS

Dennis: GIO

Dennis: This is Gio right

Dennis: Did your biggest dream come true last night

Dennis: Do you have a million tattoos

#CH. ◁◁ 001_ERROR #• • • phone. | ◂◂#giogreco #*

Even when they close the blinds and sleep late, Zig somehow manages to always wake up earlier. But it’s pleasant - honeywarm pleasant - as he wakes up to the same, familiar arms wrapped around his bare torso, body slotted against his. And he thinks, oh, how he could get used to this. How he misses this so much, yet would not hesitate to deny it. Zig lays there for another long moment, taking everything in before he turns to face his sleeping ex. His recollections of last night are there, fluttering in his chest. He pulls back to adjust only slightly and the cold air rushes across his lil beer belly before he closes the gap between their bodies and settles comfortably into their shared warmth. He can see the hickeys left on Gio’s neck only hours ago, a musky scent about them. Not a word said last night, nor remembered. And yet, it all feels... right. Right in the midst of all the confusion he’s experienced over the past week. When his ex groans awake, eyes fluttering open nonetheless, Zig offers him a soft half-smile and presses his lips gently to his. “Morning, dipshit” he says. “Well, it’s almost noon, but you get the idea.” A beat. “Last night, though, huh?” @giogreco

#*#CH. ◁◁ 002_ERROR #giogreco #◂◂ & interact

Zig wakes up, slowly then altogether as he notices everything is wrong. This is not the room in his shitty ol’ basement bunker of his parent’s house that smells of dirty laundry and cold pizza. No. It either belongs to an anarchist or someone really fuckin’ gay, and the more he groggily looks around it’s more-or-less the latter. Not that Zig detests the sights: it’s actually quite comforting, in a way that he can’t describe. A nice place, he grudgingly admits. Not comforting? The dawning realization that (a.) his hair is cut shorter than he’s used to, (b.) there’s ink on his wrist, and (c.) someone’s arms are wrapped lazily around his. He turns to see -- ffffffffffuck. Zig knows he’s not supposed to get blackout drunk or anything drastic before starting his military service, but at least that is somewhat recuperable. Waking up in bed with the ex, though? He’s not even hangover. He turns to face Gio other and half-gazes, half-looks at his restful expression. When he finally awakes, Zig rolls his eyes. “Oh, sleep in, take your time, please.” It’s not saying much, since he hasn’t moved himself. Still, he can’t help himself to a soft kiss that barely feels like a kiss, more like a peck. “You should be proud of yourself that we got to do it one last time. Fucker.” @giogreco