#jamesmarlowe

[frvyas]

📱 marlowe

freya: hey

freya: what's up with u and maks?

[lencovello]

@jamesmarlowe

Sometimes, you had to take a personal day. Properly perched up in her bed in a fluffy robe and supported by a small mountain of pillows, Len’s setup was something admirable. Her laptop was queued with several episodes of a trashy television show, a packet of Red Vines sat on her nightstand and a perfectly rolled joint was delicately held between her fingertips. It was set to be a lovely evening in, recovering from Fashion Week and the sins that came with it.

Without warning, the door to her room was flung open, a flurry of energy following it. Paranoid, her first thought was this is a bust. The joint was smouldering now from the first few hits she took of it, and in her shock at the wildly swinging door, Len instinctively buried it under her pile of blankets. It took less than a half beat to recognize that it was Marlowe, equal parts frazzled and excitable, taking advantage of the fact that her door was rarely locked, accommodating these unannounced arrivals by strays. Cursing, she shifted her attention back to the faint smell of singed cotton, pulling her prize from the depths and holding it aloft in a moment of gratitude. “Everyone on campus has chlamydia,” he announced, and Len took another hit as he began to launch into another stream of consciousness.

[dvminics]

📱 marlowe

dominic: hey dude

dominic: i saw the video going around and just wanted to check in and see if ur okay

dominic: didn't know syd had that in her but idk sounds like messy situation

dominic: not that i can judge

dominic: hope ur okay though

[maks-lawrence]

@jamesmarlowe Maks parked his car under the shelter of a large oak tree, the budding branches still bare enough to let starlight filter through. He leaned back against the seat, exhaling slowly. He’d been content to stay home, to exist quietly until the aches had gone away, but his fucking roommate— his phone buzzed once more, as if on command, the punchline to Tommo’s shitty joke. Let him walk home, Bas suggested, coming home with him after the game and opting out of the after-party. Too jet-lagged for more bullshit. He considered it for a moment, the benefit of a long walk in the night air would probably do their loudest housemate some good, only tugging on his jacket and pulling out the driveway shortly after the third message requesting a ride home.

Getting out of his car, he was reminded that winter still lived here, in the darker parts of the woods, sheltering itself from spring between dense trees. He zipped his bomber to his chin, keeping his head ducked as he navigated along the tread down path, passing unnoticed as he weaved between drunken party attendants stumbling back to campus. The smell of woodsmoke was the phantom bread crumb trail to follow, stretching out like unseen fingers that beckoned towards the burning heart. As he grew closer the party goers grew bolder, smiling wide with mouths bruised and lips split, laughing with eyes beginning to darken— war wounds, sported proudly. Maks looked down at his phone as it lit up once more, punching in a few quick replies.

tommo: are you coming maks: where r u tommo: right here maks: tommo wtf tommo: are u even looking?

He shoved his phone deeper into his pocket after a blurred photo of a tree came through, biting back frustration. He didn’t want to be here, he thought, reaching the clearing with the blaze in the centre, bathing all those that sat near it in a warm, orange glow. Maks could feel the heat of it on his skin from where he stood, half shadowed, watching from his distance to see if he could spot him. He didn’t see Tommo, or hear the loud bark of his unchecked laugh when he’d been drinking too much. Turning away to search elsewhere, he spotted someone familiar putting distance between himself and the crowd, long legged stride unrelenting, like he was determined to lose himself in the forest. Following, he called out to him without thinking. “Marlowe.”

[syd-belcourt]

♀

Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

[ sent at 2:06 am ] → i was always so grateful to have a friend like you[ sent at 2:08 am ] → someone that would have been on my side no matter what, that i’d of done anything for, someone better than blood. i thought that it meant something to the both of us, that as much as I loved you, you loved me just as much. it’s probably my fault, but i guess i expected too much from you and i should have known better[ sent at 2:08 am ] →  i see it now though, you’re only really good at loving yourself.

[syd-belcourt]

💜

Send 💜 for a quick kiss.

Before the fall of Country Cowboy Karaoke night, it had been Marlowe and Syd’s thing. They’d go every Tuesday, dressed in suede and denim, tipping their oversized hats at the staff that was beginning to know them by name-- and posing for pictures by the massive, taxidermy bear while the studs and accents glinted off of their outfits. They sat at the bar now, long legs tucked under the top of a solid plank bar top while they came off their high; a successfully executed rendition of Walk the Line (with him reprising the role of Johnny and her killing it as June). Sydney drank thirstily from her glass, the pitcher that they’d ordered would be drained between the two of them and they’d likely march out arm in arm, cowboy boots clicking into their own anthem against the asphalt paths that would bring them home. Marlowe was talking excitedly, about how they should do Islands in the Stream next and she was nodding enthusiastically, already trilling in her best Dolly Parton impression.

“That sounds just like her,” Marlowe gaped, looking at her wide-eyed in a sweet, drunken adoration.

Syd laughed gleefully in response, leaning forward to grip his cheeks with both hands, pulling him in for a kiss that left cherry lipstick on his own mouth. It stayed on as they sang their next song, and the next-- before another pint of beer washed it away and they began their long stumbled trek home.

[lencovello]

if sydney and marlowe were hanging off a cliff and you could only save one who would it be

“I would run to the bottom of the cliff and hold my arms open to catch them. It’d be like the opposite of what happened in Midsommar because I’m so strong and could catch them both very easily.”

[frvyas]

@jamesmarlowe​

in-betweens were a double-edged sword. the lack of commitment and endless possibilities merged into heightened adrenaline, which was especially needed for this particular venture. it helped that it wasn’t wholly winter anymore, but an intermediate sort of space. it made things hazy, but also tolerable. rainwater replaced snow, dredging up hints of spring, and instead of frozen ground, metal hit something a bit more pliable. yet, the winter chill remained. or, maybe, that was the guilt. that was the thing freya hated about in-betweens -- she was too impatient, too fickle for it all. it required too much thought that could possibly unveil truths she would’ve never sought out purposefully. instead of considering that things could be so much more worse, she tossed another clump of dirt with unexpected aggression from someone so tiny. “jesus. fuck. marlowe.” the pauses in between each of the words were a choice, and freya took a moment to lean on her shovel. “we gotta speed this up. and by we, i mean you. make your species proud. work that testosterone. dig faster. my legs are going to fucking fall off.” an oversized jacket (plucked from marlowe’s room, of course) over shorts wasn’t the best course of action for the night, although none of this was expected to be fair. her gaze shifted toward the greens and browns of the mess that lay a few steps away -- the snake’s tongue hung limp out its’ mouth, lifeless. then came another pang of guilt, mixed with the adrenaline and the high and the mistake of one-and-a-half blue razz four lokos. it all felt so vile. “how much longer you think?”