It's past sunset when Tommy awakes and ventures out into the world to find food. His kitchen is bare so he is forced to pull out clothes from his wardrobe and act like a human being despite sleeping for an ungodly amount of hours. His ventures end up at the market after he gets a craving for cookies, knowing just the right spot to find the good ones. It's not the healthiest of meals but he is stringing together his day to day still, so it will do.
Sitting on a bench he has his quiet mouse moment, eating his cookie alone as he people watches. The familiarity, and yet growth the city has had, is comforting after all these years. It's nice just letting the world move around him for once, though as the universe always dictates in Merrock, one could not go out without crossing the path of someone they knew. The figure was across his way, perhaps on their own cookie seeking adventure or more likely something more interesting. Tommy couldn't actually state he knew Vitus all that well. They'd met only a month before Tommy departed, their time typically casual and fleeting. He recalls their sweetness and silently nods a hello at the memory of it. Truthfully he expects them to have forgotten him by now, but the thought they remain in Merrock keeps a smile playing on his lips. It's nice to be home.
location: kaleidoscrope
status: closed | @zakary-prashad
timeline: four days before the full moon, late at night with the club still open
Atlas knew the next week ahead was going to be a rough one for the club but he was thankful that so far tonight was going well. The werewolves who worked his venue would be taking leaving after tonight along with some of the younger vamps who didn’t trust themselves to work. It was a little daunting to be facing yet another corn moon, but Atlas was trying to think positively going into it.
Mingling with the crowd on what would be the last good night in a while Atlas found himself approaching a man on his own, going to check in everything was going well and what he thought of the show - currently two girls doing some rather privokative flexible dance moves. As he approached the male’s features came into focus, the shadows and lights of the room drawing out the feeling of deja vu from Atlas. That was never a good feeling. Swearing under his breath he tried to search his memory for who the other may be, not wanting to be rude but positive they’d met before. Trying to act like he wasn’t having a mental blank of all the faces he’d seen in 180 years he greeted the other upon stopping beside him. “Why hello stranger, are enjoying yourself?”
my childhood spat out the monster that you see || midge & patrick
WHO: Midge Wilde @mir-iamwilde & Patrick Flanagan
WHERE: Patrick's apartment
WHEN: The 29th of October
WHY: Patrick and Midge get to know each other better emotionally, rather than just physically
WARNINGS: Slightly smutty, but it's light
PATRICK:
Patrick lay back against the headboard, the cool air contrasting sharply with the lingering warmth between the sheets. His hand rested behind his head, the other idly tracing the curve of Midge Wilde’s bare shoulder. Talking wasn’t his habit; he preferred to leave the intimacy at the door, to keep feelings contained and the lines clean. He’d built a life out of reading people, finding their weaknesses, and turning them into opportunities. But Midge wasn’t exactly a weakness. A complication, maybe. A wild(e) card in a game he thought he’d mastered. “Do you do this with a lot of people?” Patrick finally asked, shifting his head slightly to look down at Midge. He didn’t care what the answer really was, whether it was ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It wasn’t about him being one of many, or the only one. He was just curious. He decided that after that little pause, he’d follow it up, a smirk growing on his lips. “I mean, fall into their bed, and give them a hell of a ride?”
MIDGE:
Midge wasn’t exactly embarrassed by her sexual history, she enjoyed sex, she enjoyed it with different people, and she was safe about it and went to the doctor regularly, so why should she be ashamed. But sometimes when she was asked about it she could hear her father’s voice in the back of her head, calling women harlots and whores. Normally, she’d ignore that but it was on her mind more often lately. Still, she knew he didn’t mean the question with judgement and shrugged. “I’m not sure what you’d consider a lot, but I don’t spend very many nights lonely.” Midge pushed herself up on an elbow so she could meet his eyes, her own hand drawing circles on his chest now, “What about you? You do this a lot, or are you abour to tell me you’ve fallen deeply in love and I’m the only one for you?” She teased.
PATRICK:
Patrick watched Midge closely, weighing her words as she spoke. There was a flicker in her eyes, like the punchline of a joke she wasn’t sure he’d get. His gaze stayed steady, giving nothing away, but he took note of the slight tension behind her casual tone - the lingering echo of whatever memory she was trying to mask. He let her question linger between them, like a poker hand waiting to be played, before finally speaking up. “Love isn’t my area of expertise,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. He let the words settle, watching how she’d react to that first move. A half-truth, enough to steer the conversation where he needed it to go without shutting it down completely. Her question about his experience hung in the air, and he decided to indulge it just a little. “I’ve seen my share of company,” he admitted, his fingers resuming their idle tracing along her arm. He wasn’t the sort to boast, but he wasn’t about to lie to her either. Midge didn’t seem the kind to care about that stuff anyway. “It's nice to meet someone who's on the same wavelength.” He shifted slightly, meeting her gaze fully, before moving in to kiss her lips deeply and passionately, his hand pushing her body closer into his. Patrick wasn’t in the habit of leaving doors open for deeper conversations, but he didn’t quite close this one either, as if he was testing the limits of where she wanted this to go.
