sally cinnamon

Watching the short sequence of events taking place in front of her, Astrid couldn’t hide the amused grin as Jude stepped into the car, shrugging her shoulders. “Even cowboys need a ride every now and then,” she replied, turning the stereo down so shouting didn’t feel like the only option. “How convenient! I just started driving. We can figure it out together,” she suggested, sitting up straighter in her seat. It wasn’t very common for Astrid and Jude to hang out one on one, so she knew she was likely going to either be far too much for the other to handle or perhaps, by some small chance, make a good impression. “This is only going to further spread the rumours, you know?” she said, laughing at the thought. “No one out there that’s going to want to beat me up, right?” Beginning to drive with no destination, she narrowed her eyes slightly. “You smell of rum. Walk of shame or have you already been drinking?”

“Vehicular or just... sensually? True to both statements, either way. Congrats, that’s two points to the scoreboard.” Feet shifting slightly as he attempted to somehow stack them together in order to avoid getting any mud from his Dr. Martens on the floor of her car, Jude furrowed his eyebrows slightly as he catastrophically failed within the space of only ten seconds, a brown smudge left in the far left crevice. “Christ. Ground control to Major Tom...” trailed off below his breath as he leaned over, trying to rub away the mark with his fingers. Resting back against the seat again once he realised he was never going to repair the damage that way, Jude had been set on studying a passing pedestrian when her next question distracted him. “What rumours?” Feigning ignorance, he peered over at her with his eyebrows lifted slightly, as if waiting on an answer. “Oh. That we’re fucking?” Nodding his head slowly, he could feel a smile itching at the left side of his mouth that he never quite let shine through. “Nah, only evil Henrietta from Dallas. She might wait around the corner so she can club you with a full uncooked ham but she’s, uh... harmless, for the most part. Wooden leg makes her easy to outrun.” Shrugging vaguely in response to her next question, it was with his eyes dwelling on her a moment too long that he pretended to think hard on an answer. “Definitely some shame involved. That’s my default, though. Just a bit of a, uh... shameful guy, really...” faded as he lost sight of the conversation slightly, attention elsewhere. Eyes flitting forwards to find the windscreen, he cleared his throat. “Monty Python, then?” Expression remaining neutral, he tried not to let on that he’d remembered her answer by heart, although the mere fact he brought it up in the first place begged to differ. “More of a Matilda guy, when I’m tired. Like it when she flies around by her hair.”

Blake kept his eyes on Jude as he seemed to stop and start his sentences a few times. Blake gave him time to come up with a response, only having a question thrown back at him. He shrugged his shoulders, gaze dropping to the ground. “Jude, you’re acting like these are things I — like I want you to have suffered? Like… I don’t know why it’s not translating here that I’m asking questions out of concern, not because I’m — Fuck… I don’t know,” he shrugged, running a hand over his own face in a fit of frustration. Often, Blake and Jude’s friendship leaned more toward brotherly rivalry than brotherly love and it could get rather exhausting. “A funeral?” he asked, head darting up to look at Jude as he wandered about the porch. He knew he was only doing it so not to be in such a confrontational position and Blake didn’t mind at all, in fact preferring the lack of face to face contact. “Okay. You had shit,” he nodded, too exhausted with the argument to further egg it on. Realizing he still had Jude’s pack in his grip, he slowly handed it back, clearing his throat and moving to the edge of the porch on the opposite end of him. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to attack you, it’s not like that. Sometimes I feel like I speak and you already have your fucking fists up ready to throw a punch and I’m just trying to talk to you,” he admitted, sigh escaping him as he dropped his own cigarette into the bush below. Instead of further discussing the topic, he turned to face Jude and shrugged his shoulders. “I have like a gram on me. Want a couple lines?” It felt like all he really had to offer, not the best at affection and not entirely keen on giving anyone advice. “It’s not the best coke in the world, but it’s decent. And weirdly makes you horny,” he admitted, chuckling softly. 

