MORE THAN BLOOD.

With every argument passed, Eleanor sometimes wondered if they were both merely throwing a bandaid over a proverbial dam, the one that contained the overwhelming amount of thoughts and feelings regarding Flynn, that the brunette never allowed to escape from her lips. Perhaps that was why subsequent arguments felt worse than the prior, lacking reasons to why they surfaced in the first place. But returning to their normal dynamic overcame everything else, it eased the heaviness weighing on her chest in the past two weeks, even if the uneasy sensation lingered in her body whenever she was in his presence. 

But in present time, Ellie was stood in the familiar space of his kitchen, comfort washed over her all the same. More than the emptiness of her home could provide sometimes. Although it wasn’t necessarily where that was the matter in question, but rather, who was keeping her company. “Hey, it’s not fair that you shot up when you came back one summer, so you have the unfair advantage of being faster than me.” She complained, although smiling fondly at the memory nonetheless. She tittered, just briefly, at the mention of them acting like a married couple. The thought of it shot a strange feeling in her stomach, and she shook her head as “Warm milk, huh?” Amusement glinted over her eyes for a moment, as she watched Flynn manoeuvre around the kitchen. “You know, I think breakfast might have been your stronger suit.” She quipped. She would know, considering the number of times he cooked breakfast for her throughout their summers together. But when they returned the topic of what was causing their sleep deprivation, she merely nodded at his brief answer. “Me neither. Funny how it’s happening to both of us tonight.” Sometimes sleep just didn’t come for no reason, she’d know that, if the past year told her anything. But tonight in particular, it was due to Flynn, invading her mind, filling in the radio silence that lingered between them in the past two weeks.

Then a new form of silence fell between them again. Not the one that usually brought comfort to her whenever they were having sleepover at one another’s places when they were children, falling asleep after yet another failed attempt to stay awake. Something shifted in the air between them, and Ellie wondered if it was due to the lack of sleep they were both experiencing, or the paranoia in the back of her mind made her wonder if Flynn hadn’t totally forgiven her yet. But when his voice cut through the silence again, her heart lurched at his words. In that moment, the brunette was glad that her best friend had his back turned to her, as her mouth opened to attempt a respond, but nothing came. Slamming her mouth shut, she just stared into his back, wanting to unspool the thoughts that was running through his mind, to understand where this all came from. No one ever expressed such sentiment to her, and it took her by surprise at the seriousness of his tone. Hearing Flynn right now, it knocked the wind out of her lungs, as if daring for that proverbial dam to finally break free. 

A part of her wondered if this came from a place further than friendship.

But she had hold that thought, because the fear of losing Flynn was too much to indulge in what could unravel years of unresolved feelings.

“Flynn…” She trailed off, forcing her legs to finally function and moving closer to him. A hand reached out to him, but before she touched his skin, she halted and swallowed the lump in her throat, letting it fall by her side. This was all easier when he couldn’t see her, for she was afraid he would see right through her in a matter of seconds. “I know, I-I feel the same too.” With every word, Ellie had to remind herself — because he’s your best friend. “Because what we have, it’s—” Something more. She paused, gathering her thoughts so she could articulate them into words, but it was never easy with the man before her. He always turned her thoughts into wildfire. “It’s confusing as fuck sometimes, but I just…I don’t want to lose it. I can’t lose you too. We won’t, right?” 

➤

I feel the same way too. But does she? The question rings an alarm inside his mind, that same unscathed nervousness rising to the surface inside his already aching stomach. Finally, he turns, looking to her again. It’s harder than before and Flynn is never too sure what to do with this feeling. Usually, when any kind of unsteady emotion inhabits him, he goes to Eleanor. Because that’s what best friends did, they talked each other through their strangest or darkest moments. And yet this one continues to go unspoken and, in some cruel way, Flynn almost thinks to laugh. Mostly at how cliché they’ve become in such a short span of time. These feelings, this yearning, was something he assumed was only reserved for people much older, dreaming of the one that got away all those years ago. Though, Eleanor hasn’t gone away. She hasn’t faded into some distant memory that Flynn could only recognize in sleep. No, she was here, standing before him and speaking and looking up at him with the same pair of green eyes that makes him all mush on the inside. But he was too cowardly to seize the day or to take a step forward and solidify what they already knew. 

And he can’t even reply to her previous statements. The one about how he shot up one season in London and came back tall and lanky. He can’t even mention how she did too and she was suddenly snarkier than ever and it only made him like her more that one summer. He can’t cite these things because now all he can picture is everything that’s gone wrong in his life. His career, his hands, everything. All gone in a single blink and Eleanor could be just the same. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, is something his mother might say in response to his pessimistic cynicism. Her voice is clear as day inside his mind. Don’t be ridiculous.

“We won’t.” Flynn decides on, trying to muster the right words. He combs through every thought that comes to mind and nothing truly seems suitable. So, he reaches out to take Eleanor’s hand into his, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her knuckles. “I mean, we’ve gotten this far.” He jokes, a subtle smile gracing his expression. If you read between the lines, you could tell that it could easily come across as bittersweet. “You won’t lose me. At this point, you’re stuck with me and I think I’m stuck with you too.” It’s the one vital truth in this situation, the notion that they were truly stuck to one another like glue. At least that much Flynn could admit, even if the rest goes unsaid, as it often did.

