AIN'T NO GLORY.

Tori can’t help but roll her eyes at the male’s comment. Neither of them are good people, but Tori still likes to think that she’s on the right side of things. No matter Eli’s involvement with the Primms, she would still ensure that his family, and perhaps even him, would not see any severe consequences. A bonus of being friends with the person trying to take you down, perhaps, but she can see the goodness behind Eli. There’s worse people who need to take the fall for the actions that have been done. Tori had never been gunning for Eli, but rather, the man on top. 

She watches him and her gaze narrows. He doesn’t have to say anything, and while her assumptions aren’t fully confirmed, she feels it in her gut. She’s right about his involvement within their family but she doesn’t know how far he’s crossed just yet. Her head shakes as she lifts her beer to her own lips, except it’s to wash down the horrid taste in her mouth. While he may have only been thinking with his smaller head at the time, she can’t help but let her mind wander to the children and the effects it may have on them. 

Dark hues flick from the label she’d been watching and back at him when the last sentence confirms everything. “Hallen,” the brunette groans as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with Oliver?” Somehow, she doubts the other man would go through with that, but she can’t be sure. A hand swats to his bicep before it’s used to flag over the bartender. “A shot of something strong, please.” Fucking anything at this point, to wash down the thought of what he’s just confirmed. “How long have you been hanging out with Oliver before this happened?” How the fuck had it happened was a better question.

‎

He considers her silence on the matter a cue to punctuate the subject of her relationship with Eli Stone and the Primordials with a sharp period, though he can’t promise he won’t go digging around where Tori had buried those bones in some way or another, whether he intends to or not. It seems he’s fallen into the habit of finding himself in places he should stay well away from, doing things he should have no business partaking in.

On the matter of the business he should take care of however, i.e. the role he now plays in the fate of Eli and Oliver’s marriage he doesn’t expect to be condoned or to be defended or to have whatever he’s heavily implying to go unaddressed. His continued aversion from the woman’s heavy, scrutinizing gaze is the most remorseful he’s been about it with anyone, though this is the first time he’s openly acknowledged what he’d done. He hadn’t been to a confessional in a while, but add a partition between them and he could easily mistake Tori’s shadowy presence for a priest’s.

“I didn’t,” he answers when she starts making more explicit assumptions about the extent of the damage he’d inflicted onto Oliver’s family. He might as well come out with it. He barely registers the force of her hand on his arm when he begins, “At the festival…” but pauses as the bartender comes near enough to potentially eavesdrop. Tori has the good mind to ward his presence away by ordering shots, at least. “I kissed him. Just one kiss.” Somehow, he thought putting a number on it would take some weight off what he’d done, but the fact that there’s even a number to begin with just makes him nauseous. “I kissed him and he pushed me away. Nothin’ else.”

He gives the bartender a curt nod when the shots arrive and immediately he pours it down his throat. The burn fades into a dull warmth in his chest as he waits to get comfortable with it, but nothing about this conversation is, and sooner or later he has to look at Victoria in the eye the way he might not get to with someone who’ll just tell him to Hail Mary his sins away. So he does—look at Victoria, that is—and considers himself lucky that he gets to say these things out loud, hushed, but out loud. “We’ve been… alone together coupla times. The guy just… deliberately seeks me out, and see, he’ll… he’ll do things to drive me up the fuckin’ wall, and he knows it. He knows why he’s doing these things, and I just let him, and I…” A heavy sigh escapes his lips as he runs a hand over his tired features right down to the stubble around his jaw.

Charlotte likes to deflect. It’s been a trait of hers for as long as she can remember. She takes care of other people’s problems in order to ignore her own. She also has a case of not being able to take her own advice and doing the opposite of what she tells other people. Thankfully, she doesn’t let other people into her problems so no one has to bare witness to how truly messy everything has turned out to be. But sex, well, she’s just going to have to live vicariously through Hallen. 

It’s been months, which is the saddest part for her. Thankfully though, she’s had other things to keep her pleased and content. Let’s just say she’s become a fan of shopping online these last few months. In truth, it’s probably better than any guy she’s had. It talks less and shuts up when she wants it to. 

