𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑦𝑎𝑟𝑑.

        (      for brooke   /   @graveyardisms​   )          Spring cleaning was not exclusive to the season  –  Eve ,  for the past eight months now ,  had been organizing the StPaul house with all the diligence due a demon who’s one and only point of sentimentality lay here ,  stacked and stored under roof where she’d grown. Where she’d shed her childhood the way a snake shuks its skin. Where mother’s memory still lingered in clothes to be donated and books to be sorted and mementos to be preserved. She’d worked her way to the attic that afternoon and in the process come across a cardboard box whose lid was scrawled with what had recently become a very familiar name.  She carried it down to the kitchen where her brother was hunched over the breakfast bar with his Nintendo Switch. A heft to display Brooke’s name written in their mother’s calligraphic hand.          ❝  What is this?  ❞

Recognition lit him up, made him sit a little straighter with attention paid out.     " Mom put that together. She was gonna give it to Brooke. “

    ❝ Oh … Great ! … I know just where to move it. ❞         And it’s light her tone, but Grayson had learned to guess at the meaning behind that saccharine lilt well enough that he’s snatching the bin from her hands almost before she’s tilted it towards the trash. Knows her well enough, too, to pin point the impetus as he sets it down safely on the kitchen counter.

    ” What is your deal with her? She’s great. “

Eve wrinkled her nose petulantly, met baby brother’s expectant stare for a long moment before sighing.            ❝ I didn’t want to have to tell you this… ❞             Gone the bonhomie and in it’s place is a grim sobriety that sends her leaning across the counter tops with knit brow and deep frown lilting around the corners of her mouth. Grayson reflected her expression back ,  tinged it with an anticipatory tension all his own ,  caught up in her gravitas despite himself.             ❝ She’s a furry. ❞

    “ I’m gonna text her about picking the box up. "           He’s already digging phone from pocket as he strides out of the kitchen ,  not dignify her accusation with a response.

     ❝ You’d better tell her it’s full of glittery dragon dildos or she’s not gonna come.  ❞       Eve shouted as his retreating back. If he hears her he doesn’t answer and Eve is left to lean against the breakfast bar ,  nails drumming a short irritated staccato against the formica.        ❝  Now I’m also annoyed no ones around to appreciate that accidental entendre. ❞

THE DAY IS IN ITS DREGS by the time she hears the sound of a car pulling into the drive. The sun has shimmered down to nothing, is the liquid remnants of itself spread out across the houses and glinting off screen door as Eve stepped out onto the porch to watch Brooke climb out of her car.

    ❝ Hi. Welcome to the StPaul Storage Unit.  ❞

                 it’s  a  strange  relationship  had  between  the  two  women   ━   one  who  holds  an  odd  distaste  for  the  other,  and  one  who  harbors  no  ill  feelings.  weirder  still,  how  brooke  receives  a  text  about  belongings  left  behind  for  her  from  grayson  and  not  eve.  she  takes  her  time  in  going  to  the  stpaul  residence,  a  mild  hope  that  maybe  eve  won’t  be  there  when  she  arrives.  but  alas,  car  pull  up  outside  the  residence,  and redhead  sees  the  blonde  step  out  onto  the  porch.  inhale,  exhale.

his venture across flushed skin is a welcomed one, and all thoughts of vulnerability are placed on hold, pushed into the farthest corner of her mind. because what odette OWES him is her surrender — to this and them as a whole — and so that’s what she practices: with eyes fluttering shut as fingers run through sandy hair. UNDIVIDED ATTENTION … all gifted to the way he feels, and the way he’s making her. wrong fails as an adjective, mistake following behind. right flows easier, tasting better at the tip of her tongue as malachai returns. it’s a self - made position, one that was insisted upon, and though after-thought is exactly that, it doesn’t work to bring forth regret. because a closeness often suffocating presents itself differently in the context of them. weight placed onto her chest acts not as a reminder of bad times but instead the opposite. safety. and as she recaptures space, she finds the same in his eyes. moonlight cascades through open blinds, making shadows deeper and illuminating the rest. it’s painted as hesitation : profiles hovering, eye contact sought. IT’S NOT. stubble pricks a feathery touch, his jawline traced and features studied. familiarity ensnares her now — through blues usually bright ( now gloom ) and his scent ( reminding her of home ) — and she understands then … why he said what he said. how he could say it. it tickles at the back of her throat, lining her chest with warmth, and it would be so easy to just —  “  … i —  „  breath drawn, brows knit together. her heart beats with a ferocity unknown, all whilst feeling laced with lethargy, and fear outweighs. as it always would.  “  — i want you.  „  she breathes, lips grazing kai’s before committing.