“What if we went somewhere? Like a trip.” He proposes, tearing his gaze from their hands and to Eleanor’s face again. “We can do what all those annoying Instagram celebrities do and have a staycation somewhere near LA or something. And we can go to the beach and race and do what we used to do together when I’d come from London.” Flynn’s head cants to the side, his smile growing a tad. “We can go clubbing too. I kinda miss our rebellious club phase.”

As embarrassment enveloped her, with her presents now in Flynn’s possession, Eleanor couldn’t help but feel like she was suddenly pulled back down memory lane, of her childhood crush on the man before her. Perhaps one that never, truly faded away even now. She was briefly reminded of the stolen glances casted in his way whenever he wasn’t looking, the brunette found herself doing just the same right now. Peering up through her lashes like she did when she was younger, trying to gauge his reaction of the boxes in his hands. She could swear, if she squinted in the darkness, that she could note the corner of his lips twitching upwards, or maybe it was wishful thinking on her part, hoping for this nightmare to be finally over. The truth was, all of her fighting words came whenever she wasn’t thinking properly. In Flynn’s presence, that control over her thoughts always came slipping away, but it was ultimately the period between mending what was broken from their latest argument that was the worst. Those around her probably suffered all the same because of them too. Awkwardness aside, she knew she would rather have some of him in her life than nothing at all. The silence from Flynn in particular was too unbearable to cope with.

“Yeah, well,” Her gaze fell down to her sneakers, heat creeping up her cheeks, although grateful that the nightfall casted over a veil over her face, hoping Flynn wouldn’t notice her unease. “It wasn’t my proudest moment. So let’s just…leave that behind us, yeah?” For a moment, Eleanor wanted to extend the olive branch by asking about his companion that night from the party. But the thought of it alone invited the strange sensation back into her stomach again — jealousy, if she was bold enough to admit it. She was grateful that he pulled her out of her reverie, although with an apology that surprised her all the same. Waving a hand at the space between them, she shook her head at his words. “Stop that. You have nothing to be sorry about.” Finally, relief washed over her, as a gentle smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Meeting his gaze, the two weeks of silence made her realise just how much she’d missed Flynn — them. Although she tore her gaze away from him again as the word friendship lingered in the air; a faint, chuckle slipped from her lips nonetheless. To ease the further confusion that often surfaced in his presence. “That makes two of us,” Yet, come to think of it, she never bickered with Lydia as much as she did with Flynn. Was this really was friendship meant to be like? Did other people bickered as much they did too? “We really had our ups and downs, haven’t we?”

“I wasn’t sulking like a baby,” Ellie feigned mock offence at Flynn’s question, although she knew he’d hit the nail on the head if he’d known what the past two weeks had been like for her. “But I thought you’d never ask,” Grinning, she took his gesture as an invitation, stepping through the threshold into his home, a sense of familiarity washed over her. As if instantaneously, she felt lighter than mere moments ago as she turned to face Flynn again. “You know, I was going to knock and run, so I guess I’ll never find out if I’m still as fast as my track team days.” She quipped. “What’s keeping you up, anyway?” After all, she hadn’t expect him to still be up at this time of the night, before her eyes surveyed his kitchen for a moment. “Better yet, what are you making?”

➤

And just like that, they were back to the beginning. Sharing smiles and laughter, the way friends do. Best friends. It was like they saw right through one another or allowed each word and passing moment to plow right through them without a second glance. In one ear and out the other. 

Flynn can’t quite wrap his head around the next course of action, or around the feeling in his stomach that never seems to go away while in Eleanor’s presence. It was that same bout of fear that often brought him back from that questioning state. The daunting question of what if things don’t end well was enough for him to put those other feelings to rest.

Even so, he can’t help the way his expression falls when he turns, his face out of Eleanor’s view. He brings her gifts into the kitchen, resting the boxes onto the kitchen island near the stove. Listening to her talk keeps him at bay and helps him refrain from indulging in the nagging impulses that prick at his brain. “Oh, we can always find that out together. Remember when we used to race on the beach?” Flynn asks, once again enveloping by a childhood memory shared with her. “Maybe we can start doin’ that again. And maybe it’ll stop us from bickering like a fucking married couple.” Laughter laces through his words before he turns his attention to the milk on the stove, something he had completely forgotten about until now. It was beginning to bubble over, the smell of warm milk swallowing the space whole. “Shit,” The man mumbles under his breath, reaching from the pot and removing it from the burner. He reaches a hand over and shuts it off, releasing another laugh. “I was, um,” He motions with his hands before continuing, “taking my mother’s suggestion, to make warm milk because I couldn’t sleep.” Because, yes, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep, just as she couldn’t, because all his thoughts consisted of her at all hours. And the nighttime made it worse, the image of her clear as day inside his mind as he attempted to drift to sleep. Flynn turns again, dumping the milk into the sick before turning on the faucet, watching as it turns into a strange mixture of milk and running water, dissolving into the drain before his eyes. “I just couldn’t sleep. You know the deal.” He decides on then, a nervous chuckle sounding from inside his throat. 

The faucet is turned off then, that same silence brewing between them once again. Flynn begs himself to speak, to say anything, but nothing really comes. He’s stuck standing there like an idiot, the sound of the drain gurgling the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment. And then, of course, there was still Eleanor. But she kept him grounded in the way that he didn’t want, in the way that could ruin everything between them. Years and years of friendship. Decades. What was it about tonight that was so close to sending him off the deep end? It had to be the lack of sleep, the kind that Flynn could feel within the back of his eyes. That heavy feeling. Like he could fade away at any moment. “You’re the most important person to me.” Flynn says, his back still to her. “I don’t think I’ll ever...have this with anyone else, you know?”

