SUMMER RAIN!

"who's  the  new  arm  candy?"  heidi  asks,  head  tilting  and  looking  at  them  keenly.  every  word  comes  with  a  bite,  to  be  expected  when  watching  a  lover  with  someone  else.  they  were  broken  up,  in  some  way  at  least.  but  the  story  rang  the  same,  falling  back  into  each  other's  arms  after  a  few  weeks  apart.  except  she's  too  prideful  to  admit  she  already  misses  them,  especially  not  when  they're  here  with  someone  else.  "very  cute.  seems  just  like  your  type." / @delicarias

⠀⠀⠀⊹ ࣪ ˖⠀⠀⠀the smile that adorns her face doesn't falter at the words that reach her ears despite the music blaring in the background. if anything, it grows — slow and familiar — as santichai watches her companion for the night step somewhere else, far from her vision. ❛ that's funny ⸺ i could practically say the same about your choices. ❜ head finally turns to look properly at heidi, gaze flickering over her figure and lingering for a second too long. a sight to see, as always — but there's no place for that to be said out loud anymore, and the reminder of that makes a small, bothering feeling crawl at the back of her neck. ❛ they're a lot less trouble than my last decision, too ... but you're not really asking out of interest, are you ? ❜

"i know how to be mature." words shot back as eyes flicker around the suite. it was beautiful, especially after spending the last three weeks stuffed into a tour bus with the the sweatiest band she had ever met. this should have been the vacation that april had been dreaming about when the booking had gone through, and yet the feeling of relief wasn't setting in like it normally would. instead she stands, invisible force field keeping her from stepping to far into the hotel room, from even thinking about stepping near the bed in the center that she'd been trying to ignore until arabella brought it to attention. she fidgets with the handle of her suitcase, still held tightly in her grasp as if it were to bring comfort to the awkward situation. "that's not necessary. the bed's big enough for the two of us." the words less of a kindness and more of an attempt to prove that she was in fact, handling this maturely while not sacrificing her own comfort. ( a month straight of bus bunks would make the most selfless man demand a real bed; selfless she was not ). "we can get extra pillows to stack in the middle if it's that serious. unless you can't handle a few days being that close."

⠀⠀⠀⊹ ࣪ ˖⠀⠀⠀❛  right   ⸺   you say that now, but give it like ... six hours.  ❜  a laugh escapes before it can be stopped — brief and disbelieving, while arabella shifts her weight and folds her arms loosely across her chest. the room is beautiful and ridiculously so : floor - to - ceiling windows overlooking the city, furniture that certainly cost more than the first paycheck she had gotten as an assistant ... and yet all either of them can seem to focus on is one king - sized bed. typical. ❛ the couch offer was just me respecting your boundaries, that's all. we both survived a month sharing a bus with grown men who thought deodorant was some sort of conspiracy theory ... sharing a bed with you is lightwork compared to that, i believe.  ❜  the admission sits between them for nothing longer than a second before she's ruining it, a bright, shit - eating grin adorning her features.  the words sound too light, teasing in a familiar way for a moment before it can be stopped, and the delayed realization of it has body freezing briefly before she's speeding to recover in the only way she knows how. ❛  let's just get settled in already   ⸺   we can think about the extra pillows, building a wall or hiring armed security to separate us later. we only have a few days, either way.  ❜ and the final statement should feel reassuring, ease the nervousness that had been sitting on her stomach ( and arabella wonders if april feels it, too ) ... but instead, for reasons the brunette doesn't particularly care to take time to examine now, it lands somewhere close to being disappointing.

“What can I say? Your sorry state is making me feel… kind.” An innocent shrug before he drops on the bench near Mason with enough force to make it sway slightly. “You might as well take a moment to savor it because it will also likely be the last.” Sterling rests his chin on his palm, quiet for several moments as he watches the other cleans himself up with perhaps too much interest. “So, basically what I’m hearing is you did miss me and you’re so embarrassed about it that you have to hide it with silly jabs. How cute! I’m flattered, really.” One of the few things he enjoys in Mason (and perhaps it’s a bit egotistical of him as he thinks he operates in the same way) is that nothing seems to beat the humor out of him. Even now when he practically looks like roadkill, he’s matching Sterling bar for bar. “Curious, are we?” He knocks their knees together, grin growing impossibly wider. “Here and there and everywhere. Things to see, people to do… I’m actually a very well-traveled man.” Sterling always has to make his travels sound fun. Where’s the joy in telling people, his rival especially, that he’s spent the last couple of weeks miserable and wishing he had boxing gloves on his hands instead of expensive jewelry? It sounds stupid and whiny anyway. “No souvenir for you, I’m afraid, but hey, at least you get the joy of seeing my beautiful face again. That’s better than anything I could ever get you from a giftshop.”   