MIDGE:
“In my experience, the people who fight love the hardest are also the ones who have fallen the hardest in the past.” She stated plainly, though she really knew nothing about him, she was sure there must be something in his past that made him guarded. She nodded when he spoke again, “I figured, most people don’t have that high a skill level naturally.” Midge didn’t care how many people he’d been with, or who, she only cared that he was clean, that the things he did felt good, and that he knew what no meant, all of which she was confident in already. She kissed him back eagerly, she could easily stay here for the next few hours, going round after round with him, and she generally wasn’t one to push someone to talk, but something about him made her pull away. She wanted to get him talking, she didn’t care about what, she just wanted to know about him. Midge ran a hand through his hair, placing another kiss on his lips, but softer and quicker this time before sitting up, her bare body facing him and she wasn’t shy about letting her eyes linger on his, “tell me something,” she whispered, one finger following the line down the middle of his abs to his lower stomach before she looked up to meet his eyes again. “Tell me something about you that no one else knows.” It sounded like more of a challenge than she’d intended, really she was just curious, curious about him and about how much he was willing to share. “I’ll tell you something about me that no one knows, I love giving blowjobs. I mean, not in that I’m such a cool girl I love to suck dick, pick me kind of way. I really love it, makes me feel powerful. The first time I ever gave one, I was awful at it,” she laughed, remembering the awkwardness of it all, “But it was the most powerful id ever felt. I think if I told most people that it would freak them out.”
PATRICK:
Patrick felt the shift in Midge’s demeanor, the way her curiosity lingered like a challenge unspoken. Her words about love barely registered at first; he’d heard variations of it over the years, people making assumptions based on the walls he kept in place. Midge’s assessment hung in the air, but Patrick chose not to touch it - there were enough ghosts in his past, and he wasn’t inclined to invite them into the room tonight. He could sense the real question in her tone, the invitation to share something beyond the surface - something most wouldn’t be able to see. She was waiting for him to give up a secret, like laying a card on the table in a game she didn’t realize he’d been playing long before she joined. There was something both disarming and calculated in the way she spoke, an odd blend of earnestness and provocation. He appreciated it. He listened to Midge’s laughter, feeling the ease with which she navigated her own story, the openness that seemed almost foreign to him. But she’d laid a challenge at his feet, and Patrick wasn’t one to back away from those, even if it meant skirting territory he didn’t typically share. He let his fingers trace the line of her arm, a subtle distraction while he chose his words. “Alright,” he said quietly, a hint of something almost daring in his voice. “I’m afraid of heights,” he said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “When I was twelve, my uncle thought throwing me into a harness and making me scale a fifty-foot wall would toughen me up. All it did was make me hate being off the ground.” He hadn’t talked about that in years. And the ‘uncle’ in this situation wasn’t even his uncle, but was he going to tell Midge that it was some gang member trying to teach him a lesson? Absolutely not. Patrick let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “It’s ironic, considering I owned a twenty-story casino,” he added, voice light again, the walls creeping back up. "And for the record," he added with a grin. "I'm still not freaked out."
MIDGE:
She didn't know what she had really expected from Patrick, but it certainly wasn't that. Midge raised an eyebrow at him, feeling sad for the boy he used to be. "Were you afraid of heights before he made you do, that or only since then?" She asked, her curiousity getting the best of her. "Because, I've never really understood the point of exposure therapy, I've been terrified of my father my whole life, and the more time I spend with him, the more afraid I get, so I think the whole idea is bullshit." She didn't know why she'd shared that, but it seemed like keeping all of her baggage to herself was becoming harder and harder lately. "I didn't know you owned a casino," She said, relaxing a bit when he said he wasn't freaked out, "That must have been a lot of work. How'd you end up here, instead?" She asked the question simply, not realizing that maybe that was too personal of a question, but she was sure that Patrick would dodge it if he felt the need. "When I was 15, I started selling my used panties online." She said, moving one of her legs so it draped over him now and she could get more comfortable, "My dad took me out of public school when some stupid drama went down and put me in one of those all girl catholic schools where you have to wear the plaid skirt and the black maryjane shoes with the ruffly white socks. Anyway, people are sick online, I posted all of these pictures of myself from the waist down, and looked like a little girl, and creeps went nuts for it. I did it for a few years, but I got bored, but I saved up a decent amount of money from it. I mean...I was 15, so I guess I kind of was a littel girl, but that's not the point."