The rest ten minutes had been spent chasing the twins around, pretending to be a monster. He releases make believe growls, threatening to tickle them once he catches up. Though, he never goes, allowing the twins to stay ahead of him. 

“Jesus, do you do this all day?” Flynn asks, out of breath, once he reaches Malia at the kitchen island again. The kids are running circles around him now, giggling out of their minds. “The monster’s takin’ a break, kiddos!” He calls before taking a seat opposite of her, reaching for another slice of pizza. He plops it down onto a paper plate. “Sooo,” He starts in a sing-songy fashion, his gaze darting between Malia and his pizza. “What’s happening for your birthday, hm? Are we partying or what?”

“Who says I’m not doing that on the side?” Maddie’s flattered to think that Flynn thought so highly of her. But then again, she had met him at one of her more ambitious times in her life; that’s what probably gave him that impression. School had never been her favourite, but her ambitions had run high and what had started out as an argument with her sisters laughing at the idea of her receiving an MBA had turned into her actually running off to London to get one. 

She’s still surprised at the boxer’s presence here in Catalina even after his explanation as to why. “Would he? He’s not worried I’m going to give him more grey hairs?” No doubt though it would have only made the man look more distinguished. Flynn’s looks and genes had to come from somewhere. “I’m still running Sok Enterprises,” she starts, shifting her gym bag on her shoulder. “But I also bought Little Bird Books.” A cheeky grin flits to her face. “I’ve been reading a lot since we’ve last seen each other. I thought I’d buy a bookshop just to solidify that fact.” 

➤

The image of Maddie running a bookstore doesn’t come easy. In fact, it doesn’t quite come at all, and Flynn has to think long and hard in order to craft the picture of Maddie behind a small counter, handing over old books to a patron. Still, he smiles, a chuckle sounding from his throat. 

“Of course he’d want to see you, don’t be daft.” The man responds, motioning with his hand. “He even thought you were a good, steady influence on me. If you can believe that.” Flynn says, more laughter weaving through his words. His dark brows quirk up then, “I’ve never actually been into that place. Little Bird Books, I mean. I’ve never been much of a reader.” Which was the truth, at least. “Well, shit, I can’t argue with that. How is it, then? Running the store? I got to make sure to drop in one of these days and see how you run the place.”

When they were children, the bickering and arguments were easily forgotten the next day, with barely any recollection of why they even occurred in the first place. But as they both grew older and even more so into grown adults, when they arose, there came the reluctance to address those conversations. The radio silence lingered longer, to a point where it became insufferable to her. Perhaps that ignorance returned due to the sense of stubbornness that ingrained inside Ellie since she took her first breath in this world, or in this case, buried deep down the back of her mind, the answer to the root cause of this particular argument was awaiting for her. It seemed foolish whenever her mind drifted close to the reason to their latest falling out, and every time that happened, her hand just retracted from her phone to dial or text Flynn. The uneasiness in her stomach always followed shortly after.

Her hazel hues fell to his dress shirt for a moment, before blinking with a shake of her head when Flynn’s voice pulled her back to the present. There was a hint of relief that came over Ellie when he shared the same sentiment as to why he was still up at this time of the night, but also concern at the same time. So much so that the brunette forgot that she was carrying a box in her hand until he gestured towards them. Although a wry smile crossed her feature as he reminded her of the fond memory. “Not if you’re not doing the dirty work for me. I’d never pick up dog poop myself.” She quipped, but her smile faltered, growing quiet as her gaze dropped to the box in her hand once again. Enclosed was her attempt at an apology — rather, spelt out in candies on his favourite breakfast food and a scrapbook of their decades long of memories wrapped in birthday wrapping paper. 

Come to think of it, those ideas seemed sound in her mind, now it merely appeared to be the corniest gifts to present, especially at two in the morning. Ellie almost hesitated to let them out of her possession, before ultimately a sigh fell as she thrusted the items towards him. “They’re for you — obviously, uh, the wrapped one is your belated birthday present.” She began, as she finally met his warm brown hues the first time since Flynn opened the door before her. “The other, well — you know what, you don’t have to open them now. It’s late and you probably don’t want to open them and—” As her words turned into a ramble, she finally stopped herself short and took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry. For the lateness of it all.” For everything. 

➤

A smile threatens to spread across Flynn’s face. The word threatened is used because he does everything in his power to combat it with great vigor. The smile that attempts to break is the one reserved over for her, the kind that spread across his face and earned the lines around his mouth to crease with unscathed happiness. His dark brown eyes cast upon the box in his hands, opening the first one on top, revealing the food and her makeshift apology written in candy. His smile almost spreads and Flynn has to purse his lips a tad in order to fight it even further. Though it’s evident that he wasn’t mad. No, he could never stay mad at her for long. You’ve got a spot reserved in every single space inside you for that girl, his mother once said to him after a usual bicker-fest between him and Eleanor. Flynn, at the time, didn’t quite understand the sentiment. Hell, he was a teenage boy with confused, unspoken feelings for his best friend that he couldn’t navigate. Yet, he was always sad about their sudden spats, so much so that he ran to his mother distressed and confused. Perhaps that was why she said she did, an attempt at rattling the truth from him, though to no true prevail. Not entirely.

