♡ 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃 * !

⭒ ° . ♡ ― CHECKMATE :

. . .  selective multi muse & verse indie. 20+.the lived turmoil of memories in flux, as loved & penned  by  . . .  DOE.

⭒ ° . ♡ ― CURRENTLY :

GROUPS:  none NEW MUTUALS & THREADS:  accepting

⭒ ° . ♡ ― if you asked zoey, their apartment was ( usually ) a sanctuary of serenity and good taste in interior design. she'd sunk a lot of money into making sure each room was COZY to say the least. material comforts were a necessity due to her daily stress intake, what with all her friends liked to put her through - from late night cramming, to frat party spill-over, to their own other more annoying friends. and if you kept asking her, Cole was definitively in that final category. not close enough to be her own friend ( ew. ) and yet, way too goddamn present in her living room wayyy too often. and while things hadn't quite reached mortal enemy territory yet, he was certainly egging his way there one argument at a time. especially when there never seemed to be enough days between their run-ins to actually forget last week's petty grudges.

and, ok. thomas made sure to pencil in regular reminders over breakfast that their beef was SILLY. she could even agree, to an extent. but the thing about zoey was that she was never going to choose the high road. after all, who was she to fight the inevitable ? -- they were meant to be at odds. if Cole had wanted to fix that, he would have tried to by now. so when good-old thom pried her morning OJ from her hands to delicately wrap her fingers between his . . . she knew what it meant for the remainder of her day. ' he won't be here long. ' he'd tried to soothe her pointlessly, like it was going to stop her from doing her damnedest to inconvenience their house-guest / intruder at every opportunity.

⭒ ° . ♡ ―  haeil knew better than to expect the apartment to still be empty when he woke up. hannah wasn’t exactly a discourteous roommate -- she was in fact his favorite in a long while -- but she knew what she liked. and what she liked seemed to be waking up wrapped around strangers, be it in her own bed or theirs. on the odd occasion, the need to cuddle would eclipse her so completely that he’d even wake up to find her in HIS bed, wrapping his arms around her groggily and passing back out. because what was the sense in fighting it at 3:45 in the morning when she was good at it ? warm, soft, kind of sort of not really minding her business beside him ? but he hadn’t expected it to be kaz she tugged home from whatever party she’d found her way to last night. when he’d heard the front door click shut somewhere in the night he’d just assumed it was someone new. it usually was. 

and maybe that was stupid of him. that’s how they’d met, wasn’t it ? a half-hearted and pseudo interested morning-after run in that warmed as the universe continued to create reasons they ought to run into each other. but if kaz had been over lately, he’d missed it. haeil had only had the pleasure of catching him at work in recent weeks. 

poking his head up over the back of the couch, he eyeballed the familiar, light-footed man that slipped from hannah’s room. but the stealth was pointless, because hannah slept like the dead when she was hungover and kaz ? oh, he was 100% caught. 4k. red-handed. 

⭒ ° . ♡ ― honesty was a virtue, right ? so angela could be honest in admitting that she was avoiding biking home like the goddamn plague. it wasn’t that her family was bad -- far from it, they were loving in their own way. it was just impossible to get any WORK done under the family household circumstances. and unlike her other senior friends, her parents had had nothing to offer in the way of apartment costs or gas money, insisting instead that she angle herself towards a career when her degree was finally finished and bike around campus to cut costs in the mean time. her legs ? looking great these days. her will to bike home carrying a decade-old transistor radio ( and all the bits and bobs she’d pulled out of it ), just to put it back together again in the cold, dimly-lit garage surrounded by cobwebs and the ambiance of her brother’s THIRD loop of Yes’s Fragile that evening ? non-existent. she could get down to roundabout the next time she had nine minutes to spare. 

TODAY, she was so frustratingly, achingly close to finishing her pet project Emdeko that if she had to focus on absolutely anything else before it was done she might actually combust. and actually, on second thought, it was possible the radio was university property anyways. COULD she even leave with it ?

the thing wasn’t broken, per se. or at least, it hadn’t been until she’d started deconstructing it. nothing she couldn’t fix, but she’d noticed nothing appeared to be out of place on the inside. it just wasn’t picking up the local stations -- or any station really. no matter which way she’d messed around with it, it picked up silence and little more. she knew they weren’t in a dead zone, because the other radio she’d placed beside it for her tests had worked just fine. so it had to be a mechanical issue, didn’t it ? and screwdriver deep in it’s bowels, she swore she’d heard the raucous, fuzzy snow of a too - distant channel just a couple hours earlier. all ange had to do was chase it down again. wiggle some pieces and whisper sweetly to the little thing until it hummed back to life with the exact right combination of care, even if it ate up her evening.

maybe she was lucky, then, that only about an hour after she’d decided to take the hit of coming home late and worrying her mother did she finally convince the radio to make another noise. again, it was fuzzy. the sounds of a lifetime entirely out of context and well beyond it’s signal range. but it was SOMETHING. 

miunsi​: 

‧˚₊∗ PERHAPS THE RIGHT THING TO DO IN THIS SITUATION WOULD BE TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT IT ALL, but unfortunately kane isn't exactly gifted when it comes to lyricism and there isn't exactly much appeal to lazily slurred together sentences that might just be all about " you felt like a cool night on july " or perhaps the more eloquently put " just like moths drawn to a flame, we got as close as we could until our wings caught fire "... erm.

...let's just say it's better if he sticks to composing melodies.

so. with that option ruled out he opts for the next best thing: PRETEND NOTHING HAPPENED AT ALL. makes enough sense in theory, right? it's not like any of the others even knew it happened to begin with — so maybe, just maybe, if he deludes himself into thinking his fond memories are now mere daydreams it'll be easier for everyone ( or perhaps just easier for him, but sometimes you have to put yourself first ).

that's the , perhaps illogical , thought process that brings us to the current scenario. picture this: a familiar silhouette stands with his back facing a previously-pretending-to-sleep kane, who after getting up off the couch in one swift movement ( including a grumble of complaint at the muscle he just pulls somewhere in his mid-thigh ) is now approaching . kane places his hands on the other's shoulders , a tinge overfamiliar , as he greets with a , " 'sup ? "

subtle.