Standing there, back to Blake as the trees swayed quietly in the distance, Jude felt a little like he was trapped inside a bad dream. The kind where you tried to speak, only to open your mouth and find a stump where your tongue was supposed to be. Then, when you finally mustered up the strength to grow it back and tap it twice to the roof of your mouth, the pressure of pronouncing a set of syllables made your teeth fall out. Lately, his life felt like one irritably flicked domino falling into the next, a constant chain reaction of bad to worse to worst. He’d finally said it out loud, and he didn’t even feel better like all the shitty self help books told you you were supposed to. A problem shared is a problem halved! Figures, that it was just bullshit. “Yeah. You know, the things where people wear party hats and hit pinatas with baseball bats. Really jolly,” he joked in deadpan, another clearing of his throat seeing him compose a tad more. Finally turning back to face him, he eyed him with the sheepish kind of reluctance you’d expect from a child caught sneaking a candy off the counter without paying first. Only briefly, though, before he averted his gaze elsewhere. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to, uh... Hulk out on you, like that. Roaring... all over the place. Fuckin’... Mufasa.” Spitting out whatever random reference jumped into his head with the hope that if he spoke more, he’d distract from his earlier outburst, Jude forced a meagre smile. Then, two seconds in, he abandoned it. It felt false -- like wearing a suit to a formal interview and knowing you were shoving yourself inside of a mould just to get the job. “Just... can’t talk about it, yet. Dunno if...” If I’ll ever be able to. Adding nothing but a half-hearted shrug, in the end, Jude gave up on the topic completely. He was glad for the change when Blake took initiative, although admittedly a little surprised at the route he decided to go. “Uh... Yeah, I guess. Doubt it’ll do anything to my dick, though. Haven’t even wanked in a week. Feels a bit like necrophilia when I try, to be honest.” Ignoring how controversial of a joke he’d just made, he wafted a hand vaguely to signal that they head inside, presumably to find a bathroom. “Spoke to Levi, last night,” he began making conversation as they ventured in, pulling a face that could only be described as the one you’d make when you accidentally touched old food while washing the dishes. “Called me a snob, actually.”

Skirt lifted up, Frankie was currently in the tiny bathroom of a frat house, furiously dabbing at the inside of the plaid fabric with a wet towel, trying to get a giant red wine stain out of the fabric. Her underwear was fully on display, almost an impersonation of Cecile Caldwell inadvertently flashing everyone as she sat on the sink, legs spread as she wiped a spare bit of wine off her leg, the red liquid dripping. She realized she had forgotten to lock the door when Jude walked in, her tipsy eyes flashing up a second too late, giggling as she pulled her skirt down again. “Shit! Sorry. Didn’t mean for you to walk in on the start of a porno,” she said with a shrug, although she truthfully wasn’t too bothered by it. “Some girl thought I fucked her boyfriend so she poured her wine on me. It wasn’t me. Although really, I wouldn’t be surprised it if was,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh, trying to disguise her embarrassment. “Uh, you need a drink?” Frankie asked, straightening her skirt more, holding out the bottle of vodka she had placed beside her. “It’s like a private bar in here, if you think about it. Sophistica-shun.”