“Don’t be sorry.” Flynn finally says, allowing his gaze to move from the boxes in his hand to Eleanor. The hint of a smile comes then, and it’s still only for her. “We have our moments, you know that. We have them and we get through it. That’s what we do.” He adds, his smile growing a tad. The man turns, resting the boxes down onto the table settled just beside his front door. A beat of silence brews between them, Flynn’s eyes traveling all over her face. That same stomach ache feeling he always got with Eleanor arrives like clockwork and he does what he can to ignore it. “But, for what it’s worth,” Flynn starts with a shrug, “I’m sorry too.” For a moment, Flynn thinks he should touch her face. The apple of her cheek or her neck. Or maybe her arm or the small of her back. Yet he doesn’t, keeping his hands at his sides, though they yearn for the feeling. “I don’t understand us sometimes but,” Another shrug, “maybe that’s what friendship is sometimes.” Friendship. That damn word again. His stomach ache worsens. 

Silence returns as Flynn thinks of what to do next. He takes a step back then, widening the space in the door for her, “You gonna come inside or are you gonna sulk like a baby for a minute?”

The pressure from her parents alleviates the further she gets from them, as does the strain her shoulders; they fall just the slightest bit as Flynn and her come to a stop at a table filled with alcohol. Taking the offered alcohol, she takes a large swig of the beer and tries her best not to grimace. It’s never been her favorite thing to drink but right now she’ll take just about anything to get through the evening. Maybe she can sneak away to Charlotte’s later… Mind back on the conversation, she really does grimace this time in apology. “I’m so sorry,” she hastens to reply, “I wish I could say that they aren’t always like that.” But they are, so she leaves it at that.

Is she having a nice night? No. But she can’t exactly say that, can she? Or rather, she doesn’t feel like she can without her parents being incredibly impossible later if news of the conversation gets back to them. “It’s a lovely party,” she adds with a grin, mirroring his own though hers isn’t genuine, “they can be a bit dry but I’m glad to be here with you.” At least, she was honest about that last part. He seemed harmless, genuine, and quite lovely to be around so far. 

➤

A sympathetic look is sent toward Lara, his head canting to the side a tad. As cited, he was one of the lucky ones in this town. Having good parents was a privilege he never turned a blind eye to. Either way, he feels relief that he was able to free Lara from her parents’ shackles for a few moments. “No worries, don’t be sorry at all. It happens, really.” He says sincerely, reaching out to touch her arm gently. His dark eyes wander once again, getting another quick glance at the party around them. He notices some people arrive from out back. There was a porch out there, a balcony looking over the views of downtown Los Angeles. Which wasn’t much, truth be told. Lots of city lights and buildings. Ever since being in Catalina, Flynn much preferred the views there. 

Laughter sounds from Flynn then, allowing his gaze to rest upon Lara once more. “You don’t have to lie. This party fuckin’ blows.” He exclaims, “I came because of my father. He likes having the company around all these industry blokes. But, really, I find it all very tedious. Like, why call it a party? Nobody’s dancing or truly having a good time. The DJ’s played the same three Ed Sheeran remixes on a loop.” More laughter escapes him, “The balcony seems tempting though. What do you say? We can escape for a bit.”

special delivery for → @flynnkhumalo​​​​​​ location: flynn’s place / avalon time: april 14th, 2am

The tosses and turns grew frequent as her limbs unravelled themselves from the bedsheets for the umpteenth time; sleepless nights was a common occurrence in Eleanor’s life, even more so in the past year or so. The reliance on medication came when desperation hit, although the dread of enduring through grogginess the next day overcame that urge tonight. Reaching over, the bright light on her phone lit up to indicate it was merely just an hour past midnight, and already, her bed felt like the most uncomfortable place to situate herself in right now. Not when sleep was nowhere in sight, and her mind, as usual, overworked itself, causing her to spiral out of control as her imagination went wild, stripping her of any control to tame them for the night.

Although deep down, Ellie knew just exactly what had been bothering her in the past two weeks. The argument between her and Flynn circulated in her mind, and when sobriety came the next morning, she knew just where the fault lied. Shame coursed through her as she carried about with her days, yet every time when she picked up her phone, knowing she ought to apologise, her mind became empty. Just like all of their many arguments in the past, they all resolved themselves once one of them made the first move. But this time, something about their altercation seemed different. As she replayed the scene in her head, thinking about him and the woman at the party, there came that uneasy feeling stirring at the pit of her stomach, making her lose appetite no matter how hungry she was when those intrusive thoughts arose.

Time had became her worst enemy of it all, and Ellie realised if she were to ever find a peaceful night of sleep again, she had to speak to Flynn, or at least made some form of gesture to reconcile their friendship again. So there she was, out in the middle of night and changed into her favourite sweats, weaving through the quiet streets of Avalon before putting her car into park in front of Flynn’s home. As she peered out of her window, the darkened window indicated that he was either fast asleep, or over on the mainland for all she knew. She was not privy to that knowledge after the night at the party, nor did she want to bother anyone else, dragging them into this mess she created between them. The urge to leave without making her presence known grew dear, but ultimately, she forced herself to step out of her vehicle, wandering down the short path to his home before knocking softly with her free hand, with the other carrying what should’ve been in his possession the week of his birthday, and something else that she hoped could translate her apology into nonetheless. 

But when she heard no sign of movement inside, frowning although somewhat relieved at the same time, Ellie began to turn towards her car again. Until the door swung open, the sudden movement of it all caused her to spin around. “Hey,” She finally managed to muster after allowing a stretch of silence linger between them, a faint, yet apologetic smile plastered across her feature. “I, um, I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?” 

