𝙍. 𝙂𝙊𝘿𝙁𝙍𝙀𝙔

attention remains fixated entirely on the book displayed upon the shop's counter, manicured french tips rapidly go through the paragraphs, until she reaches the bottom of the page, shuts the book closed and raises her gaze to glare at the young man lingering closer to the grandfather clock.

𝐌𝐑.     𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐘     huffs     at     the     sharp     chirping     behind     him.     the     𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘓𝘓𝘔𝘈𝘕     woman     had     a     watchful     eye.

“i     didn’t     touch     it.”

furrowed     brow     raises     as     he     turns.     his     features     are     unforgettable.     prominent     green     eyes     and     chiseled     structure     make     a     𝙝𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜     appearance     that     demands     to     be     seen.     he     shows     no     sign     of     relenting     in     his     fixation     on     this     clock.     adam’s     apple     bobs     as     he     regards     her;     𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥     𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞     never     wavers.

“you     don’t     know     what     i     want     or     what     i’m     looking     for.     so     i’ll     ask     again,     like     i     did     last time."

TWs for: suicidal ideation, possible implications of self-harm

“I’m just… so tired of being awake.”

“Would you brush my hair?” 

“Can we just [read/watch] something, tonight?” 

“Just let me lie here for a while?” 

“I like it when you [insert action] for me.” 

“Please, I can’t … I don’t want to argue tonight.” 

“Can’t we just love each other right now? Just for tonight?” 

“It’s just …. it’s hard.” 

“I don’t want to be here.” 

“Where do we go from here?” 

“What am I supposed to do now?” 

“What happens after something like that?” 

“Should we… be going to the police?” 

“Fuck, that hurts.” 

“I’m used to it.” 

“I don’t want you to worry, but… I think I need help.” 

“I did something stupid.” 

“It’s not as bad as it looks. Can you help?” 

“Have you ever thought that? Have you ever thought that it feels like drowning?” 

“I’m not crying.”

“I can’t breathe. I just want to breathe.”

“Please just sit with me.”

“Stay?” 

“Was it a lie, then? All of this?”

“Can I just not be okay for a minute?”

“I used to be better at coping than this.”

“I should be stronger than this.”

“When I was younger, I… I used to have some problems.” 

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.” 

“Are you okay for me to talk about this right now? It’s pretty heavy.” 

“Were you ever… didn’t you ever just… want it to go away?” 

 funny, but true. that was the agreement, but how much could a few pieces of stuffed fabric really help? they were fun, entertaining to look at, & the fact that roman disliked them so openly was a plus . . . but they did nothing to make the situation feel any more SAFE ; thankfully, safety wasn't something bear needed, & was in fact a feeling he wasn't all that comfortable with.

bear didn't need, or want, safety - he much preferred the perceived absense of choice, false though it may have been. every time slight figure pressed upwards only to be met by persistent & unyielding weight, it served as the much yearned for relinquishment of choice. nothing that happened could be his fault, because he was just along for the ride, STUCK right where he was until roman decided otherwise.

that was worlds better than something so useless as feeling safe.

aggravated     groan     is     hardly     muffled     against     skin     and     roman's     head     lifts     to     meet     the     adoring     glare.     their     noses     brush     together     and     it's     seemingly     intimate,     yet     the     irritating     buzz     at     his     temples     and     the     dry     scratch     of     his     throat     only     yearns     for     one     thing.     even     if     bear’s     flesh     smelled     nothing     short     of     heaven,     doses     of     blood     warm     and     satiating,     roman     couldn’t     bring     himself     to     limit     his     honesty.

* ♡ she was going to cry .

not immediately, & not in a way which would cause irreparable damage between family members ; but eventually, letha would panic, & letha would cry ! it was just a fact, one which was best accepted as quickly as possible so that when the moment hit. & it would, it could be ignored as best as possible.

❝ 𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘚𝘛 𝘖𝘍 𝘈𝘓𝘓, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘚𝘌𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘋, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘪'𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳. 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘋 . . . 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ? refresh my memory ! ❞

words     seep     through     his     set     jaw,     the     muscles     pulsating     near     the     joint.     poised     hand     smooths     back     a     few     of     his     blond     strands     before     it     clamps     down     over     the     gear     stick.

𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄     𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒     𝐀𝐆𝐎,     teaching     his     cousin     how     to     drive     a     stick     shift     sounded     like     a     peachy     fucking     idea.     now,     his     patience     had     worn     thin,     and     the     fleeting     impulse     to     commandeer     the     vehicle     seemed     much     better     than     reining     in     his     commentary.

"far     left.     the     pedal     on     the     left     is     the     clutch,     okay?     just     steer     and     work     the     pedals,     leth'."

@92328

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎:  m/f/nb.