“What?” Charlotte asks with a wry brow sent in his direction. “You want me to tattoo something on your body? God, do you trust me that much?” A hand clasped upon her chest as she looked him over. “I’m actually honoured but kinda fucking freaked out.” It’s not like they knew each other that much and for all she knew, he could hate whatever she picked. “You’re not going to give me any kind of clue as to what you want? What if I tattoo my name on your ass? Like, that would be fine? What’s the limit here?”

‎

Hallen understands himself not to be an easy person to get along with, or to please, so as amused as he is at Charlotte’s reaction, it’s expected when he hasn’t exactly expressed enjoyment in her company— though it’s just as important to note that he’s never expressed disdain towards it, either. Their encounters, though easily numbered on a single hand, are proof

“Do you always act so surprised everytime a customer comes up to you and asks you to do your job?” Smoke pours out of his nostrils in a steady stream before he takes the final puff and tosses the stub that’s left of the cigarette on the sidewalk. “And no one said anything about my ass. You’ll do well to steer clear from that.” He reaches into his pocket for some gum and pops a pellet into his mouth. “If I were you, I’d stop asking questions and start comin’ up with ideas before I change my mind,” he warns her, teeth sinking into the hard, minty shell of the gum as he starts in the direction of the nearby cafe he assumes Charlotte had in mind. He’s on a spontaneity streak— what damage is a bad tattoo gonna do that hasn’t already been done?

“The problem is that this fuckin’ bar is scamming everyone here with their bullshit credit card limit. It’s just a way for us to cough up more money – who the fuck even carries cash anymore?” Okay, maybe she was being a bit dramatic, but Helena had already had a long day and had never been the type to mince words – so, the outcome of those two traits didn’t exactly make for a calm and collected woman.

“Yeah, just beers. Meanin’ I should have ‘em in my hands right about now.” She glared at the bartender, who practically ignored her while Hallen took care of the drinks. Once back at the table, Helena rolled her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s a god damn food truck – there should be a sign,” she argued back, taking a bottle in her grasp before her eyes glazed over him. “You look like shit. Bad day at work?”

‎He feels the onset of a migraine and reminds himself to pick up some Ibuprofen on the way home. He has no plans to get shitfaced, not tonight, and certainly not with her. “Will you shut the fuck up for one minute and just drink your goddamn beer? You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, shooting her with a hard glare, but keeps his tone calm despite the venom in his words. He knows her type, Woman Scorned By The Universe, had a great love once and had it taken away from her by the most unfortunate circumstances. He understands how that can make a person angry at the most trivial things, like why there isn’t a sign that tells you they’re only accepting a fifteen-dollar credit limit. 

He will, however, not let her ruin his night for it.

“You’re a bad day at work,” he retorts, hunching over the table, one arm folded onto the other as he once again lifts his beer to his lips. They keep this up, she might just get him drunk enough, after all. “It’s... stuff. None of your damn business. Why’d you bring me down here, anyway? Miss me, did you?”

Being able to remember names, faces and experiences was something Gisele tried to perfect growing up. It was due to the nature of her father’s business, how they were constantly on the move, how every interaction mattered and further, whatever her father had done or roped herself into—it was a memory that despite burying deep, she had still remembered. “To those that matter yes.” she replied with a sheepish smile. “I know it probably doesn’t seem much, but the fact that you went out of your way to help means a lot to me.” The Studio was her baby after all, having to put her life’s work into it, only to have it face some destruction took a toll on her. However, it was the willingness to help from others and their support that made her get through it. 

“Hallen.” she repeated as she shook his hand. “Well, thank you for being…well you and stepping in. Glad I can put a face to the name.” Once she let go of his grasp, her face lit up as the topic of the dance studio did bring her joy. “Oh! Well we recently reopened and it’s been quite a success. Getting back into the hustle and bustle of things is surely rewarding. Further, I kind of see that storm as like a blessing in disguise. The minor renovations were much needed and it’s almost like a new beginning-ish.” Noticing his sandwich and drink, she pouted slightly at the fact that Hallen had beat her to it. “You know one of these days, I should seriously treat you out. It’s the least I could do. Uh, do you frequent here often? I work her part-time, so maybe we can take a rain check then?” 