At the risk of being crass, Jude had been looking forward to having a piss for well over half an hour, now. Contrary to the typical assumption, though, it wasn’t because he needed one. In fact, he’s never needed a piss less in his life than he did at that specific point in time, but he thought if he had to stay and listen to Martha, as she’d introduced herself, speak about how he should “really, really consider modelling” for another five minutes, he might genuinely off himself. Finally snapping and excusing himself with a firmly departed “look, Martha, I. Need. To. Shit.” Lifting his eyebrows in shock at the surprise route he’d taken, it was with his beer in his hand and his steps hurried that he left Martha open mouthed and gawking, clearly in a state of shock. Jiggling the handle and stepping inside, it only took one look at Frankie’s knickers for him to drop his beer and cover his eyes with the same hand in a bid to protect her modesty -- a silly concept, really, considering the fact that they’d both seen each other naked.  “...Fuck,” he muttered after standing there listening to the bubbles fizz all over the bathroom tiles for a minute, toes of his Dr. Martens soaked. Squinting so profusely that all he could see was an indistinct blur of shadows and eyelashes, Jude clicked the door shut and turned the lock. “Jesus, Frankie. Just... an eyeful of vagina on a Sunday morning. Make me some eggs, first,” he sighed in faux distress, ignoring the fact that it was actually a Saturday night at a Lockwood rager. “Fuckin’... hit me in the throat like a mallet, that one. A lot to process.” Leaning back against the door, he merely eyed the mess of beer he’d made before returning his attention towards Frankie. “Yeah, actually. Just got startled out of mine like an old chihuahua hearing a doorbell,” he let out, punctuating the sentence with a short laugh as he drew in closer to grab the bottle. “Looks alright, though,” came as he gently pinched at the hem of her skirt, investigating the dark stain. “Just, uh... blends in, really, I think. You’re pulling it off.”

“Visceral. I can picture it now. Can I light the fire? I promise I’ll use my Betty Boop lighter. She’s been trustworthy over the years.” Ingrid removed a loose cigarette from her coat, slightly bent out of shape but still smokable, bringing it up to her lips and lighting it with the aforementioned Betty Boop zippo. Her eyes flashed up, catching Jude’s plummet into the bushes as she spluttered and choked on smoke, trying not to laugh at Jude’s predicament, but glee filling her face just the same. She rushed around the porch railing to where he was in the bushes, dirt smearing him as he brought a spliff to his mouth. “Free weed!” Was all Ingrid could declare, abandoning her barely smoked cigarette in favor of the mystery spliff, snatching it out of Jude’s hands and bringing it to her mouth. “You look a bit like Veronica Sawyer post-murder spree with Christian Slater. It’s a good look. Christopher Nolan would cast you in Dunkirk on the spot.” Rather than helping him up, Ingrid settled into the dirt beside him, sitting in the grass by the bushes as she lit the spliff, brown eyes looking over his face. “You good? Maybe too much weed. I’ve always thought you were the ghost of a forest spirit. Come back to haunt me after I pulled all the grass out of the lawn playing Red Rover when I was five.” She shrugged, cheeks growing hot when she realized how strange her own ramblings were. “Good to see you back at Lockwood, anyways,” she offered, holding out a limp hand to help him up. “Where were you?”

Sprawled out in a crumpled position, given the stick poking into the left side of his lower back, Jude let out a sigh. He’d really never asked to be this much of a walking disaster, but he supposed that some gifts, like Mary’s immaculate conception, often had a habit of feeling a little like a curse, too. “Fuck Christopher Nolan, frankly. I’ve never wanted to die more than when I tried to sit through that shit. Just fuckin’... boats. Guns. Guys with dirty faces. We get it. Use some soap. Fuckin’... filthy beasts.” Barely even reacting when Ingrid made it down to pluck the joint off him, Jude merely let his hand fall limp with the loss of something to occupy it, looking eerily like a corpse, laid there in the bushes for anyone passing by to ogle at. Beginning to straighten at a snail pace, he was half of the way sitting up when she asked the question that everybody seemed to be dying to get an answer to, prompting such a sudden and feral groan from him that anyone would think a hog had been speared by a poacher nearby. “Sorry. Just thought about... global warming,” he threw out in an absolutely appalling cover up, shaking his head. “Just... shit. Save the planet, I guess.” Reaching up to rub a few times at his left eye, he blinked to acquaint himself with the nighttime dim once more, finally ready to somewhat provide a proper answer. “You know, uh... Around. Floated like the plastic bag from American Beauty for a bit. Just one of those Lana Del Rey Ride moments that everyone has once in a while,” came along with a vague waft of his hand, ignoring the fact that everyone definitely did not have one of those. “You know, nomad shit. Pretty boring. You, uh... Whoa.” Squinting at her through the low lighting, he remained silent for a few seconds of deep thought, expression unreadable. Then, reaching out slowly, he gently began to extract a leaf from her hair. “Thought it was one of the little guys from Bug’s Life, for a second. Almost teared up. Really got my fingers crossed for a sequel.”