➤

“I know it’s ridiculous, mum. Am I supposed to put the stove on high or low?” Flynn speaks into the phone nuzzled by his shoulder and ear. In both of his hands were a carton of milk and a pot. His mother on the other end chuckles and Flynn can visibly see the way she often pressed her knuckles to her forehead. Medium. Just pour some of the milk into the pot and wait for it to summer. Flynn sets the pot down before removing his phone from his shoulder, setting it onto the corner, pressing the speaker button. “Okay. I’m doing it. This better not give me the runs. I already can’t sleep as it is.” Another chuckle from his mother, he can now hear her reach for her robe and put it on. Flynn, without baring a second thought, had seemingly started his mother’s day at the crack of dawn where she was. Birds chirp from the receiver and Flynn pictures the window above the sink inside her home. Flynn’s was all dark, covered by a pair of curtains his father had picked out. You need curtains, Flynn, stop being a barbarian.  

The milk is poured into the pot. Just talk to her. Call her. I’m sure she’s having a hard time with this too. You two always used to fight like this at times. You’ll be fine, my love.

“I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow I’ll —” Then, a knock at the door, earning Flynn to turn and furrow his brows. “Hold on, I’ll call you back. I think it’s my neighbor asking for sugar again at bloody two in the morning.” Another laugh from Lucy. Okay. Get some sleep. Bye, sweetheart. Flynn reaches over to hang up, reaching for the dress shirt hanging on the back of his couch that he removed earlier in the day after some meetings. Seeing Eleanor at the door stops him in his tracks, even when he sees just the back of her head at first. He knows it’s her. Always. 

He swallows hard before speaking, “No, I, uh,” Flynn motions with his hand back to his kitchen before clearing his thought, “I couldn’t sleep either.” His gaze averts to her hand which seemed to be holding a box. “I hope you’re not trying to recreate the time we put dog shit in a box and left it on that annoying bloke’s doorstep...”

Melancholy drips off from Flynn’s muscular build, printing his build from his competitive boxing days into the blush-colored, wide seemed couch from Wayfair. By the way, people thrash themselves onto the sofa, like it’s WWE, the piece of furniture will be fortunate to make it to Cleo’s thirty-first birthday. So rather than allowing the scrunch of her features, mimicking the crumbling sensation of a paper ball about to be thrown into a recycling bin, there’s a more significant issue at hand. Their best friend came to the apartment for a reason in particular, besides hanging out with the blonde, since evidently to get something off his aching chest.

Rather than letting her fruity falsetto proceeding with talking, merely to kill the laborious silence that grips over them, the blonde patiently awaits to hear the kicker. Cleo may come off as aggressive, too much for certain people to handle because they relish in entertaining, but their unwavering loyalty to those near will never change. It’s ultimately one reason why people associate with them because there’s a deeper hole in what many have seen on television or in interviews as they promote their latest projects. There lies a heart, buried in thousands of layers, only granted access to a select few as one of them is Flynn himself.

So when he says about Eleanor and him, the neutrality of the blonde’s expression remains because she’s far from stunned ─ if not, waiting for a revelation to come into play. In the years of knowing them both, there’s been a constant push and pull dynamic. It’s not the kind like Cleo has with Gabriel Livingston, but the one where reticent feelings lingering amongst them as the pair acts like no such thing could exist. “I should’ve seen this coming,” Veraciously words settle into the air, lips pursing at the companion a moment later. “Both of you love to play this wicked game against each other. It’s an infection, but worse. Neither one of you plan to cure things once and for all.” And she knows, even if they tried, they wouldn’t because the feeling they are consumed by is a high that one doesn’t want to lose entirely.

But when hearing Flynn’s following words, arms fold arm their chest firmly as head shakes no. “I have a meeting with her next week to test out some flavors of my sangria,” she explains calmly, “I want to ask her to promote the new flavor considering she’s everywhere now.” One project after another, the youngest Hirsch is proving the future is bright and has no desire to stop anytime soon. However, Cleo’s going to come and know both sides of the story, so they might as well buckle up. Pinning her shoulders back, her head tilts to the side as hues tamper into a fine line, almost like they’re a detective speaking to a potential witness to use information as leverage. No, this isn’t her case, but the way for her to put on the authoritative hat to guide things forward potentially. “What happened, Flynnigan?”

➤

The neutrality from Cleo should have been expected. In fact, by now, it was simply inevitable. A part of Flynn knew this and has always known this. He knew what made him and Eleanor who they were to each other know. A part of him saw it in full color, realized, and solidified. But then there’s the other part of him that lives in a sea of evident denial, unable to express the true nature of his emotions. That’s where Cleo came in, asking their simple questions and sporting their neutral expression. And Flynn couldn’t even be mad at her or upset and he knew that well enough. 

So, he keeps his gaze glued to the ceiling, listening as Cleo speaks. “What game? She’s my best friend, that’s how it’s always been.” Flynn questions absentmindedly, head shaking. Though he should have known. The game was the chase, it seemed. Brewing within that same undying in between that made things feel alive and dead at the same time. Yet, his denial was prominent, also undying. He remains there, swimming in it, and can only hope that Cleo might approach with gentle remorse. 