‎

He isn’t used to people thanking him for doing his job. Back in the big city, he’s more used to being responded to with hostility or fear. It comes with the badge and he’s learned to just go with it. He starts to wonder just how often this woman here gets to witness an act of kindness firsthand. Then he thinks she just must be one of those types, who feel the compulsive need to address every good deed regardless of whether or not someone is doing the bare minimum.

Which isn’t to say that what he did required no effort at all on his end. But he never knows how to respond to these things except with, “You really don’t have to mention it,” mostly because if she did keep mentioning it, he’d have to start questioning his own humility and start asking for rewards when there are none.

He lets her talk more about the studio when the vendor hands him his sandwich and the juice cup. It’s so tiny that he could fit two of it in his hand, so he buys a bottle of water, too. He hums every now and then to show that he’s listening as he leads them towards one of the nearby stone benches and its accompanying stone table, embedded with small, decorative pebbles on every inch of its surface. “Least you see the silver lining. Can’t say the same for a lot of other folks, but hey, one win is a win for the community, yeah?” He could vomit. Community. He sounds like a politician. Probably no better than sounding like a cop, though. “Y’know, one of my nieces dances. Or, well, she used to, before she got a phone.” He chuckles. “Bet she’d love to go for a visit one day. Maybe take her away from her screen for an hour or so.” He’d been thinking about spending more time with Megan and Julia since he’d moved here, anyway, and he knows their mother could use some time off to pamper herself, too.

She offers to buy him some food as a sign of her gratitude, and he responds with an awkward chuckle and a shake of his bowed head. “Uh… this is my first time here, if you can believe it. Been in town for a year, never thought to check this place out. I mean, I’ve passed by it, but I never…” He directs his eyes towards the large gate and hates how he thinks he can just conjure Oliver through it like that. “I was gonna visit a friend, actually. But he ain’t seem to be around. Might try another day, though.” He keeps Ollie’s name to himself as a precaution. “What’s a dance studio owner doin’ workin’ here?”

Tori peers back at Hallen and folds her arms over her chest. There’s no denying their friendship due to the fact that Eli had made the bold move of stepping into the police department and asking for her by name. “We got close while undercover. He’s kind of the only one who I still talk to — more or less. It’s complicated to say the least. A surface friendship.” She’d be there to help him when he needed it but how can one be called a friend if they refused to talk to you about such significant parts of their lives?

Her eyes move over him as she swallows thickly. While she doesn’t want to make assumptions, it’s too late. The way he speaks and strings their relationship along makes her think that Halllen isn’t fond of it. Hell, maybe it’s jealousy. Not that she’d ever peg him as the type. “I think you have some kind of crush or jealousy going on.” She doesn’t bat an eye as she says it. 

“You aren’t fond of Eli, that’s for sure. Immediately bring up Ollie and mention how he’s weird but it’s not annoyance and I know from experience that he can be annoying.” It almost felt like fondness but she didn’t dare say it aloud. “Am I right?” She pauses then. “You know there’s kids involved, right?”

‎

Surface friendships. He knows all about those. He might even consider theirs of a similar variety if they didn’t have to see each other practically all the time at work, too. Curiously, he wonders how that applies to someone you’d betrayed in broad daylight and still considers you to be a friend of any sort. Maybe Eli just had that kind of kindness about him. It was hard to come by, that’s for sure, and Hallen feels he’d taken advantage of something so rare. “On account of all the lying, yeah?” he says, a horrible way to pour salt in the wound, but they’d never once tried to pretend to be good people in front of each other, and he’s not about to start now.

Which is why, when Tori appears to have the right idea (or something close enough) about his relationship with Oliver Stone, he doesn’t bother making excuses. In fact, there’s something rather smug in the way he picks up his beer again and drinks from it, almost like a congratulatory sip. He doesn’t say anything, not immediately after she mentions children. He stews on it, running his tongue along the front of his teeth as he considers the consequences of his actions, something which he’s only recently started to do, despite the fact that he still continues to fuck up, anyway.