PATRICK:
Patrick let his hand trace idle circles on her thigh, almost as if the motion helped him sort through the memory that he had to dig out, in order to answer Midge's question. “No. Before that, I just never thought much about heights. Didn’t have a reason to.” A slight pause, a ghost of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “He gave me one.” He left it at that, the barest acknowledgment of a wound he wasn’t willing to open completely. He could see the sadness in her eyes, though, and the anger when she spoke of her own father. He could relate to that particular brand of pain. He almost said something about it, a rare impulse to connect, but she shifted the conversation, and he let it slip away. But it stuck with him. When she mentioned the casino, Patrick’s expression shifted, a flicker of something in his eyes - amusement, maybe, or a calculation. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It was a lot of work, and a lot of risks.” And a lot of crime. He considered her next question carefully, the way she asked without realizing it might cut too close. “It got sold to a hotel chain,” he lied, not wanting to get into the fact that he’d spent the last two-ish years in federal prison. When she draped her leg over him, shifting closer, Patrick took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what she’d just shared about her past. The image of her, fifteen and trying to navigate a world that saw her as prey, stirred something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Anger, perhaps - directed at a world that could turn a girl’s desperation into currency, and at the people who let it happen without a second thought. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. She wasn’t looking for pity, and she wasn’t looking for him to play the hero. So he focused on what mattered, offering a quiet acknowledgment instead of judgment. “Fifteen’s too young to be dealing with that kind of attention,” he said softly, his fingers brushing the back of her leg in a gesture that was almost comforting. “People are sick.”
MIDGE:
She let her eyes fall away from his when he explained that the uncle had caused the fear in him. She wanted to pry him open and see everything that he wasn't saying, but she could tell that he wasn't interested in that. She hated being pushed into talking about the things she wanted to bury, and she respected others enough to let them keep their secrets unless they wanted to share. "Well, you're not a little boy now, maybe you should drop him into a pool of sharks and see how he likes being toughened up." She offered, a playful smile on her lips, hoping he'd take her joke lightly. Midge understood taking risks when it came to making money, with the way her father reacted to a single picture of her kissing a man, if he knew about the the ways she made money, as a kid and now, she don't think he'd be able to control his anger. Nodding when he said it was sold, "Must be hard to be away from all of that excitement." She offered, her hand roaming freely over his abs now, up to his chest, and back down again. She caught a brief flash of something on his face when she brought up her past, at first she worried it was judgement for the things she'd done. His words eased her, though, and she nodded. "Yeah, unfortunately most girls have already learned to navigate it by that age though, or at least they know the basics of how to keep themselves safe." She sighed, not really sure why she'd turned the conversation in this direction. It wasn't exactly normal pillow talk. Instead she let her hand glide lower on his stomach, only stopping when she reached where her own leg rested over his body. Midge leaned forward, leaving a trail of kisses that followed where her hand had just been, then back up to his chest. Resting on her elbow again so her body was against his, "Okay, so tell me, when you bring people home, do you like to take control, or just go along for the ride?" She asked, "You seem like a guy who likes to be in control, and like you're not afraid to put in the work. Like you want to pin a girl to the bed, tell her if she makes a single sound you're going to stop, and then do the most insane things to her until she can't help but to scream, and then watch her struggle and beg for more underneath you." She grinned, placing a few more kisses along his chest, "I mean...if I had to guess."