At the mention of their sangria, Flynn’s dark brows furrow, finally tearing his gaze from the ceiling to look toward them. “What, is my opinion not enough for you?” He asks teasingly in mock-offense. Then they’re asking what happened and Flynn is moving to lean up, his back still pressed against the back of the couch. His sifts through his mind, attempting to muster a more coherent picture of the situation at hand. When he does so, he realized how childish it truly is, but he can’t back down despite this. “We’re fighting again. The way we usually do...” He trails off, motioning with his hand. “I don’t know. We were at this party and I made out with a woman. And she just got so mad at me. Saying that it wasn’t me and maybe we didn’t know each other anymore.” Dark eyes avert again, looking forward, “And we haven’t talked since. I’m sure she’s somewhere with Nath, though. Having a great time or whatever it is that they do together.”

He was very charming, that much Lara could give him. A sudden longing for normality struck her then and she wished, more than anything, that she might be able to see what some women did in him. To find him attractive. She tried, for a moment, to see it in anything other than a very shallow way but failed; lost in the way his stubble framed his face, his jaw too wide, his hands a little too rough. Not to say that there was anything wrong with him - he was flawless. She just couldn’t find him attractive because she was very, painfully gay. “Maybe they had that in mind all along,” she joked, but knowing without a doubt that it was true as she had been groomed for this lifestyle since birth. 

Her parents are more than happy to give her away to the man and they say little except to excitedly nod their heads along with his suggestion. She tries not to outwardly roll her eyes at their behavior. Left alone with Flynn, Lara is struck not knowing quite what to do and waits for his cue. 

➤

Maybe they had that in mind all along. The statement from Lara earns furrowed brows from Flynn, his dark eyes shooting back and forth between her and her permanently wide-smiled parents. Nonetheless, he walks away with her, silently relieved to be alone with her. He thinks to ask question, to openly question the nature of her relationship with her parents but doesn’t. If his own parents had taught him anything, it was not to pry. At least not this earlier. So, instead, he settles on the simple, “So,” The man starts, nodding over to the table of drinks. He unlaces their arms before reaching out to grab himself another beer, grabbing one for her too. “That was one of the strangest interactions I’ve ever had, honestly.” Flynn admits, a warm laugh sounding from his throat. If anything, he wanted to be sure she was comfortable. It was the least he could do, especially if he wasn’t going to question anything. For everyone’s sake. “But that’s this industry, it seems. Hollywood is a very weird place, I’ll be real with you, love.” He hands her the beer, turning around to face the blonde fully. For a moment, he thinks of Eleanor, picturing how they would spent an evening like this together. They’d start by drinking, walking around, before promptly teasing all the Hollywood big names and try-hard types. The thought makes him smile before he grounds himself once more. “Are you having a night evening, at least? We can always become better acquainted on our own later on. Lunch, maybe. Catalina has a lot of amazing spots.”

athena had always found piece in the flowers. they were simple and beautiful and sometimes if she walked for long enough, they made most other things seem like that too. that had been the general goal this time around, however she also desired to find a place and read too. flowers and books, two things that made the world seem better than it was. this argument however was the complete opposite of the peace she had been looking for. on one hand though, it was possibly a little amusing if she looked at it from the right perspective. “i’d guess the same thing. he’s probably realising that doing so was far more trouble than it was worth.” 

➤

Another small chuckle sounds from Flynn as the scene before them finally comes to a close. The woman leaves and her betrayer attempts to chase after her, dropping the flowers in the midst right near Flynn and the woman he had been speaking to. “Oh, he’s definitely realizing that now.” He says, Flynn’s dark eyes watching as he runs and escapes his view soon enough. That’s when he crouches down to pluck the slightly wilted roses from the ground, brushing off some dirt from some of the bright, crimson petals with his free hand. They still look nice. Roses were roses, really. So, Flynn holds the bouquet out for her to take, “Here, for you.” He starts, “I suppose they shouldn’t go to waste, right?”

When stress grips Cleo whole, the only way to relieve these built-up emotions is by smoking. It’s not the most acceptable trait, as it’s one that still receives a heap of distasteful, sour expressions by those nearby. But sometimes, which is many times in their life, the blonde doesn’t give a flying fuck what others think. Nor should it bother anyone nearby for a heap of reasons. They’re in the solace of their apartment, correctly the private access to the rooftop, as well as dealing with a last-minute work call that could’ve waited until tomorrow. So, if they want to put a stick of disease in her mouth and let loose, then no one could tell them otherwise ─ not her neighbors, surely not Gwen, nor the guy crossing the street at this moment.

Though, little did they know the male below was coming to see them ─ Flynn. In any other regard, their laser focus and sharp wit would’ve bellowed from the roof down at their best friend. Mostly to embarrass the other, but to draw attention because it is free publicly after all. Nonetheless, the fixation to the shrieking falsetto on the other end of the line and the Malboro bud nearing the end captures it all.

Only until the familiar sound calling out through the front door causes their blonde head of hair to snap to the inside of the apartment. Instantly, life rejuvenates within them, adjusting their posture even though Clarice may not see it, it’s time to cut this bullshit right there and then. “Listen to me, Clarice, you couldn’t have fucking waited until tomorrow morning, yeah?” Sinister yet menacing falsetto has no complications with coming off as a bitch. “Now go home, or to the shittest local bar and get laid because you’re stressing me the fuck out,” she snaps, only to hang up the phone a second after to avoid hearing a brutal. 

God, sometimes they wish they could shut their mouth, but it’s hard and would be uncharacteristic.