⠀⠀⠀⊹ ࣪ ˖⠀⠀⠀❛  don't  flatter  yourself  too  much.  this  place  may  have  been  boring  as  shit  without  you  but  i'm  still  hoping  someone  knocks  your  teeth  in  next  friday.  ❜  the  typical  friday  nights   —   not  that  he'd  admit  it  out  loud,  but  there'd  been  something  strangely  off  about  getting  through  them  without  sterling  around.  no  running  into  him  at  two  in  the  morning  looking  half  dead  while  the  man  looked  unfairly  clean,  no  voice  cutting  through  the  static  just  to  piss  him  off  for  sport.  it  should've  been  peaceful,  but  the  lack  of  someone  needling  at  him  from  the  sidelines  with  that  familiar  smug  grin  felt  concerningly  irritating.  sterling  was  irritating,  in  general.  ❛  i  spend  whole  weeks  concerned  about  you  being  dead  or  not,  and  you  can't  even  bring  yourself  to  give  me  a  real  souvenir   ⸺   not  even  a  lil'  postcard,  a  magnet  or  something   ?   ❜  a  scoff  leaves  mason  through  bruised  laughter,  rough  around  the  edges  as  aching  ribs  immediately  punish  him  for  the  action   —   and  the  sound  dies  quickly  into  a  hiss  between  clenched  teeth,  shoulders  tensing  momentarily  before  he's  forcing  himself  to  relax  against  the  bench.  instead  of  moving  away  as  sterling's  knee  knocks  against  his  own,  he  lets  his  head  lull  slightly  to  the  side  in  acknowledgement.  ❛  but  sure,  your  face  is  the  real  gift   ...  even  though  i  can  see  the  stress  wrinkles  from  here.  i  think  time  away  doing  people  might  be  making  you  age  badly,  mr.  well - travelled  man.  ❜  and  there  it  is   —   concern  wrapped  so  tightly  in  sarcam  it  almost  passes  unnoticed  before  mason  is  immediately  reaching  for  another  jab  to  bury  it.  ❛  did  the  trip  to  find  your  true  self  this  time  around  not  treat  you  well,  or  did  someone  overseas  finally  get  sick  of  your  face  too   ?   ❜

One thing about Lucielle Beaumont-Peters is that she is not a loser. So, even as she’s clutching her shoulder like she’s been fatally wounded, she keeps her head high, lips pursed in disapproval. “You did look like you have five heads at one point. I think the heat is getting to me. Seriously, it’s impossible to exist in these conditions, let alone play well. It’s a whole miracle I haven’t fainted yet.” It has been proven long ago that Lucy is, in fact, not a particularly sporty person. She has no interest in watching any of them or participating in any way, shape or form. If not for her line of work, she would avoid even the gym at all cost. The only reason that she’s even here today is because she wanted to be around Ciara more… not that her pride would ever allow to admit any of that out loud. “Nonsense! I’m exceptionally gifted with all skills. You’re just a professional so, of course, I don’t seem that good compared to you. And you’re not allowed to insult me when you literally have an unfair advantage!” With a dramatic sniffle, she reveals her arm to Ciara, nothing to see there except for a faint red mark where the tennis ball had grazed her. Still, Lucy looks at the other like she’s expecting some serious sympathy. “I thought we came to play, not so I can be used as target practice. How do you even win any matches when you’re just aiming at your opponents? Do you get points when you hit people or something?”

⠀⠀ᯓ  ๋⠀✦⠀⠀mouth twitches, not quite a smile but dangerously close, as lucielle's theatrics enter through one ear and leave through the other while ciara stares at the barely - there mark on the model's arm for a silent second like she's examining a life - threatening injury ; eyes lifting up slowly shortly after to glare at the woman, completely unimpressed. ❛ have you ever considered getting into theatre ? 'cause i think you got quite the dramatics needed for it ... and the weather is perfectly fine, you just have the physical endurance of a victorian child. ❜ words only hold the familiar bite of her humor, softened by the way one hand reaches out to nudge at the arm that hadn't been hit. despite attempting to keep it wrapped in annoyance as per usual, as if that somehow would make things safer, the teasing still lands with a touch of fondness underneath it. ❛  excuse you, i was not aiming directly at you ... mostly ! i hit one considerably faster serve and you start acting like the world is ending ? ❜ a smug tilt of her chin accompanies the statement. lucy's racket is spun lazily in her hand before ciara is pointing it towards her again, encouraging despite the previous display and her own confession of lack of sports experience. ❛  seriously, though — do you wanna keep going ? 'cause if this is the start of your villain origin story where you plot revenge against tennis balls everywhere and me, i'd rather know now. ❜