PATRICK:
Patrick let out a short chuckle at her joke about dropping his uncle into a pool of sharks - it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something like that. But he appreciated that she didn’t press him further, didn’t dig into the raw wound she’d sensed. It wasn’t often that people took his silence as a boundary instead of an invitation to pry. Midge seemed to understand the difference, and that alone made him consider lowering his guard - just slightly. When she commented on the excitement of the casino life, he caught the flash of something in her eyes, a spark of recognition perhaps, or an understanding that extended beyond her words. “It has its moments,” he admitted, a gentle smile creeping up on his face. “Being on the floor, seeing people excited about winning enough to pay off their mortgage or afford college tuition for their kids is always an amazing feeling. And the excitement of a slow-burn poker game is extremely satisfying.” He drawled, his voice cracking at the end, as he felt her touch move across his abs, tracing a deliberate path that drew his attention back to the moment. The softness of her hand contrasted with the edge of the conversation, like she was trying to pull them both back from the dark waters they’d been treading. When she leaned in to press her lips against his skin, he took a steady breath, keeping himself from reacting too quickly. Control was his default - always deliberate, always careful - but Midge had a knack for throwing him off balance, even if she didn’t realize it. Her next question, however, made him pause. She was good at turning the conversation back on him, making him question just how much he was willing to give away. Control - it was something he rarely surrendered, not in the casino, not in the boardroom, and certainly not in bed. Midge’s description of him was uncannily accurate, but what really struck him was how easily she saw through the façade he wore so comfortably. He smirked. “Not a bad guess,” he murmured, voice calm and controlled, though there was a glimmer of something darker beneath his tone. He let his fingers trace her spine absently, a light, teasing touch that mirrored her own explorations. “I like to take control, yes,” he admitted, meeting her eyes without flinching. “But it’s not just about making someone scream.” His voice dropped lower, more serious now as he continued, “It’s about knowing exactly where their limits are, and pushing them just far enough to make them question everything they thought they knew about themselves.” There was a certain intensity in his gaze as he spoke, a glimpse of the man behind the mask, the one who thrived on reading people and playing their weaknesses like an instrument. “It’s about trust,” he added, his fingers brushing the curve of her hip, “and knowing that if they break, it’s because they chose to, not because I forced them.”
MIDGE:
She didn’t know how simple words strung together like that could have such a physical effect on her. Patrick hadn’t even mentioned a single specific of what he liked to do, not really, and yet she could feel her cheeks growing hot at his words. Goosebumps appeared all over her at the feeling of his hand on her bare back and then hip, and she felt the urge to look away from him, wondering, for the first time in a long time, if she was in over her head with this man. Still, she didn’t look away, it wasn’t just that she liked a challenge, which she did, but it had been a long time since felt out of her depth, and she was never one to shy away from pushing her boundaries. “Trust is a tricky thing,” she finally spoke, leaving it there for a moment as she let her eyes travel down to his body again, lingering there as she continued drawing a lazy path along his midsection. “I mean, what level of trust are we talking about?” She finally spoke again, her eyes meeting his. “I mean, if you told me you wanted me to stay here for an entire week and I had to do every single thing you told me to do, I’d trust you not to do anything that would actually harm me and I’d trust you to still respect my boundaries.” It was true, there was nothing about Patrick that made her afraid in terms of him trying to do anything she wasn’t completely okay with, but that wasn’t the only kind of trust. “But if you’re talking about the kind of trust where you let someone in to your mind to see all of the dark corners where the worst version of yourself lives, keeping all of your darkest memories locked in their cages?” She paused, her hand pausing, too. “I’m not sure it’s possible to really trust someone with that, do you?”
PATRICK:
Patrick watched her closely, noting every change in her expression, every slight hesitation. Midge’s words felt like more than just a question; they were a probe, an attempt to push through the carefully constructed walls he had spent years perfecting. And yet, she wasn’t bluntly charging in, demanding he tear down those defenses. She was inviting him to choose whether or not he wanted to let her in. That alone was different. “I think,” he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative, “trust really is a subjective matter. I enjoy knowing that I can keep you here for a week long sexcapade.” He smirked, but it was so much deeper than just the sex and he knew it; she trusted him. Patrick didn’t often share his thoughts so openly, but there was a strange kind of liberation in it, like he was testing the weight of each word as he let it out. He took a moment, letting her question hang in the air between them before continuing. “As for whether it’s possible… I think it depends on what you’re willing to risk.” He reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “The hardest part isn’t trusting someone with your darkness,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “It’s trusting them not to turn the light on too suddenly.” A faint smile ghosted his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He leaned back slightly, studying her reaction, curious as to whether she’d see his words as an opening or a carefully veiled warning. “So tell me,” he said, voice steady once more, “what kind of trust are you willing to risk, Midge?”
