i want to be a galaxy.

         ❛ ——hey, you still owe me a dinner date. or a movie …                     actually— dinner would be great. ‘m kinda hungry. ❜

the curve of his lips is all but sultry, like candy-coated velvet.

❝ c’mere. ❞  it begins as quietly understated, but the murmur of his heart always grows frantic when he knows something is assured to him. he always had be someone he knew could be relied on, someone solid to the point where he’d made adjustments in his schema. despite what his mind argued  ( constantly ),  he was the tree in hurricane’s eye that could not be moved. today, he is happy;  of all days to have him home, his birthday is a lucky one.  

❝ i want a kiss. ❞

cain never missed out on a birthday.   even if he was caught in the middle of a gunfight somewhere in the rustling forests of peru or tailing a swedish loan shark through the streets of cambodia, he always made sure he had the earliest flight he could score after a job was expected to conclude, a flight right back home to california.   it may seem so bizarre that he is so dedicated to the cause, but contrary to popular belief, cain’s once apparent empty heart is filled with so much dedication to his relationship that he’d rather die before putting his job above it.   it’s the one tradition he knew vanitas could always fall back on if push comes to shove, and vanitas definitely needed that constant when everything else seemed to spiral out of control before he could begin to process it all.

it wasn’t fair.   life wasn’t kind to people like them.   but hey, at least cain is given the luxury of spending his boyfriend’s birthday at his side rather than over a skype call from some shitty motel.   vanitas’s hands find their way in cain’s shirt, and he once again finds it easy to solidify the fact that that there really isn’t any other place he’d rather be.

        ‘ maybe i just don’t fuckin’ like it. ’

       lapis hues narrow, arms crossing akin to swords over shield. god given fingers digging absently into flesh. attempting to control acidic words ( after all, it is righteous thought to be protective ). star embedded teeth bore into whiplash tongue. control. 

                        ‘ i don’t know why you think that i’d fuck anything up. who broke the ikea headboard ? not me. ’

THERE’S A SCOFF WEDGED IN   the borders of his lips before it curves into a scowl; the misfortune of their previous endeavor isn’t lost on cain’s part ( he hoped by now it had been long forgotten, truthfully ), but comparing it to the maintenance of an ‘automatic beauty’ like betty ?   the horror.

                 ‘ me ? skipping out ? what do you take me for, huh cain ? you think i’m a lazy date ? how hurtful. ’ 

            ❛ —long time no see. ❜    she stops; let her catch her breath.    ❛ so … ! what’s, uh … new ? ❜

❛   yeah.   it’s been a while.   ❜   he runs a hand through his bangs, delivering a shrug.

       ❝ You’re a fucking idiot, y’know that? ❞

       In truth, he doesn’t despise Cain. He’s mulled over the idea of a genuine interest in him, but his pride lacks the ability to let him in. He’s deflecting; he can’t stand the thought of  ‘ maybes ‘  &  ‘ what ifs. ‘  His demons are scarred and battle worn, certainly aching for another fight. Reality strikes like a serpent; its venom is absolutely intoxicating, and Vanitas cannot help but be enthralled. Being chased after is a feeling he isn’t used to, but being alone is one he knows far too well.             ❝ I guess it really was all just a game. ❞

HE DOESN’T EVEN CONTEMPLATE LOOKING   over his shoulder when he stops to entertain the idea of addressing the accusation.   he refuses to be the one to break, so he decides it would be better to create the illusion he did.   there’s definitely some real disappointment though, because cain was honestly hoping he’d finally have something worth coming back to.   it’s nothing but blood and guts without the glory, going through the motions without semblance of interest.   going back to the cycle would be easy, but he doesn’t want easy.   he never did, otherwise he wouldn’t have put in the effort.

❛   if you tell yourself that enough times, maybe it’ll come true.   ❜

     If looks could kill, his eyes would be the murder weapon of the crime of the century. Not only does he not understand the incessant desire to pester him upon every possible avenue, but he does not intend to endure this  ‘ game ‘  for much longer, either. It’s as though every time Vanitas has told him to cease his pursuit, Cain returns with a more persistent attitude than ever. A roll of his eyes is given to his company, sarcastic and bitter as always–         ❝ You sure ‘s hell don’t know when t’ quit, do you? ❞

❛   … sure i do.   ❜

HIS BREATH SITS ON THE   edges of his lips, in the compounds of fractured elasticity.   he’s not one to give up, but he’s also not one to waste his time in something that doesn’t aim to give him any benefit.   this response isn’t the same as the others in the past; it’s understanding, it’s clear — it’s vacant.   not underlined with anything other than remote solemnity, hands dipping into his pockets when he shrugs.   countenance once alive now softened into emptiness as he turns on his heel.

           ‘ cain, you’re killin’ me here. ’

         a false belief cause his own visage to fall, morphing into a bitter expression. brows pressed together, jaw tight as nails to wood. 

             ‘ what the fuck does that mean ? ’  

❛   you know what i'm implying.   ❜

THE WORDS FRAMING HIS LIPS   come together more easy than the consideration of the situation as a whole.   his hand rests atop the hood of his project car, eyebrows furrowed.

❛   mm.   i dunno, burnie.   ❜

DISTASTE TWISTS THE SLASH OF   his mouth, the lift of a brow to follow suit.