“He is.” He lets the two syllables become obscured by a cloud of vagueness between them for a moment. “Annoying. I find him intolerable.” Why is why I kissed him, he wants to add, but he can’t afford this conversation to lose any more sense. Tori is one of the last people where things makes sense to him. No bullshit, just facts. “Eli, on the other hand, I’ve only met once, and he was kind enough to offer me a donut.” He refuses to meet Tori’s gaze in all the irony and instead lazy peruses the label on the cold, dewy bottle in his hand. “They’ll be fine. Their kids will be fine. It’s part of the contract. Sickness and in health, and all. Or asshole cops with poor impulse control. They’ll be sunshine and rainbows.”

Her eyes flick to the male’s exposed hip before a quirk of her lips appear. “A quote would be cute. You’d have to get real close to read it and isn’t that the goal we’ve been trying to get to since we’ve met?” At least since she tried to fix him up with a brand new Tinder account. He was just lucky she hadn’t managed to get into his Grindr. “Give me a quote and I’ll have that all sketched up.” She was just happy that he didn’t want some swallow birds tatted on his hip bones because she’d done too many of those.

‎

“...right.” Truthfully, he doesn’t mind Charlotte’s insistence on being a part of his sex life—by way of helping it—too much. That was his fault, he’d walked right into that, so he blames no one but himself for a Tinder account set up under his name. It was a moment of weakness, a couple of nights into a long-distance fight with Danny, and Charlotte just happened to be in the wrong place at exactly the right time. How was he supposed to know that she was going to be so into it at all?

He hasn’t told her about Danny. As far as she’s concerned, he’d just gotten out of a relationship before moving to Olympus, which isn’t completely untrue, depending on how you phrase the question. She doesn’t need to be an accessory to his mistakes.

“Surprise me.” It’s not the first time he’s gotten something silly inked on his body. “Yeah, fuck it. You choose. And don’t tell me ‘til after, either.” He smiles at her, genuinely this time, not like the forced half-smirk he usually can’t be bothered to give her when he calls her Charlotte on purpose. He wants her to know that he can be fun if he wants to. “Choose the font, the size... really, go to town on it.”

Now Danny feels bad for ruining the moment, again. They were going somewhere; with Hallen’s fingers in his hair he almost feels at home; he could lay here all night, talk about how last month he accidentally killed the plant one of his step-moms got them a few years ago or about the bakery that opened up down the block that makes some of the best bread he’s had in his life; he could’ve talked about how two of his best friends moved in together and threw a really nice housewarming party the other week. But no matter how hard he tries he can’t distract himself enough from the things he came here with. 

So just like that the tension comes back; he can hear it in Hallen’s voice. “The apartament? That’s what you’re worried about now?” he asks, looking up at the other man. He’s confused that about all the things Hallen could bring up now, he brings up their home; Danny isn’t even sure whether at this point Hallen is even allowed to still call it their apartment, considering how long it’s been since he’s even stepped foot into the city. It’s been Danny’s place and Danny’s place only for a very long time now and he was almost relieved to leave it behind. 

“I guess,” Danny parrots the words and looks to the ceiling for a moment as well, before turning his head to the side again. He stares at Hallen’s face, looking for a crack in his expression that he can see though, so he can figure out what he’s actually thinking. He feels like he’s lost practice when he gets nothing. So he gives up, instead shifts closer, enough to settle against Hallen’s side, head on his shoulder, arm across his chest, fingers at the base of his neck. Danny doesn’t look up at the other, instead stares at the rise and fall of Hallen’s chest, the familiar sight filling him with warmth. 

He knows he should drop it. He can’t. “Are you gonna run away again?” he asks. Run away from me, is what he wants to say because that’s how it felt. It’s almost funny, how he asks the question while he has Hallen trapped under his touch like this.