So with one last inhale, mentally preparing for tomorrow’s ordeal as they dab the cigarette out in the ash-tray, they slide their phone into jeans back pocket before descending back into the apartment. Usually, they see Flynn making themselves at home and going through the refrigerator ─ though nothing has changed in the last six hours. Instead, a loud groan fills the quiet air as her brows furrow together, “What’s your deal? Did someone take your parking spot at the studio again?” 

➤

The prominent smell of smoke wafting in from outside was enough to alert Flynn that Cleo was stressed in some way. He’s know them well enough over the years to understand what means what. And, today, he keeps a steady distance at first, plopping down onto the couch and awaiting their arrival.

Though, the sound of their usual spitfire tone makes a small smile grace his expression. If there was truly anyone who couch reach a hand down and pluck Flynn up from out of the well he’s fallen in, it was Cleo, and that he knew for certain.

His dark eyes avert to her, brows furrowed in amusement. He thinks to ask what their previous phone call consisted of but decides not to pry when the thought has come and gone. “No, not today, thankfully.” Flynn muses, resting his hands on his stomach as his eyes look to the ceiling once more. His lips purse in thought before continuing, “Do you want the long version of the short version?” He asks with a laugh, knowing damn well Cleo wants whatever’s faster and more convenient. That’s when his smile falls a tad, the realization of what’s going on hitting him like a ton of bricks all over again. “It’s Eleanor.” Flynn says, “Me and Eleanor. We’re just...arguing again, I guess. Over stupid shit too.” The man’s eyes look to Cleo again, “Have you talked to her, by any chance?”

Over the last couple days, Flynn has done nothing but stare at Eleanor’s contact in his phone. The picture of them assigned to her number makes his stomach tighten. It’s an older picture, around when Eleanor’s career was first starting out and popularity struck. On one particularly hard evening, Flynn had pulled up to her home, no headlights as not to attract photographers, and took her out. It was a good memory. A great one, actually. The two of them on the dance floor, drinking, surrounded by sweaty bodies. 

But now, here they were, at a standstill with one another. Arguing. Flynn thinks to call or to text but never does. Today, instead, he heads over to Cleo’s. He had only seen her about six hours ago but this was their usual routine. They hung out constantly, almost as attached at the hip as him and Eleanor. 

FLYNN + his box of things from @eleanorhirsch.

Having been friends since they were children, over the years, Flynn has collected so many things related to their friendship. The box remains under his bed surrounded by other keepsakes and storage items. Inside, there’s a ton of stuff. Way too many postcards and letters from Eleanor that were sent to London, letters citing Flynn’s feelings for her that were never sent, old photographs of him and Eleanor, seashells from Catalina beaches, bottles of colored sand during one of his Summer trips with Eleanor.

Movie tickets (especially the ones where they say movies Eleanor was in), arcade tickets, magazine clippings they cut out together, his old film camera, American candy from Eleanor, a friendship bracelet they made from string, a pair of friend keychains he forgot to give to her because they were fighting, a CD with songs they made for each other, a lot of ripped up envelopes, and more. 

Maddie had been deep in her own thoughts. Thanks to that damn ship being stuck in the Suez Canal, it had caused massive ripple effects for other shipments and vessels trying to get through. Shipments that were tied to businesses like hers. Despite playing the part of a homey bookstore owner, she still had a global business that she headed that demanded to be paid attention to. She couldn’t very well ignore her first born child after all. It had been a headache and a half leading to little sleep as she tried to put out fires and soothe the anger of the clients that relied on her timeliness. Which was why she was so out of it when she made her way to the gym that day. 

Flynn’s face takes a minute to register, but when it does, her face breaks out into a huge smile. Immediately, she tugs out her earbud going to wrap the younger man into a hug. “Are you kidding me, Flynn!? I do, unfortunately for Catalina. What about you? I thought London was the be all end all for someone like you.” 

➤

Maddie, to Flynn, had always seemed like a woman that was destined for bigger things. Or perhaps bigger things in secret. He could never quite picture her growing old with someone at her side, sitting together on their white front porch and drinking homemade lemonade. She was brighter than that. She was a strategy of a woman which is what made Flynn intrigued by her in the first place and equally as shocked to see her here in Catalina, of all places. 

“Well, shit,” He muses then, placing his hands on his hips in astonishment. “I thought you’d be traveling the world by now or something. Taking names.” Laughter weaves through his words. He’s quick to shrug at her next question, “Yeah, right. London spat me out a long while ago. I’ve been here working for my father on his film sets. He’d love to see you again, actually.” He turns to Maddie fully now, “What about you, then? Where are you working now?”

— FLYNN KHUMALO.

All of Flynn’s most daunting, impulse-fueled emotions come scratching at the surface. In fact, they boil and burst, enough to make that same stomach ache plague him again. The one that came in the wake of his own jealousy, at the mere idea that Eleanor has found happiness in another. And this only makes things worse. The touch to his arm is something he almost misses entirely. Sharon touches him so gently, her manicured fingernails brushing against the skin of his arm. And he almost misses it. He almost misses it because he’s so consumed by Eleanor, by the way she speaks, by the way she’s quick to derail the situation and speak on the truth. 

Oh, the truth. That alone was a twisted thing these days. Flynn tries to seek refuge in the way Eleanor cites that they’re just friends but only finds that his stomach ache worsens. 