" or, you're just playing the long game— waiting for the right time, right person. " the wound, still a fresh puncture spot, its low simmer turning on high the moment they stepped into another's perview, one much too often for his own liking. ari knew the situation he'd entered from the get-go; a winning, shiny spot as their rival crew's newest mechanic, one where the monetary gain seemed nothing but promising— only now, stunted with bad press and a losing track record. " it's a compliment, nadine. it's really hard work to leave such an impression on someone, you know? " his drawl, thick in mirth-steeped delivery. " i mean, it's not a bad winning strategy. i don't know, maybe you guys were just getting desperate for some good press. "

⠀⠀ᯓ  ๋⠀✦⠀⠀❛  in any case, we wouldn't be the only ones desperate for good press, then. it's been interesting seeing another crew scramble to explain why their newest golden recruit is still struggling to fix their podium problem. ❜ stare sharpens the longer the man talks and tongue presses against the inside of her cheek. once found the way ari's way of speaking like every conversation was a game he'd already won before it had even started entertaining, but it all lands exhausting now. ❛  you worked beside me long enough to know how seriously i take this job, my crew ... yet somehow your first instinct now is to really assume i'd risk all of that for some petty revenge plot ? ❜  a humorless breath follows right after, something that nearly signals nadine regrets giving him even that much honesty now. the crack beneath the anger shows through for a brief second — just enough to reveal the old wound that sits underneath the current hostility. ❛  guess they've been feeding you much more than just the paychecks.  ❜

“some  leeway  on  spending  too  much  time  in  your  studio?”  she's  joking  —  or  at  least  attempting  to.  in  reality,  emi's  already  been  given  the  warning  glances  by  her  managers.  at  least  this  way,  they'd  be  forced  to  ease  up  since  she  was  already  playing  nice.  truthfully,  emi  knew  she  was  overly  optimistic  when  it  came  to  their  relationship.  there  would  always  be  hurdles  and  issues  that  came  up,  but  she  wanted  this  to  work.  “he's  not  an  asshole,  just  a  player.  in  fact,  i  think  he  wants  this  whole  thing  happening  just  about  as  much  as  i  do.”  from  the  five  minute  conversation  they'd  had  anyway.  something  about  a  potential  fake  girlfriend  getting  in  the  way  of  his  clubbing  and  laundry  list  of  hookups.  okay,  maybe  a  bit  of  an  asshole.  “you're  right  about  one  thing,  we're  here  now.  they  can  spin  this  any  way  they  want,  but  i'm  still  spending  my  free  time  with  you.”  she  only  wished  they  weren't  confined  to  these  fleeting,  private  moments  —  but  even  emi  isn't  crazy  enough  to  not  know  how  these  kinds  of  things  tend  to  go.  though  she  will  admit,  this  shade  of  jealousy  is  cute  on  him,  even  if  she  can  see  the  green  smoke  coming  out  of  his  ears.  emi  takes  a  seat  on  his  lap,  clasping  their  hands  together  with  a  grin.  “it'll  blow  over,  you  know  these  things  never  last.”

⠀⠀ᯓ  ๋⠀✦⠀⠀quiet scoff of disbelief loses its bite the moment emi settles onto his lap, a hand reflexively sliding to her waist, fingers finding momentary comfort on plush skin and curling like they really belong there. annoying ⸺ that's how geonu describes the predicament in his head, because he's halfway through being irritated, halfway through preparing a complaint about their stupid agency, and the singer is just there : hands intertwined and grinning casually like the last minutes of his peace of mind hadn't just been detonated. ❛  ... you're annoyingly optimistic, did you know that ? i already spend enough time in the studio because of you, for the record. ❜ he mutters, words not holding any real heat to them, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself while thumb brushes absentmindendly across the back of her hand. ❛  i know you're likely already used to them pulling garbage like this — i just hate that they can decide parts of your life for you whenever they feel it's convenient. ❜  and that is it ⸺ the actual real issue. it has never been solely just about the other guy, but admitting the full extent of the irritation he actually feels out loud with all the clear words costs him more than he believes he has, so this vulnerability masked as childish jealousy is the most he allows himself to showcase. and almost immediately after does he try to recover with another crooked grin, eyes studying her features briefly — the optimism she wears even when things get complicated never failing to do something unfairly fond to him every time. ❛  but if i actually get asked to write some romantic hit about this whole circus, i need you to know that i'll make it miserable on purpose— like ... career - ending inducing miserable. his career, if possible.  ❜