Danny both regrets the words and not but the need to apologize is stronger than anything. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he says, sneaking a quick look at Hallen’s face before looking away again. “Jesus Christ, I don’t know what’s up with me. I just—I was nervous about seeing you. I think that’s it.”

‎

Of course the apartment isn’t what he’s worried about. Danny could’ve left the stove on and set the whole place on fire, and he wouldn’t have cared less. No, it’s more a synecdoche of their past than it is something that presently occupies his mind. That apartment was something they both shared, and though the lease was under Danny’s name, it was Hallen’s, too. For a while.

And maybe that For a while contained not only the bed they slept on or the table on which they would eat the food Danny had cooked or the couch in the living where Danny had once found him passed out at 4AM in the dried pool of his own vomit. For a while was also what they couldn’t measure in width or assemble from IKEA, like how mornings smell in their kitchen whenever Danny didn’t have to come into work early or the way his fingers would get all pruney when they’d spend too much time in the bath or knowing, indubitably, every night, that he had someone to come home to.

He doesn’t give a fuck about the apartment. He does, however, care about what it means now that Danny had left it behind, too, like it was something they can both just easily move on from, growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Had their relationship all been a rest stop?

Another bitter question is fitted into the silence. It’s fair enough that Danny would assume that Hallen had run away from him despite the questionable truth it held, but what isn’t fair is that Danny can hold him like this, molding his body into Hallen’s body, sharing his warmth with Hallen’s warmth, and accuse him of something so vile.

He swallows hard and notes the way Danny’s fingers feel embossed in his skin like the bob of his Adam’s Apple. His body is stinging all over by being touched in the way he hasn’t been touched in so long, eyes glossy as he continues to study the ceiling. He doesn’t mind the brief vision he has of it collapsing entirely on top of them. If they both die, let it be like this.

“I told you... I needed to get out.” His voice sounds so unlike his own when his response comes despite the apology that quickly follows from Danny. Somehow, he gets the feeling that he isn’t sorry about him having to answer; he’s more sorry that he asked. “I wasn’t myself.” Slowly, he rubs a thumb along the side of Danny’s arm to reciprocate his affection. “I haven’t been myself for a long time. I couldn’t... I- I just couldn’t be there anymore. And I couldn’t be there for you. Not like that.” And though he struggles, he pointedly brings his gaze to rest on Danny’s baby blues, brighter than anything he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing this close. It reminds him now that he is close and, more and more, that this is real.

“She wasn’t joking, trust me,” Danny says with a chuckle as he turns around to face Hallen, slowly walking towards the bed. He finally takes a sip of the wine, first, second, practically empties half of it without really savoring the taste. He sets it down on the nightstand, his eyes stopping on the picture frame for a brief moment, which prompts a small smile. Seeing her at the hospital this morning made Danny realize that not only did he miss Hallen, he missed his sister as well; once the distance grew between him and Danny, it also started growing between him and Liv, since Hallen was the common link. That’s another thing he wants to fix, her and her daughters are family. Hallen’s family. That hasn’t changed.

Danny lays flat on the bed, arms up and folded under his head as he turns to the side to look at the other. “Uh—fine, fine,” he says. Doesn’t matter, is what he wants to say because Danny pretty much tried to tie as many ends back in Chicago before leaving as possible. He made sure the new management at work was good enough to take over, asked someone to look after their place, explained his plans to his friends. Danny never gave any specific time frame to anyone but whenever people asked, he’d said few months. Not even weeks, months. It always sounded like Danny had big plans but he only had one and it’s sitting right next to him. 

They weren’t supposed to be talking about this now but Danny can’t go on without clearing things up. It ties in with the conversation, anyway. How are things back there? I don’t care because I’m not going back. “I’m opening up a place in New Orleans,” he says and stares at Hallen’s face to make sure he sees his reaction. “Me and Maggie pitched in a few new locations to my dad. She went North, I went South,” he says. He mentions his co-worker mostly so he doesn’t feel stupid about basically making his dad agree and give him an excuse to come here. “Thought it would be nice to come down here, be closer to mom.” And you, but he doesn’t say that. “So at least one of us is picking her up on moving in, I guess.”

