𝐁𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄

  highlights & keywords; single (chronically), learned early how to be “fine”, coping came in the form of motion, charming quickly and forgettable on purpose, nothing ever stuck because he made sure it didn’t, emotionally evasive, chronically unserious, commitment terrifies him, wants connection without being fully seen, once something starts to matter he instinctively reaches for distance, writing is the one place where things slow down, don’t mistake the jokes for emptiness.

tw; parental death

who: @mark-not-marcus when & where: mark's place, around 2 am

by the time mark’s door shuts, alex is already horizontal on the couch, shoes kicked off somewhere near the entryway, jacket tossed over the back of a chair that looks like it hasn’t been used for sitting in a while. he’s staring up at the ceiling, hands folded over his chest like he’s waiting for sleep to magically take the hint. “just so we’re clear,” he says, voice carrying easily through the apartment, “it’s 2 am, my brain is doing laps, and this couch was the safest option.”

he shifts, restless even lying down, the cushion giving a tired sigh beneath him. something rattles on the floor when his foot nudges it — he pointedly ignores whatever it is. “bar’s closed. locked up. survived the evening,” he adds. “didn’t drink, didn’t spiral publicly. very proud of myself.” a beat. “privately is still up for debate.”

he finally turns his head, squinting toward mark with a crooked, familiar grin. “i tried going home. lights off, phone down, whole responsible adult routine.” he exhales. “didn’t take. so here i am.” alex props himself up on one elbow, rubbing at his eyes. “you got anything remotely edible? or are we doing your usual late-night specialty? snacks that technically count as food if you don’t think about them too hard.” he pauses, softer now, like the joke’s done its job. “thanks for being awake.”

who: @forevertouched (gen) when & where: outside of auras, after midnight

alex is leaning back against the brick wall just outside auras, jacket half-zipped, hands tucked into his pockets like he’s trying to look like he didn’t check the door three times already. the neon sign hums above him, casting that familiar pink glow over the sidewalk, and he watches his breath fog faintly in the night air. he glances at his phone, then back toward the entrance, a small smile already forming like he knows exactly how this is about to go.

when the door opens, he straightens a little, pushing off the wall. “hey,” he calls easily, voice warm, tired in that end-of-shift way but still lit up. “look at that. two hardworking citizens clocking out at the same time. very responsible of us.” he steps closer, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers in greeting. “bar’s closed, lights are off, i only had to kick out one guy who thought ‘last call’ was a suggestion. productive night.” his eyes skim her face, softer for a second. “you good?”

"Well, you're smarter than a baby, so thank goodness for that. I mean, I get the whole 'no supervision' thing. If it gets too late and I'm still up, I do all sorts of stupid shit. Like dye my hair, eat 10 packets of Fun Dip and burn my tongue, try to parkour in my apartment. Maybe next time, just like knock on Max's door. Or like, call me. As long as you haven't pissed Aylin off too much, I'll answer."

“get an opinion?” alex scoffs, making an exaggerated pfft sound as he lifts his arm again like the tattoo itself is evidence. “where’s the fun in that? acting before i think is kind of my whole brand.” a beat, then a crooked grin. “i’m a patriot. i’m trying to make america proud.” he shakes his head at her next comment, eyes lighting up. “okay, first of all, rude. second of all, if you’re dyeing your hair at two in the morning and don’t invite me, that’s a personal betrayal.” he gestures vaguely to himself. “i’m up at all hours anyway." thanks, insomnia. "might as well get some green hair out of it, right?”

then she says aylin’s name, and he feels it immediately.. the flinch he doesn’t quite manage to hide. his confidence comes first, automatic. “i don’t think i pissed her off too much lately,” he says, easy.

there’s a beat.

“…did i?” the grin fades into something more uncertain, genuine curiosity creeping in. he studies layla’s face like she might hold the answer he’s afraid to ask for directly. “because i feel like i’d know. probably.” a pause. “okay, maybe not.” he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “for the record, i’m trying. which i know sounds like something someone who’s absolutely not trying would say.” a half-smile. “but yeah. if you’re offering to be my emergency contact before i do something stupid. tattoos, hair dye, or emotional self-sabotage.. i’ll take it.” @laylastern

she pressed her lips together, keeping herself from saying something else equally dumb or awkward, before exhaling deeply. "yeah, no. no pressure." aylin said softly, almost a whisper. last thing she wanted, and needed is for alex to stop talking to her completely, or worse, hate her. "good." she repeated, genuinely happy to hear that. he looked good too, which, was probably better than what she could say about herself most of the time. "yeah, tell me about it. pretty sure half of your customers end up at the diner after." and the drunk ones were always a pain to handle.

"thanks." she smiled again, this time slightly more because it did mean a lot. she was doing okay. most days. others, she didn't feel like adulting, or the world was closing in, but that was besides the point. "yeah, i, uh, i was about to head out ⎯" she paused, raising a brow, "hey now, if you must know it's been a week already and the alarm hasn't gone off. one whole week. don't jinx it." aylin warned, a giggle escaping past her lips, head shaking.

