jordan cole

In three quick steps he was besides the other male, pushing him up against the wall, knife to his throat as he leaned in close. "I think you are lying ragazzo." he said in a low and hard voice, eyes not leaving the others. "You best give me a better explanation for breaking in, or I might be forced to wring the truth out of you by.. less hospitable means."

j froze up when the blade caught his throat. air stalled. the cold edge pressed just enough that he had to be careful with every breath. the wall was hard against his back, shoulder blades flat, one heel slipping on tile. the guy’s face right there in front of him, calm in a way that pissed him off more than the knife did. he could smell steel. the kind of scent that sat behind blood.

he tried to breathe quiet through his nose, tried not to move, because one twitch and the night could turn red. his fingers twitched anyway, eager to push leandro away from him. shock never lasted long with him. didn’t matter who it was, didn’t matter what they held. fear always came first, but it always burned out fast. left nothing but that wired anger that wanted to bite. sometimes he wondered where the fuck those instincts were, when christoper found him and his son in the dusty attict.

“get that shit off me,” he muttered, jaw locked. his breath hitched on the next inhale, then slowed again until it sounded more like a growl. he met the man’s eyes and didn’t blink. no one put him down. no one. blood rushed in his ears, covering the man's words.

The door had already been open before the clashing of things had caused her to turn back, to check only to find herself in the dark, clearly with presence. No denial of annoyance was given to the matter at hand as things became a lot clearer once the lights were turned on.

Annoyed as she was the brunette marched over to the window, to close it. A forgetful moment that had led to all of this. A mistake on her part, no doubt.

jordan’s talking faster than he can think - “hey, look i’m fuckin’ sorry. i know this is fucked up and i shouldn’t just jump through random fuckin’ windows but i was selling these - hum, right, and i didn’t realize there was security around here, i mean, what the fuck? students don’t need fuckin’ security, you know? but then this fucking tank of a guy comes bounding towards me, i swear he woulda taken me the fuck out so i just had to run. i saw the fire escape and–”

… and only then does he slow down, realizing that, whether or not it’s the shock of the whole situation, the woman's weirdly calm.

"i reckon you might’ve stumbled into the wrong place," she assumed, the words floating like dust motes in the stillness between them. she looked him over once, not scared so much as curious. it was the same way she’d study a stray cat that wandered in through the fire escape. she didn’t rush to fill the silence between them. a long moment passed where she seemed to be deciding something as she studied his hands, the way his shoulders held. then, with a faint click, she folded the knife shut.

"if you’re here to rob me, i’m afraid there’s not much of value," she told him. "if you’re not…" she glanced toward the kitchen. "i have some soup on. if you’re hungry." she should’ve asked what he wanted, who he was, why he’d chosen her window of all places. but she didn’t. not yet. her instincts moved slower than most. and he was a guest until he showed her he wasn’t. hospitality was something sacred to romy. an old superstition, a rule that stuck no matter where she lived. she believed that turning away a hungry soul brought worse luck than letting one in.

“i’m tryna stay outa trouble here, not get into more of it.” he says with a nod.

it’s his own fault this time. can’t blame chris or tommy for dragging him into any trouble or his mother for the way his shitty past in the city has got his face branded onto the back of all of her enemies eyelids. only person he can blame is himself and the asshole at the junkyard that couldn’t take a joke when j climbed into the back of that busted old corsa and tried to hotbox the thing. granted, he was already high and, sure, the windshield was shattered, so the idea was pretty shitty from the go but, hey, that batch of molly he’s meant to be selling? it ain’t half fucking bad… just a shame every last bit of it left his body right as the guy pulled the gun on him and he’s been stone-cold ever since.

“hiding,” it's his only explanation, settling for honesty, but not too much. “l’ll be outa your hair in… ten minutes. right?”

j could already tell his day was turning. the guy turned to him, all puffed up, talking like he thought every word deserved applause. j stared, blank, his patience thinning.