‎

When Danny slips into bed with him, on a bed that has never felt his weight until this very moment, it’s when Hallen realizes that all this only feels out of place to him because they’re trying too hard to make it familiar. But the more they push, the more the illusion falls apart, and they were already struggling to hold it together even before either of them came here. It truly is a talent within itself, being able to keep pretending this long.

He thinks it through, and almost decides against it, but he ultimately lifts a hand to the top of Danny’s head to stroke his soft, coily hair back, fingers moving through the short curls to massage his scalp. He can’t remember when he’d last been this gentle with anyone, and as much as he’d like to say that he’s only playing a role, this part is real. He could never be anything but gentle with Danny, and he doesn’t know how he does it, but with him, even his anger feels tamed. With Danny, the beast sleeps. He gets to retract his claws and touch him without fearing that he might break him. They’d been over it; and as it turned out, Danny became the first man he'd ever been able to fully open that part of himself to.

It goes both ways. It’s never easy, but they do it, and they get through it together. Which is why when Danny chooses to vaguely answer Hallen’s question about Chicago and their apartment, Hallen frowns, gradually slowing the movements of his hand until he stops and untangles his fingers from Danny’s hair, but keeps it on the pillow beside his head, keeps the ghost of his touch close.

And there it is.

“Wait… what?” He retracts his hand to help prompt himself up on his elbow, nearly hovering over Danny. “What about… Chicago, what about our apartment?” Confusion morphs into worry, first about the life they left behind, and second about the life Danny might discover here, with people that Hallen wished was never part of his to begin with. It was different when he thought it was just a visit and, like the botched proposal, the idea of permanence starts to become menacing again.

He still doesn’t quite believe it, the I miss you—probably because it seems like he forced it out of Hallen, just so he doesn’t feel stupid; so he doesn’t feel like the only one that’s spent months and months hoping for things to go back to normal, to how they used to be. Danny shouldn’t be overthinking this right now, he should just go with it, but it’s hard to just let it go when for the past few weeks, he’s done nothing but overthink this whole thing, them. 

Then Hallen laughs and shifts closer and it almost feels normal, so Danny decides to give in, stay in the moment instead of getting stuck in his head, combing through all the things he’s been wanting to say. He puts a hand on the back of Hallen’s head, fingers brushing through his hair and he smiles; because it’s familiar, because he can do this again, because he missed this and it doesn’t matter if he’s the only one. 

“Right,” Danny chuckles and crouches to scratch Willem a little more before he stands back up and snatches the wine bottle off the table. He follows closely behind Hallen, eyes trained on his back and he wants nothing more but to touch him again, more than that. Deep down he’s also afraid to do that—because what if it’s weird. What if the months apart have made them strangers, what if there isn’t anything to come back to? What if there hasn’t been anything to come back to for a really long time now and Danny’s just wasting his time?

The sound of the door shutting behind him gets Danny out of his head again. He needs to try harder, to shut his brain off if he wants to give Hallen what he wants and stay away from the heavy, serious conversation that Danny came here to have. The wine can be a start so he uncorks it and fills their glasses very generously. 

Danny picks up his glass and steps towards the window, looks out of it onto the street. He’s still feeling a little uncomfortable, like an intruder, the man who walked into the kitchen feeling like he belongs here is gone. Strange that it’s the bedroom that makes him feel like this. “Do you like it here?” he asks, first thing that comes to mind because he can’t stand the quiet any longer. “I think I missed coming here. My mom always complains I never visit her and she’s right, I haven’t done that in forever.” Except he isn’t visiting this time and he isn’t sure whether Hallen knows that. “But I know she’s glad to have you around.”

‎

Though the singular light from his bedside lamp gives off the impression of a larger space, his bedroom is small. Nothing two people can’t move around in, but it’s smaller than the one they shared in Chicago. There’s a window, and it’s tiny, but he wouldn’t want it any bigger anyway, not when it’s directly adjacent to the street. The curtain is a nice shade of brown, though, complementing the cream-colored walls, and at least he’s made the effort to make the room a little more his own, what with the photos he has of Liv and his nieces (that he’s moved from the living room since the last time Oliver had visited) and a glass polar bear paperweight that belonged to his father, one that he’d snatched from his office all those years ago. 