MIDGE:
She let out a breath of a laugh when he mentioned the sexcapade, though she was serious, she was sure it would be a hell of a week, she didn’t see that happening any time. It seemed that the more they spoke the more questions she had about him, but she still wasn’t willing to push. Midge shook her head at his words, “Not for me,” she whispered, “I don’t think I could ever get that far, worrying about them turning on the light. I think if anyone got that close…Well, they probably wouldn’t hang around for long to see what lived there.” She watched him at his question, “I used to think that there were very few things I was afraid of, but it turns out I’m afraid of mostly everything.” She sighed, stretching closer to kiss him, one hand reaching up to cup his cheek, fingers tangling into the edges of his hair. “Trust goes both ways,” she smiled as she pulled away, “So maybe the question is what kind of trust are you willing to risk?” She knew a non answer and turning the question on him was probably cowardly, but she didn’t like feeling so exposed by the question. Yet still, it echoed in her mind, taunting her, and she resisted the urge to climb on top of him to get her mind to shut up. “I think you scare me,” she admitted, biting her lip, “I never feel like I’m out of control, I always know what to expect and where the right buttons are on most people.” She smiled, “If all else fails usually climbing on top of someone brings things back to my comfort zone. But I feel like if I did that with you I’d be further out of my depth than ever.” Midge shook her head slightly, “Like you could destroy me if you wanted to.” She knew that sounded dramatic, but it didn’t feel it. It was incredibly rare for her to make a switch from a physical relationship with someone to wanting more from them, and she didn’t know him at all, yet she found herself questioning what more than sex would be like with him, and that felt dangerous. “I don’t think I’m ready to risk total destruction just yet.”
PATRICK:
Patrick let her words settle between them, feeling the weight of her honesty. It was rare to see someone acknowledge their fear so plainly, and there was something in that vulnerability that made him uneasy. He wasn’t used to this kind of openness - not in himself, and certainly not from others. People usually kept their fears hidden, like a card held too close to be seen. But Midge was laying hers on the table, almost daring him to match her honesty. When she admitted that he scared her, Patrick felt a faint twitch of guilt. He knew he was the kind of man who could be dangerous in the wrong circumstances, not because he wanted to be, but because life had shaped him that way. Her words were a warning, whether she intended them to be or not, and Patrick couldn’t help but appreciate her awareness. The easy thing to do would’ve been to laugh it off or dismiss it, but Midge wasn’t one to shy away from difficult truths. He reached up, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and careful, “that’s the first kind of trust worth testing - letting yourself feel afraid and seeing if anything bad really happens because of it.” He let his fingers trace a line down her cheek, lingering on the edge of her jaw. Patrick wasn’t one for comforting words or grand reassurances, but he could offer this small gesture, an acknowledgment of the fear without trying to erase it. Patrick shifted, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips as he looked her over. “You say I scare you,” he murmured, “but you’re still here, still talking, still pushing the boundaries to see what happens next.” He paused, brushing his thumb lightly against her skin. “That tells me you’re not running away just yet.”
MIDGE:
Midge let herself sit in the silence for a moment, letting his words sink in before turning her face slightly towards his hand. Her own hand reached up to gently hold his in place, before placing a kiss on his palm. Did she want to let herself try trusting him? Her brain was screaming at her to run away, run away from this bed, and this room, and this guy and never ever look back, but he was right, she wasn't running away yet. She'd had every opportunity, to change the subject, to throw herself at him again for a round 2, to do anything but have this conversation, and yet here she was, feeling more naked than she had in a long time. "And how do you propose I do that?" She finally asked, "How would you suggest I test that trust with you?" She wasn't sure if she even wanted the answer, or if he'd have one, but she certainly knew that she wasn't ready to shut this door yet, but she was lost in the darkness of unfamiliarity and all she could really do was reach a hand out to Patrick and hope he would pull her into the light so she could figure out where she was.
PATRICK:
Patrick watched her, sensing the internal struggle she wasn’t fully voicing. He knew that look - saw it in the mirror often enough to recognize when someone was wrestling with their own instincts. When she kissed his palm, something tightened in his chest, and he wondered if she felt as disoriented by all this as he did. Intimacy was supposed to be simple, transactional even, but this - this felt like standing on the edge of something unknown. When she asked how to test that trust, Patrick paused, considering his words. It wasn’t a question he often faced, and he didn’t have an easy answer. Most people never bothered to push for more, and he liked it that way. But Midge was different; she wasn’t satisfied with the surface, and he found himself wanting to offer something real in return. “You've just done it,” he said finally, his voice low and deliberate. “By letting yourself be open to whatever happens, even if it’s uncomfortable or uncertain; this conversation, for example.” He shifted his hand slightly, so his fingers entwined with hers, anchoring them in that connection. He leaned in slowly, his nose softly brushing against hers as his eyes closed, and he pressed his lips onto hers in the most gentle way he could afford to right now. This. This was also a test of her trust in him.
MIDGE:
This really wasn't what she was expecting from Patrick. When she'd decided to come home with him, she never would have pictured this happening. Her asking him how to test her trust in him, him holding her hand, gently kissing her, it was all shocking. And yet, she was enjoying it, enjoying the unknown and stepping towards something that scared her rather than away. Midge kissed him back, not deepening the kiss, not wanting to run away from their talk by resorting to sex. She knew she used sex as her first line of defense in almost all situations, so maybe part of this whole thing was trying to resist that when it felt like an easy way out. Midge pulled away while she still had the strength to, "Maybe we should talk sometime with our clothes on." She suggested, "Somewhere public, so I can't throw myself at you if I get scared." She smiled, wondering how he'd take this, it kind of sounded like she was asking him on a date, and maybe she was, she didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted more of him.