Nights at the bar always prove to be long, leaving the redhead exhausted. Surprising, that she tires out, but then again one can only deal with so much mundane conversation from the locals. And enduring the advances made by the male regulars is an added burden. She can feel the night wrapping up ━ nearing three a.m., so really it should be no surprise. She’s beginning to wash down glasses and her bar, listening to the lull begin in conversations ━ her favorite part of the night. Patrons beginning to tire, to slow conversation ━ it’s the time when she gets the most info out of people. When everyone decides to spill their secrets to the pretty bartender, always willing to lend an ear to their troubles. Eyes catch movement down at the end of the bar, a blonde she’s spoken with a few times. Pretty, but seems like she has a hard exterior. Brooke glides towards the end of the bar, wiping it with her towel as she does. “ Hey there, stranger. Anything I can get you ? We’re closing up soon, so I’d say this is last call. ”

   teddy shakes his head, glancing around the room in lieu of actually responding to steven. it was exactly as he remembered the halls of eden high, from the several years ago that he had attended. singular friend, relentlessly teased … practically nightmare material. he’d only hoped the students had changed attitude … even though nothing else had changed about the school. teddy was pretty sure that there was frozen food in the back of the cafeteria from when he was a student being served still, and that one of the posters he’d seen on the way in was advertising homecoming circa 2016.   “   uh — one, a-actually.   ”   a pause, and he turns his attention back to steven.   “   i … c-can still call you steven, right ?   ”    and then, because he feels like he sounds ridiculous.   “   i don’t, uh, i don’t know the hier-hierarchy of, um, working with you p-professionally.   ”

UNPREDICTABLE — if only because he lacked the composure and introspection needed to present himself as a fixed individual. mood changes like the weather, circumstances acting the cherry on top of instability. stefan likes to think of himself as one thing: sturdy, set in stone — except he’s not. FOR THE MOST PART … he is who he thinks he is. sporting superficial charm and good looks, concealing the darkness beneath with success. other times, emotions—anger, jealousy, desperation—bring forth what he deems well hidden. hangover conjures frustration, and it isn’t until he’s had his morning coffee that the mask reattaches.  “  let me guess …  „  stefan begins, pan dropping onto the counter with half a dozen eggs placed at its side.  “  scrambled.  „

   she takes the box gratefully, scooping in the appropriate amount of baking soda out — leveled perfectly in measuring spoons, naturally — and dumping it in the bowl.   “   those are parent teacher meetings, and we have plenty of those. scheduled ones, not including when they drop in after to make … very specific complaints or requests.   ”   wet ingredients now, and she finds the carton of eggs, carefully cracking them into the bowl, shells discarded off to the side on her kitchen table.   “   this is like, solely for fundraising, organizing events, class parties and stuff. all of them show up, and they always end up … commandeering the whole thing. i might as well let them do it during their weekly book club.   ”   frustration is evident, as emma is an expert of commandeering things herself.   “   and i have to nod and be like, sure, i can chip in a hundred dollars i don’t have to get new whatever artist approved supplies for finger painting. whatever happened to crayola   ?   ”   or philanthropy, for that matter, considering the amount of designer purses she saw at these meetings.   “   i mean, you’re right about that. they’re also like, all super old money, big house, been in town for generations type. they own jewelry that could pay off my loans.   ”   vanilla extract, softened butter.   “   the kids have like, no idea either. they’re the sweetest ever. and i love my job, it’s just …   ”   a sigh, and she quickly shifts conversation.   “   i mean, hello, hospital. i know you have work stress i couldn’t even imagine.   ”

“You’ll always be important to her. You’re Sven. Though now she can say Steven. I’ve been working with her on that.” She smiles, shrugging her shoulders. Although he tells her she didn’t fuck up, she can’t help but feel like she had. And there they are. The words she never thought she would hear from him again. His thumb along her lip causes a chill to run up and down her spine. His question catches her off guard but she smiles. “You don’t have to ask,” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “But it’s nice that you did,” She takes a deep breath and a smile graces her features. “You never have to ask.”

what odette had not planned for was this —— she’d gone away and she’d come back, vowing for last time to be exactly that. really, she should stop fighting it so. everything and everyone beneath the sun — good or bad — receiving nothing but OBSTINANCE and a nature most decisive. self - indulgent until she’s not. relationships given the short end of the stick with decisiveness faltering at the idea of spoken affirmations. it was easy to linger in the unspoken: confirming nothing, getting nowhere. somehow, this was easier. tomorrow would act a STARK CONTRAST to the now. but — as always — odette fails to account for consequences ahead.     the now ——     it was ardent kisses, a smile ghosting as he speaks, and lips reconnecting. between them, there was no room: for doubt, nor for fear. it’s a closeness she relishes in, as whatever hesitance entrapping her minutes ago had come undone, leaving her in a state of unabashed vulnerability. and when he revokes it, she stays right there — dark eyed, flushed lips, and a breath taken. excessive garment given the spotlight; his touch lingering with a gaze watchful, odette’s own hands abandoning the comfort of him. traveling downwards, fingers pull at the fabric — up, up, up …