ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴅ

 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒  𝐇𝐀𝐒  𝐇𝐀𝐃  𝐀  𝐅𝐄𝐖  𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐓𝐎  𝐀𝐃𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓,  but  he  still  arises sometime  between  liver  failure  and  ass  o’clock. the  festivities  from  the  night  before  left  him  feeling like  he’s  definitely down  an  organ  or  two,  but  there’s a  pounding  behind temples  and  a  spin  to  the  room  that  can  truly  only  be  ameliorated by  one  very  convenient  solution-- some  prime,  gourmet dunkin.  he’s  slow  and  careful  getting out  of  bed,  lidded  gaze  tracing  over  the  dark  locks  splayed across  his  pillow as  he  slips  a  pair  of  joggers over  narrow  hips.  by  the  time  he  makes  it  downstairs  and  to  any  of  the  thirty  chains in  a  single mile  radius,  it’s  half  past  nine  so  there’s  no  line.  the  barista  looks  at  him  twice  as  he  rasps  out  the  thickly-worded  order, but  it’s  one  of  the  ones  where  brooks  can’t  tell  if  she’s  about  to  ask  for  his  autograph  or  if  he  needs  a  gurney  so  he  just  shoots  the  girl  a  polite  smile  and  grabs  the  drink  tray  and  food  bag  from  her.  the  elevator trip  back  up  to  the  top  floor  objectively  isn’t  long  but  feels  like  it  rivals a  century,  and  he’d  be  tempted  to  eat  what’s in  the  bag  and  lie  about  them  running  out  of  well... everything  if  he  didn’t  know  it  would  guarantee  him  sure  death. mason’s  exactly  where  brooks  left  her  when  he  returns, and  he  toes  his  shoes  off,  setting the  food  and  coffee  onto  the  bedside table  before  tugging his  ʟᴀ  ᴋɪɴɢꜱ  ʜᴏᴄᴋᴇʏ  shirt  over  his  head.  he  pauses  to  glance  down  at  her  once  more,  the  curve  of  his  knuckle  feather-light over  the  swell  of  her  cheek.  the  loss  of  three  hours  between  the  east  and  west  coast  is  a  bitch,  but  she  was  still  entirely willing  to  deal  with  his  rambunctious  bullshit at  the  game  last  night, and  THAT  takes  the  patience  of  a  saint  at  best.  he  should let  her  sleep, he  knows,  but  the  desire  to  be  obnoxious wins  out  and  in  the  next  moment he’s  bracketing  her  frame  on  the  bed,  lowering  himself down  until  he’s  turned  her  into  the  human  embodiment of  a  pillow. he  shifts  about  a  few  times,  just  in  case  he  hasn’t already  earned  himself a  one  way  ticket  to  hell,  before settling  with  a  huff,  stubbled cheek  pressed  to  hers.  ‘  what  kinda  manufacturer  makes  a  fuckin’ pillow  with  elbows ?  this  SUCKS.  ’ @stimulcnts

sofie : it's not, i slept with him because i wanted to. get the fuck over yourself, i don't give a shit about you. so you're saying he shouldn't have told you ?? just lied about it for a few more months until he was forced to tell you ??

sofie : which ex of m*son's i'm fucking 👀 i'll do whatever the fuck i please, thanks. you don't get a say in my life anymore

elijah : " im not saying that , brooks . not at all . but it was still a muggy thing for me to sleep with your ex-girlfriend , without so much as a 'how do ya do', or any kinda forewarning . i dont know what the fuck i was thinking , i swear . it all just .. 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 . "

sofie : exactly, me sleeping with him didn't have anything to do with you. i wasn't considered, you weren't considered, stop pretending like im the only one in the wrong here. i didn't use him at all, he was fully willing to sleep with me, contrary to popular belief

sofie : who am i supposed to talk to ??? you ?? mason ?? my parents ?? why should i talk if people are gonna fuck me over anyway ? it's what you're inferring

brooks : that's bullshit and you know it . you fucked eli BECAUSE you knew it would get back to me . that's the difference here . intent .

elijah : eli's eyes close shut at the familiar drawl , the silence behind the other line elaborating into a taut atmosphere . " i'm 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 , brooks .. , " his words drip in remorse .