PATRICK:
Patrick hadn’t expected this either. He was used to keeping conversations neat and detached, revealing only enough to keep people intrigued, never too much to be vulnerable. He was good at controlling the narrative, at steering things to where he wanted them, but this time, the conversation seemed to be steering him. And yet, he wasn’t fighting it. When she pulled away, he let her, not moving to close the distance again, which was a first for him. Normally, the silence after a kiss was an invitation for more, but Midge seemed determined to resist old patterns, and he respected that. “Somewhere public, huh?” Patrick echoed with a faint smirk, his eyes studying hers. The idea of meeting her outside of this context, where seduction wasn’t the easy fallback, was surprisingly appealing. It was bold, almost like she was throwing down a challenge, and he couldn’t help but appreciate her audacity. “You realize you’re suggesting that we act like normal people, right?” he said, the playful tone in his voice underscoring the rarity of such a proposal. “I think I can handle that,” Patrick replied, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, testing the waters. “We can meet somewhere crowded, make it harder for you to escape if the urge to run gets too strong.” His smile was teasing, but his eyes were serious, as if he was acknowledging the weight of what she was really offering. “I’m curious to see if you’ll make a break for it.”
MIDGE:
She didn't fight her laugh when he mentioned acting like normal people, "I'll do my best for you." Midge smiled at the idea of somewhere crowded, resting her forehead against his chest for a few seconds, just taking in the scent of him. "Those are my options, aren't they?" She smiled, looking back up at him now, "Either I make a break for it, or you push me far enough that I choose to break?" Taking in a deep breath, she didn't know what this meant, and she was too afraid to ask for clarity right now. Was this a date? After all, she was the one that had asked him, so if she didn't know what it meant, how was he meant to. "Maybe I should go," She said as she sat up, "I mean, unless you wanted to go again, but I don't think I can handle anymore conversation for today." Maybe this was her running away already, but it didn't feel like it, it just felt like she'd reached her limit for now.
PATRICK:
Patrick felt the weight of her words settle between them, and he almost smiled. She had an uncanny way of disarming him without realizing it, or maybe she did realize it and that was the point. Either way, he found her honesty refreshing - even if she was inching towards the exit in the only way she knew how. When she sat up, the shift in the bed felt like a cold rush of reality. He watched her carefully, weighing her words as she offered a possible escape with a casual mention of another round. He let her talk out loud about her thoughts, but a part of him didn’t want to end the encounter just yet. So he sat up, leaning back against the headboard, reaching out for her, his hands grabbing onto her waist, and moving her so she could straddle him. “I wouldn’t hate going again,” His Scottish accent thick, and his lips smirking slightly. He couldn’t figure out if it was his dick, his brain or his heart that wanted more of Midge. But everything - including this uncharacteristic exchange had him wanting to find out what part of him it was.
The ride to the Hamptons had been delightful, mostly because anytime Sam and Quinn could sit down and have deep conversations about their lives, expectations and take trips down the memory lane would qualify as a blessing for the girl. Never before had anything Sam said or did stuck in her head to make her feel worrisome. However, when they were talking about true love and unrequited feelings between friends, the worst case scenario possibilities Sam offered simply made Quinn feel uneasy. The moment she heard his approach to the subject, her stomach took a nervous flip. There was something scary about the way he put it. If friends were to unintentionally and completely instinctively have some feelings for one another, they would absolutely need to keep it hidden. Otherwise, both the friendship and relationship were doomed to fail, and who would be able to stand the thought of losing their best friend on earth? Not that Quinn feared something remotely similar could happen to them, it was just the whole show they were putting out for her parents. When two people pretended to be romantically involved as frequent as they recently did, it was only normal for her to start questioning herself when Sam brought up such terrible potential consequences. Truth be told, never before did she believe for a second anything could break the bond Sam and Quinn obtained. It had been tested many times in the past, and their relationship had been proven to be more than solid. It had always been difficult for her to believe whether people would be in her life in the long run or not, but it never crossed her mind that she might actually lose Sam because of some feelings he may not return. And now that the thought was in her head, it was pretty much all she could think about.