Strangely enough, there’s nothing about Danny on display, and though one could chalk it up to the detective’s tendency to be quite secretive, it’s clear that his bedroom has been exempt from that level of secrecy. He didn’t exactly have time to take the framed photo they have together on their nightstand when he left, so if Danny asks, that’s what he’ll tell him.

He settles onto the bed, stretching his legs towards the foot of the bed, and tries to relax against the pillows. He gives Danny the space to peruse the room and takes a nice, long sip of the red. “It’s alright. It’s... different.” He licks the sticky, bittersweet remnants from his lips as he lowers the glass on the nightstand next to the bottle. “I guess it’s both what I imagined from what you told me and... not.” His eyes seek Danny towards the window, and the sight of the man, here, in his bedroom, gives him a funny feeling in his chest. He looks so out of place, which is ironic, given that he’d grown up in this town. If anyone’s a stranger, it’s Hallen. “I’m sure she understands. It’s not like Chicago and Olympus are state neighbors or anything.” It’s not, and maybe that’s what’s taken either of them so long to take the initiative and buy a ticket to see the other, among other things. “She’s good company, your mom. I think she was trying to drop a hint that she wanted me to live with her. Wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.” He chuckles dryly despite the alcohol he’d just consumed again. Maybe he needs more.

Or maybe there’s just something else lodged in his throat.

“How are things back there?”

Tori knows better than to attempt any kind of secrecy in terms of her time with the Primms. She’d went undercover and the whole thing went to shit. Nonetheless, it wasn’t something she flaunted …. much. But with the majority of the town calling her a traitor, there was no true use at hiding anything. It was only a matter of time before it all came out. Her head nods at the mention of Eli popping in for a visit, and she’d be lying to say that it doesn’t surprise her. Their last few conversation hadn’t gone the best direction — evident by the fact that her invitation to his wedding had been lost somewhere. 

“We were… — are friends.” Her head tilts back and forth slightly, “or close enough.” It was complicated to say the least. While they tried to keep their work and lifestyle on the back burner, it wasn’t always possible. He’d brought fucking donuts to the police station. Denying any sort of connection there would be practically impossible and since he was brave enough to show up in a police station, then she might as well confirm what Hallen had already pieced together. 

Dark hues moved towards Hallen for a moment. It’s confusing and there’s something there. The rapid way he speaks of Oliver. While she couldn’t argue with him being weird, it’s both the dinner and the fact that he mentions Oliver’s marriage that catches her off guard. Somehow, it doesn’t all string together with Eli’s surprise visit. “You gonna elaborate more on that or am I going to have to piece it together?” Her eyes darted towards the other. After all, she knew someone full of shit when she saw one — mainly because she was also one. “Chances are that whatever I come up with is going to far worse than what it is. I can always ask Eli or Oliver.”

‎

Hallen had the good mind not to ask Eli about it then, about what ‘friends’ meant to him. But he’s not talking to Eli anymore. “When you say... friends, you mean...?” He’s learned early in his life that words can have several meanings. Sometimes words mean nothing at all. But the way Tori struggles—or at least, her version of struggling, if Hallen ever saw it—to put the words together lets him know that maybe there’s a whole world of meaning there that she doesn’t want to touch on. 

And tit-for-tat, she pokes at the bear, the Oliver-and-Eli-shaped bear. He sucks in the air through his teeth, so tempted to just give it all away and maybe then he’ll pass the burden of his secret to her. After all, he only trusts her by way of them both being pariahs— she from the Prims, he from whatever hole he’d dug himself from to get here. 

“I think you already came up with something, though,” he says, unbothered by her knowing, and throws her a little smile. The bottle is gripped loosely around his fingers as he uses it to point at her. “What do you think?”