“right,” he said. “so it’s tea.”

steam hissed from behind the counter. smelled burnt. the barista was moving around slow, they didn’t wanna be here either. j rolled his shoulders, sniffed, and turned an unimpressed look at the man.

jordan huffed a laugh. “why everyone sayin’ that, huh?” he repeated, shaking his head as he pushed simon. “maybe ‘cause of all that poetic shit.” his grin stuck, crooked and easy. the push wasn’t hard. just a friendly shove, habit.

when simón asked if he was clean, that grin didn’t drop. just flattened a little, got lazy at the edges. he rolled his jaw, stretched a shoulder like he’d been asked about the weather. “yeah, m’sober,” he said. tone casual, eyes back on the water in front of them.

then jordan stared at the offered hand, and he barked a laugh. “what- you tryna hold hands now? that’s romantic as fuck.” his eyes flicked up, blue and amused. he didn’t take it, but he moved with him, still chuckling. he doesn't think being stuck with simon's a bad thing, there're much worse ways to spend a day. he's tryna staying outta chris's apartment as much as he can these weeks, only going back when he needed sleep.

status: open @bloodnglorystart

"don't you think the world just needs to move a little slower sometimes?" simón asks as he stares at the shoreline. he can't imagine living in a palce where the seasons actually change. he thinks he would miss going to the beach and just staring at the horizon. he knows he would not do that the second the weather got cripser. though he supposes fall in l.a. always felt weird because of that, however at this point he was used to it since growing up here. "it seems like everything goes so fast these days." he says with a shrug. and just like that like it's right on queue a siren from a nearby police car goes off, causing the seagulls to fly away into the distance. "should we keep on walking? or do you have some place you need to be? i took the day off, so i've got all the time in the world right now."

j leaned on the rail, elbows hooked over cold metal. his pupils were wide enough that the lights from the boardwalk made halos in the corners of his vision. simon’s voice came in low beside him, that thoughtful, too-serious tone people got when they’d been staring at water too long. talking about how the world needed to slow down or something. he turned his head, watched his handsome profile for a second.

he smirked. “man, you high or somethin’? that shit’s deep.”

he rolled his shoulders, the sound of sirens cutting through the calm, quick as a slap. birds shot up into the sky and for a second, everything was motion again, feathers, light, noise. he squinted, watching the chaos.

" it makes no sense , " he told the barista , that honestly did not make enough money to be dealing with him. " a latte has coffee --- but matcha is not coffee , " he explained again , americans were too weird and obsessed with these beans , these nuts. " does a matcha latte have coffee ? " he asked again to which the barista said they would ask their manager if they could put coffee in the matcha latte. he sighed , everyone was just stupid , dumb , useless. " i'll take a black coffee , " he said putting his money down on the table , probably too much of it and stepped away , a headache growing.

“next,” the barista said.

he stepped up. “coffee,” he said, and handed over the bills, hands trembling slightly. moving aside to wait, closer to the guy again, he muttered, “bit disappointing, all that talk just to order the same shit as everybody else.” then paused. “actually, what’s the difference between that marsh-macho latte thing and, y’know, regular coffee?”

his pup was not a fancy pup , on the contrary he saw some guy selling the pups on la cienega and jefferson and couldn't really pass up the opportunity. a little blonde guy came up to him and they instantly bonded , like how jacob imprinted on renesmee as a literal baby. maybe he was renesmee in this situation , who knew ? he'd gotten acquainted with the little guy for about a month now , he reacted to his name which was a plus but he still pissed everywhere especially around the los angeles scaries. " sit , " he told the puppy who just stared back at him. nathaniel stared back , " down ? " he asked and the puppy just seemed to keep staring. nathaniel sighed and that seemed to work and caused the pup to lie down , " so you can hear me , " he told the pup. he noticed a stare and he turned his head , " i'm not crazy. "

jordan stood there with a half-burned joint behind his ear and an empty stomach that’d been complaining since last night. shoulda stopped to buy instant ramen. shoulda done a lot of things. instead, he was just killin time, leaning against a lamppost.