When they got to the Fabrays’ vacation home in Hamptons, it was a relief Judy and Russell were too occupied giving Sam a tour of the house, showing him the backyard, the pool, having him taste one of her father’s finest champagne. Apparently, both Quinn’s parents were in a mood to celebrate their arrival there, since they were already talking to her “fiancé” about how it was just the right season to visit Hamptons. The weather was great, it was the most seizable opportunity to gather the whole family together. Basically, the couple were constantly praising themselves while conversing with Sam, but Quinn was too lost inside her own head to pay much attention to them. Now that Sam had gotten more acquainted with both of her parents, they were able to carry out a conversation perfectly well even though she remained uncharacteristically quiet. That was partially the reason that for probably the first time in her life, her face lit up when she saw Frannie enter the room.
However, her enthusiasm did not last long enough because in no time, Frannie was pressuring both Sam and Quinn into going to the party she arranged as a reunion for Quinn with their friends and introduction for Sam to finally meet their closest companies in Hamptons. There was no excuse Quinn could come up with that would not draw attention from either her parents or Sam, and frankly, she was in no mood to answer questions from any one of those parties. If Sam figured out why she was acting so muted, the girl knew coming up with a lie might not have been the brightest idea. The boy had witnessed her coming up with lies in no time and stick to them on countless occasions, that he would surely realise she wasn’t being honest with him. Now that, would most certainly be a big twist in their friendship because they had been nothing but honest with one another through years. Even if they had done the most inexplicable, irrational things, they did not lie about it to each other, or even partially omit the truth. They didn’t need to, because until now both of them were sure nothing the other could say would affect their feelings and connection. If there was one feeling Quinn loathed; it was fear. Generally, the girl was quick to take action and act upon her urges and impulses. That did not always come in as the most handy habit, but at least she would get things done, express herself and be vocal about her emotions and thoughts. At this point, it was difficult to understand why her mind was roaming through the possibilities about the reason behind the current shift in her feelings towards Sam. It was true seeing him always raised Quinn’s spirits, but it was quite unusual for her heart to take a leap once he walked inside the room. That never happened before the last three weeks of their friendship.
Once they were at the beach with Quinn and Frannie’s friends, the engaged couple were circled with people congratulating them. Dozens of people Quinn forgot even existed were now showering them with compliments and best wishes. With every flattering comment about how good they looked together, the girl felt a tight knot in her throat. Eventually, as people started to chat and Sam was talking to some friend of Frannie and a friend of hers who was also in the music industry, Quinn excused herself. “I’m gonna get something to drink, you want one?” She asked Sam, letting go of his hand that she’d been holding since they walked out of the house together. Clearly, he wasn’t having the worst time because now they were in familiar territory. They’ve been to countless parties together before, and in such scenes, Sam had always been the star. He was easy to talk to and get along with, so in time, Quinn had figured he’d make friends and have fun in a short while. Plus, Frannie was busy invading Sam and the other musician’s conversation with questions anyways, so they would never run out of things to discuss until she cleared her mind anyways.
“Well, if it isn’t the Quinn Fabray who found the man of her dreams!” A familiar voice shouted giddily behind her, and once the blonde turned around, she was face to face with one of her oldest friends: April Dawson. As Quinn reached for the glass of wine she just poured herself, a big smile spread across her face. It had been quite a while since the last time she saw April. The girls had been pretty close since both their families were very much keen on vacationing in the Hamptons ever since they were kids. They were quick to get lost in chitchat, laughing and talking about all the good old times they spent together drinking by the beach, scared their parents would find out and all the silly little truth or dare games they played with their friends. Quinn had actually managed to ease her mind before April stole a glance at Sam’s direction, nudged her head towards the girl who now replaced Frannie’s spot next to Sam and seemed like she was making an extra effort to talk to him. “That one over there surely knows a catch when she sees one. Is she flirting with your guy or what?” April asked, clearly taking the fact that the girl had recently placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and was laughing vibrantly at something he was saying as an indication of flirtation. Quinn’s head immediately shot up from her glass, her eyes fixating on Sam and the girl he seemed to happily be accompanied by.
As Asher emerged from the pool, inhaling the pervading scent of chlorine, his stomach lurched violently, seemingly in protest of something. It transcended discomfort, a dual sensation of nausea and aching. He inhaled deeply, knowing that this next dive would be strenuous---three and a half somersaults---and he couldn’t afford to allow any ailment to affect his performance. The coach was watching, and competition was the next day. With a preciseness that carried over to his dives, he bent down to pick up his chamois. He began to walk around the corner of the pool, toward the ladder to the boards, humming Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. The song had served as his and North’s duet yesterday evening, the perfect closing (well, at least to the PG part) to the night. He smiled, already fond of the memory. As his foot touched the first rung of the ladder, a familiar voice called his name. Asher spun, pleasantly surprised to see Jake only feet away... Until he observed his expression. Jake’s features were ashen, his chest heaving with the exertion of what appeared to be running. “It’s North.”