A well-fitted suit and a tired face, Oliver loosens his tie like a noose around his neck. He didn’t have to attend his mother’s charity event tonight, but he did anyway. Something to feel normal again, mundane. Though he lingers on the edge of every single emotion making a home inside him this evening. His husband is quiet, unwilling. Telling him nothing of how he feels. Adrian is gone, somewhere unknown to Oliver and all he has is his dying cellphone and too many text messages with no answer. Then, there’s Hallen, an orchestra that makes his chest rattle. Too loud. But it did make sense with all the noise inside of Oliver. The banging pots and pans of his every feeling. 

On the way home, he stops here. At his home where they once had a subtle but somehow disastrous dinner. His hands grip the steering wheel while parked out front for what feels like ages. There’s regret circling him now, like a hawk surveying roadkill. Oliver might as well have been some dead animal on the street, lying out in summer heat to be devoured. With one mighty breath, he leaves his car, padding up the walkway and to Hallen’s front door. He tries not to picture anyone inside, as if his home has become a haunted house or an abandoned building where only rebellious teenagers and spiders play now. 

The same hand that pushed him away reaches up to knock at the door. Quietly, at first. But then a little louder. It doesn’t mend well with the too-loud orchestra. A couple seconds pass, then minutes, and Oliver feels strange for standing there, no longer knocking. Something turns inside him, brows furrowed, “Open the door.” His voice is quiet, barely there, but just enough. He knows he’s there. Somehow, he can sense him.

‎

These days, he stays inside. He has no reason not to anymore, not when Danny is there more often, not when he doesn’t have to be alone. And though he’s at his mother’s tonight, Hallen stays in, anyway. Keep everyone else safe this way.

He drinks more. A lot more. He thinks it’ll fill the hole that having his heart carved out of his chest left. (It’s still in his body, it just feels so fucking hollow in there now that he won’t be surprised to wake up one day dead.) So it’s just him and a bottle of scotch and an old walkman he’d dug out from one of the boxes under his bed when he meant to look for the photos he took when he and Danny went to Staten Island one summer from visiting Liv.

He spends the evening digging through his collection of cassette tapes and getting drunk on his favorite songs more than he does on the liquor. Let him be sentimental when no one’s looking, when no one’s around.

Except when he hears the knocks, he knows it’s not the steady thrumming of a The Magnetic Fields refrain. He yanks one earbud out to listen. And then Open the door, the voice says, the voice that makes something in his chest drop. Must be his heart. At least that lets him know it’s still there.

But he doesn’t open the door, not right away. He lets the moment linger, and he thinks that if he leaves it alone enough, maybe the moment will go away on its own. But he knows from experience that it never does. It’s been weeks and the moment that he chose to indulge his curiosity of Oliver Stone is still a knife that twists itself inside his stomach. No, he won’t die of a lack of a heart. He’ll die because he has one.

So he pushes himself off the floor so he doesn’t have to crawl to the door—he stumbles his way to it, at least—but when he reaches for the knob, something stops himself from turning it. As if turning it would just make the pain in his stomach worse, giving the proverbial knife enough power to finish him right then and there.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he speaks through the wood, words garbled in his throat. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

You always said you’d drive me crazy Said it was you and me ‘til we died So hands on the wheel and let’s drive.

Charlie lifted her arm to the male when he made a comment about meanings and tattoo. The splattered in across her entire being should have been enough indication. She had fucking fries tattooed on her arm, though the majority of the ink had been done on herself whilst she was still learning. “I know that but some people have it in them that they need it to mean something. Especially those who’re getting inked for the first time.”

Dark hues peer over the flesh as she looks at the size and design. “Sixty bucks.” A deal, of course, but that was how she initially grew her client list.

‎

“Not bad.” He directs his attention to the cigarette between his fingers, and briefly, for a short, masochistic moment, he thinks about how his own burn marks have more meaning than the ink on his skin. Maybe it’s always been to a purpose. Let them all lose meaning at once. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ a new piece. Right over here.” He lifts his shirt to show her the pale flesh of his hip before he lets the fabric drop along with the ash from his cigarette. “What do you think? A cute little quote? A bunny?”