"——that's not fair, and you know it. You know I don’t have a choice in the matter." What was an eighteen-year-old supposed to do? Indie still lived under her parents' roof—in the cramped RV she shared with her twin sister and parents. Whatever they decided was final. If they said it was time to leave, she had no choice but to follow suit until she could stand on her own as an independent adult. "Not everyone can just... afford to move out on their own, you know," she muttered. "Besides, my parents would absolutely kill me. But it's not like I want to leave you."

the     crushing     weight     of     abandonment     had     consumed     him     before.     roman     resented     the     weakness,     the     helpless     feeling     𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜     just     beneath     the     skin     like     an     infection.     he     can't     bring     himself     to     look     her     way,     focusing     on     swallowing     the     last     of     the     vodka     in     his     flask.

metal     𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊  -  𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊  -  𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒     on     enamel.     warmth     blooms     in     his     empty     stomach.     words     seem     to     come     out     softer     now     that     he’s     sedated.

there was quite literally no way to win. it was either admit defeat & give up on the dream of ever playing along in a way that would be worthwhile, or open his pretty little mouth & prepare to suffer as he so often did.

𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, one which was neither a win nor a loss - it would have been simple to forget the task at hand, finding solace in distraction instead. a bandaid removed, tongue pressing against the fountain from which drizzle had come ; 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, a sudden STING as tongue was met with a far fresher version of the copper he was trying to avoid.

it was 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 when it was from the source. better. like a less satisfying version of licking away droplets after removing a needle. option three, bear thought, would have shifted focus completley, stirring something in roman which would have pastry removed from the equation altogether . . . but he was trying to prove something, & option three wouldn't have helped with THAT.

as plate inched closer, bear did his part to close what was left of the gap, giving porcelain a little SPIN before offering roman a silent cheers, offending object placed in his mouth yet again ; judging by how happy roman seemed with his previous reaction, bear knew to 𝙙𝙤 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙, chewing with no expression, finishing with a small smile.

subject     is     changed     before     he     can     approve     or     deny     the     expression,     bear     moving     on quick     enough     to     avoid     godfrey's     scrutiny.     roman     sinks     into     the     width     of     the     kitchen     island,     a     playful     air     surrounding     both     of     them     in     lieu     of     the     normally sterile     environment.

"and     are     you     willing     to     give     up     YOUR     LIVER     to     satiate     me?"     hint     of     a     smile     is     broadened     by     laughter     –     the     client     shedding     his defensive     skin     once     the     initial     challenge     was     introduced.

"don't     know     if     you've     noticed     but     nothing     tastes     as     good     as     you.     probably     the     worst     fucking     idea     for     you     to     incorporate     ...     yourself     into     these     snacks."

as it so often was with his job,

a kind gesture taken a step too far by the man it was meant to placate. autonomy stolen in the blink of an eye. gaze remained affectionate, aura oozing love ( when was it not? ) with every pull of blood from semi-offered finger. long past the point of being embarrassed by the things he got up to in public, the most bear thought about his current predicament was that it was have been quite the scene to pass by ;

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐋, 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑, & 𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓-𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐑. the thought alone was almost enough to make him giggle - though it was the feeling of fingertips on palm that pushed him over the edge, laughter concealed as face was momentarily hidden in the crook of his arm.

＂it just wasn't worth eating,＂ came his answer, uncharacteristic though it may have been. ＂your LACK of time management was disgusting though, so don't think you're off the hook.＂ bear may actually have been disappointed by the late arrival, had roman's company been something that he ( or anyone else ) enjoyed.

the     whisper     of     laughter     is     enough     for     palm     to     be     dropped,     godfrey     recoiling     to     his     side     of     the     table.     captivation     fizzled     almost     instantly     and     while     the     boy     gave     a     genuine     reaction,     roman     only     took     it     as     a     dig.     bear     could     not     have     known     the     extent     of     his     fixation     –     never     would     understand     how     different     it     would     all     be     if     he     were     human     normal.

he had no means to defend himself, and bear happened to be itching to move on to what he did best : assaulting his employer with questions.

head     lolls     backward,     vintage     sunglasses     gleaming     under     sunlight.     attention     is     withdrawn     as     quickly     as     it     came,     no     longer     interested     in     awarding     the     boy     with     anything.  as if that wasn't enough, a damning declaration flew past his lips without warning.

"we got approved for the london site. i guess that means you'll be able to cut down on your travel time to see me." fingers smudge the bloodied heart, straw finally brought to godfrey's maw. he sips slowly, hand shifting over plastic until the rest of the blood is wiped away.

glasses     lens     reflect     off     the     phone     screen     –     a     prop     to     diffuse     how     blatant     his     leer     is.     email     inbox     remains     untouched     and     there     is     no     further     move     to     hide     his     scrutiny.     roman     had     spent     years     acquiring     the     antique,     romanian     furniture     either     kept     well     within     families     or     housed     in     budapest’s     most     secure     museum.     the     wilted     trunk     laid     in     his     sterile     refined     interior,     the     rich     hues     of     the     wood     a     stark     contrast     to     his     otherwise     minimalist     style.

the     carpenter     had     been     fully     enamored     in     his     work.     knowledgeable     &     curt,     both     traits     deeming     the     man     as     𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢     in     godfrey’s     eyes.     the brawny physique and calculated stare hunched     over wood had     proved     to     be     more     fascinating     than     the     collection     of     alerts     stacking     up     in     his inbox. the     soft     ticks     as     the     blade     etched     into     bark     lured     his     attention     in     he     couldn't     help     but     observe     the     progression.     it     didn’t     matter     that     roman     saw     the     trunk     as     complete     shit     —     bonnet’s     handiwork     seemed     to     mend     it     to     satisfaction.