We’re just friends. It had been the truth that bonded them, the thing to solidify who they were to one another. Flynn can only nod and straighten his spine, tearing his gaze away from her once more, and back to the woman he had been kissing moments ago. But, by now, it feels like ages. “Yeah, um,” The man starts, feeling that he might trip over his worst if he doesn’t muster them mentally in their entirety before speaking. Flynn clears his throat, “We were just talking. Catching up. No worries, love.” Sharon’s smile grows, a chuckle tearing from her throat. She swats her free hand before speaking again. That accent, my god. Well, I’m glad that’s all cleared up. A bashful smile graces Flynn’s expression as he looks down to his shoes. Oh, me? That’s so sweet. Another touch to his arm.

“All good things. I also mentioned how I almost forgot to get our drinks.” A quiet chuckle escapes Flynn’s mouth as he speaks. He’s quick to pluck the last of his courage from the well of his suffering. “We should get back.” He rests a hand on Sharon’s waist before looking back to Eleanor. “Get home safe, yeah?” He says to her, that suave smile faltering a tad as she comes into view again. Sharon grabs her drink and Flynn takes his, with her free hand she teasingly tugs at his arm and Flynn smiles a little, looking back at Eleanor as she leads him back to the party.

Ultimately, the question arose whether Ellie had been a bad friend after all these years passed. In the moments when laughter and inside jokes were shared between the pair, happiness came as easy as breathing in fresh air. Effort needn’t to be made because Flynn’s presence was enough to fill her with light, even in the darkest days of her life. But in juxtaposition of it all, he also coaxed the rare frustration and anger to come out from hiding. Witnessing the same kind of happiness upon his feature with another made her wonder if she was replaceable enough in Flynn’s life one day. If she’d been a good friend, she wondered if those thoughts would conjure up at all — that his happiness shouldn’t irritate her. Yet she didn’t want to indulge in just why they acted the way they did around each other tonight, because if she dared herself to, the answer would be there. That alone perhaps terrified her even more. 

Just so effortlessly, they were able to brush this aside when the woman interrupted them, cutting through the tension as though she’d been oblivious to it all. Her hazel hues inevitably drifted back to her hand resting against his arm, and it took all her willpower to turn her attention back to the conversation instead. In the end, Ellie managed to muster a tight smile, nodding at Flynn’s words. They were simply just catching up. Just like friends did. She swallowed, her throat feeling awfully dry as she brought the cup to her lips — only to find it empty this time. It was almost torture-like, watching this unfold before her. She fought the urge to roll her eyes when her voice reached her ears, the remarks that followed testing her patience furthermore. There’s so much more to Flynn than his accent. She thought. But those words never left as she pressed her lips into a thin line.

It was her cue to leave. Ellie needed to, before this heavy feeling in her heart grew further. She watched, as his hand found her waist this time, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if she was in Sharon’s position instead. Although before her mind would spiral, Flynn’s words pulled her out of her reverie. She gave him a forced smile, before nodding. “Yeah, you two have a good night.” She lingered behind, for a moment, watching as they moved away from her. It took her all the strength to pry her eyes away, before she finally let out a breath. One that she felt that she’d been holding since the brunette approached them, before she weaved through the crowd, longing to find the exit, for the night to end and the memory Flynn and the brunette to fade behind her.

For someone who didn’t like being put in the spotlight all that much, Lydia sure did have friends who worked in the industry. She had her pictures taken by papparazis when she was out and about with Eleanor and still felt weird, she wondered if Flynn did too, because if there was someone who hung out with Eleanor as much as she did, that someone was him. The blonde rather enjoyed his company, though, his witty remarks and the way he made things seem a thousand times more interesting than they were. He always earned a good couple of laughs from her, like when he called the man Sad Sack. “I hate people fighting in public, it’s way too embarrassing,” she rolled her eyes as they started making their way out of Carmichael Roses.

Looking down at the flowers, she shrugged. “I’m taking them to the hospital later, my dad’s room been sad, so I thought I’d cheer it up a bit,” it was true, but she do her very best to keep herself from answering the one question the nurses wanted answered. She still didn’t know what she should do and there wasn’t a single soul who could give her tips on it.

Once they arrive at the ice cream stand and Flynn takes his order, Lydia asks for the side and walk over to a nearby bench so they can seat and enjoy what was left of the afternoon, flowers on her lap being held down by her phone, eve though the breeze wasn’t so violent that day. “Okay, let me help you on your gift to your mom, I mean, giving her flowers is pretty damn predictable. Have you thought about gift basket? With things she can treat herself with?”

➤

Being in the spotlight was something Flynn had gotten used to over the years. He needed to in order to survive, really. He was once the star of people’s eye. A new, heartthrob boxer on the scene with a promising career in his future. Only for that to be tarnished and thrown away due to his own recklessness. In an instant, he was a forgotten figure, damned by the public. Pity was one of the main components making up his career now, a man behind the scenes and working for his father. It’s taken some time before he felt okay with where he stood in life now. Acceptance was never easy but Flynn likes to believe his journey was as steady as it could be.

But that doesn’t quite examine the likes of someone like Lydia, who was mostly friends with people in the industry while she lived her own separate life. It’s the mention of her father that grounds Flynn again, his lips pursing in thought. A sympathetic look graces his expression before he speaks, “How is he? Your father? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.” Flynn asks sincerely, head canting to the side. He takes another bite of his ice cream. 

A chuckle escapes him, “God, I’d really appreciate that, actually. I’m lost. My mother is the type who will go on and on about how she doesn’t need any presents on her birthday but when nobody gets her anything, she’ll act bitter for weeks.” More laughter laces through Flynn’s words before he continues, “Hm, that’s not a terrible idea. What would I put it in? Like, bath salts?”