“oh, i can absolutely blame him,” alex says, shaking his head like walter’s personally wronged him. “his doctors spoil him rotten. he puts on this whole tragic performance like he’s survived unspeakable horrors just to squeeze more treats out of me. dramatic princess behavior.” he watches her lean closer, the way her voice softens when she talks to walter, and something in his chest eases without permission. she’s always been gentle with him — with both of them — and alex notices that kind of thing more than he lets on. “still,” he adds, quieter now, “it’s sweet that you think of him.” a pause, then a small smile. “and i don’t think he’s forgetting you anytime soon. you’re kind of hard to forget.”

the words hang there a second too long. alex feels it immediately, that familiar line he’s stepped over without meaning to. he laughs it off before it can settle, lifting his hands in mock surrender.

“hey, you’re already doing way better than me,” he says lightly. “i’ve retired from the kitchen entirely. i know my limits. a sandwich is about as ambitious as i get.” a soft chuckle, then he clears his throat, gaze flicking away and back again, like he’s arguing with himself in real time. “so, uh,” he starts, tone casual but not careless. “when do you get off?” a beat. “maybe after your shift we grab a late-night coffee. or a drink.” he shrugs, giving her an easy out even as he hopes she doesn’t take it. “no pressure. just… thought i’d ask.” @lumcra

where: anywhere that works for your muse (coffee shop/park/bar) @jasperstarters

he rolls his wrist, tilts it toward the light, squints, like the angle might change the verdict. the small stickman, frozen mid-wheelie on a tiny skateboard, offers him absolutely nothing in the way of reassurance. “okay,” he says slowly, more to himself than anyone else, then glances sideways at the person nearest to him. “be honest. like… aggressively honest.”

he lifts his arm between them, rotating it so they can see it properly, finger tracing just beneath the fresh ink without touching it. “is this,” a pause, “funny-bad, or just bad-bad?” he exhales a laugh through his nose, half-defensive, half-amused. it's ironic he even asks, because his arm (and other body parts) still carry a bunch of other 'funny in the moment' tattoo choices. will he ever learn? “because last night it felt like a fun idea to let a stranger stick-n-poke me. like a ‘this will absolutely still be funny when i’m eighty’ level decision.” he looks back at it again, eyebrows knitting together. “now i’m wondering if i just permanently committed to a stickman who thinks he’s tony hawk.” his gaze flicks back to them, hopeful and already bracing for judgment. “don’t sugarcoat it. i can take it. i think.”

alex waits until the crowd thins a little. not because he’s shy, but because he doesn’t want to compete with noise when this already feels like a terrible idea. he’s been nursing the same drink at the bar longer than necessary, watching magika wand exist like gravity has personally chosen her. glitter, confidence, command of the room. alex has seen her a dozen times by now, maybe more. laughs loud every time. tips well. never says anything.

until now. he finally drifts closer once magika's offstage, posture loose, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. there’s a smile on his face that’s too honest to be strategic, eyes bright in that way that gives him away immediately. “hi,” he says, voice a little softer than usual, but still warm. “i promise i’m not here to be weird, which i realize is a terrible way to start a conversation.”

he glances briefly at the remnants of the stage, then back at will, grin tugging wider. “i’ve seen you perform a bunch of times. like. a bunch.” a beat. “you’re… really good. unfairly good. i figured if i didn’t finally say something i’d be that guy who just claps aggressively forever.” he shifts his weight, thumb hooking against his pocket. “i’m alex. big fan. emotionally unwell about it, honestly.” a pause, then, teasing but sincere: “can i buy you a drink, or are you too powerful for that now?”

alex glances down at his own glass like it’s about to expose him for fraud, then back up at ari with an easy grin that says i am absolutely winging this. “okay, first of all,” he says, lowering his voice like they’re sharing a secret, “you’re doing great. everyone else here is also pretending. this is a room full of liars.”

he gives the wine a thoughtful swirl, way too exaggerated, then takes a careful sip, nodding slowly as if something profound has just happened. “yeah. mhm. i’m getting… notes.” another pause. “of grapes.” his eyes flick back to ari, amused. “maybe wood? like a tree was emotionally involved at some point.” he leans in a little, conspiratorial. “i think if you say ‘dry’ confidently enough, no one questions you.”

alex takes another sip, then shrugs, softer now. “but if being out of place means standing here with you instead of aggressively debating tannins with strangers, i think i’ll survive.” a beat, then a smirk. “you can explain what it actually tastes like, though. i trust you. you’re the academic.”

alex’s smile sharpens at her reply, like she’s just confirmed something he already suspected. he leans back again, but this time it’s looser. less rehearsed. “oh, i know,” he says lightly. “the threat potential was baked in the moment i sat down. i accepted the risk.” his eyes flick over her face, quick and curious, catching the arch of her brow, the way she holds herself like she’s perpetually deciding whether to tolerate the world or bite it. he looks amused by it. maybe a little into it.

“annoyingly good is what happens when i’m left unsupervised,” he adds. “or when i’ve had caffeine. or when i’m trying to be subtle.” a beat. “so. always.” then he leans forward again, more present this time. “so, technically—” he starts, eyes flicking down briefly to her daughter before lifting back to lila’s gaze. captivating. mildly terrifying. hard to look away from. “you’re working adjacent. got it.” his fingers tap lightly against the table, like he’s buying himself a second. he’s still trying to figure out why her, of all people, waved him over.

“now,” he says, tone easy, grin slipping into place, “not that i would ever complain, but what made you call me over today?” a pause, just long enough to sell the joke. “did you finally realize i’m actually the man of your dreams?” the smile that follows is pure trouble: teasing, self-aware, already braced for whatever she throws back at him.