Five minutes later, Asher had hurriedly tugged on a t-shirt and sweats, breathlessly explained to his coach that there was a family emergency, and started up the engine of his car. With Jake by his side, he drove with both hands gripping the wheel and his eyes resolutely focused on the road, the muscle in his jaw clenched. He would be no use to North if he died in a car accident. Pulling into the lot, parking the vehicle, approaching the entrance to the hospital---he performed all the actions with a clinical manner, like they comprise some sort of procedure. Jake asked for information at the front desk, and he simply stares at the receptionist, his gaze steady but his hands trembling. The journey to the room seems impossibly arduous, like the longest trek he’d ever experience in his lifetime. When they finally arrive at the correct room, the plaque spelling out the digits his lips had silently mouthed upon hearing them, his triceps are quivering from the burden of the cause (that he vaguely knew and dreaded) for his mere presence here. He shoves open the door without hesitation. “What happened?!” Asher demanded, rushing to her bedside and not offering any resistance when she tugs him into the uncomfortable bed. Instead, he simply gathers her in his arms, encircling her in a tight embrace as he listens to Logan’s uncertain explanation.
Baby, he thinks, blinking. How could that word possibly relate to them? They’d had sex, sure, but every time they’d insured that no consequences would come about as a result. Besides, North had already had her period this month---the calendar pinned next to the desk was marked everytime by one of them, so---Oh. His features crumpled like millennium-old marble. There was a baby? Every fiber of his being convulsed, his frame curling around hers like a shell, a feeble effort to offer protection. There was a baby. Asher elicited a choked sound, the physical embodiment of the demons of the past threatening to claw their way out of his throat. There was a baby... He fists the flimsy material of her hospital gown in one hand, clinging desperately to North’s back with the other. “Oh, my God,” He breathed, his eyes squeezing shut as he finally, finally begins to understand that only hours ago a human being was alive who developed from their love for one another.
A living entity was growing inside of North, their son or daughter, beautiful and pure, unadulterated by the cruelty of the world. Through every night they’d spent together, sharing a bed and promises and hopes for the future, he’d never imagined that this particular event would come to pass. At the very, very least not like this. Not so soon. He hadn’t suggested the possibility to her, well-aware that even the tentative agreement of a long-term commitment was a gesture of pure faith from her. And so Asher had never dared to hope that they might build a family. And certainly, never in his most absurd and obscure thoughts, had he even considered for a moment that such an occurrence would take place now. For however briefly it lasted, he’d been a father. She’d been a mother. To their child. “Oh, my God,” He repeats again, his voice shattering and the words rasping as he begins to weep. Another irrepressible sob emancipated itself; his powers of articulation had withdrawn, averse to functioning beyond necessity at this moment. Instead, Asher communicated by touch-–he drew her closer still, every bit of contact necessitated.
Makoto was rather thrilled to see Idarin lit up and festive for the next few weeks. It made things feel brighter, and reminded him of the festivals they had at home. It was different, of course, he had never had the strange looking fruit many people seemed to be offering. But it had the same sort of fun air to it, and that was what was really important.
There were a number of things to take part in, and Makoto wasn't entirely sure where to begin. It would be sort of pathetic by himself, but at least he'd be getting out and doing something.
Suddenly, something blue caught the young man's attention, and turning his face brightened.
"Marth!" he said, eyes lit up. Someone who he not only knew, but someone who didn't threaten his life. You might almost call them friends. Maybe. Makoto would, but then again he would befriend a pretzel so long as you put googly eyes on it. Still, the teen jogged over to the prince, large smile still across all his features. He was not only happy to see the other young man, but pleased to see he hadn't been hurt.
"I'm so glad you're here! Would you... um, I mean if you don't have anything better to do, would you maybe want to hang out?"
He doubts anyone's awake at this hour, except maybe Ja'far.
For once, there's too much going on in his head, he can't concentrate. Not since Narmes told him that he was needed back in Heliohapt. He doesn't want to leave Sindria, he doesn't want to become a political figure. He wants to stay and follow Sinbad, to continue to be one of his generals.
To stay with Yamuraiha.
He sighs as he finds himself wandering around the training grounds where he used to teach Alibaba.
There's still one person he hasn't told about his leaving and he doesn't know how he's going to tell the idiot magician who ended up meaning so much to him.
He doesn't want to tell her, he'd rather leave without her knowing.