eyes widening a fraction at his question, levi was left gaping like a dehydrated fish. there was little chance of dodging the topic now, but he had zero answers to give him. “i don’t… not like you. jesus, way to catch a man off guard,” he said, clearing his throat as he turned around, back to the street, and leaned against the porch. he hadn’t meant to give off that impression, he never did, but sometimes he just failed at interacting and then it snowballed, and then usually it turned into him thinking the other person disliked him and so on. “we’ve interacted like, three times, you haven’t had much of a chance to say something shitty if it eases your mind — though like, one of those was just you dragging me away from someone i was hitting on under awkward circumstances, so,” levi concluded with a shrug, like that explained anything. letting out a heavy sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at it as he did, half frustrated, half unsettled by the situation. “i don’t know. do you even like me? i — you’re just hard to figure out and i get stressed very easily when i can’t tell what people are thinking and i have absolutely no idea what like… what you’re like, you know? i just know you seem kinda broody and like you probably listen to music i’ve never heard of and i know blake loves you, and like… i have a strong feeling you sleep less than i do, which is like, deeply concerning probably, but that’s pretty much it,” stopping to catch his breath, levi glanced at him, having avoided looking at him the whole time so he wouldn’t get distracted in his ramblings. “i promise i don’t dislike you, i just literally do not know you at all and i guess i kind of assumed you weren’t a huge fan of me since we’ve been like, hanging in the same circle for years and haven’t ever had a conversation, and i guess you seem… you know, cool and maybe, like, no offense, but a tiny bit snobbish? and that’s not the type of guy that’s ever liked me unless we were fucking, which is obviously not the case. god. i’m not even that drunk, i’m just feeling like i’ve been a dick without meaning to and it’s stressing me out, i’ll… shut up now.”

“Off guard? My favourite time to catch a man. Other than in, you know... a giant butterfly net.” Attempting to somewhat diffuse whatever tension Levi was feeling with the aid of a lame joke, it was with a light tap of his index finger that he sent a clump of ash scattering towards the porch floor. He’d expected a simple brush off, maybe the recounted tale of Jude getting too drunk at a party and spilling his punch all over Levi’s crotch by accident mid black out, but what he got instead felt like a full blown Shakespearean sonnet. Blinking like a disoriented soldier post shell shock, he even went as far as lifting up a hand to theatrically itch a finger inside his ear, mocking clearing out the dirt blasted in there via grenade so that he could hear properly. “I genuinely, uh... Jesus,” stuttered out in bewildered laughter, confusion rendering him speechless. “Well,” he uttered after a long pause, lifting his eyebrows slightly. “That was... a lot. Thanks... for that. Let me just, uh...” Trailing off again without providing any further explanation, Jude pulled his spliff back to take such a prolonged drag, anyone would think he was intent on finishing the entire thing in only one pull. Flicking the far-from-spent end off onto the grass over his shoulder, he let his newly free hand slip to grasp at the railing to the left of his thigh, steadying his balance so that he was prepared to provide an adequate response. “Right. Let me get this straight,” he began, pointing a limp finger Levi’s way as if he was half-assing a job as a game-show host. “You don’t know me. That’s... your favourite thing to say, apparently. I literally do not know you. Sir, I do not know you. I don’t fucking know him, officer!” Clearing his throat once he realised he’d gotten carried away with the impression, Jude held up a hand as if Levi was a car that just stopped to let him cross the road, offering a lone nod of thanks for his assumed silence while it was Jude’s turn to speak on the matter. “So you don’t know me, but I’m a broody, shit-exhausted looking snob? That’s just fuckin’... I mean, nice one, mate. May as well just slap me on the ass and dismiss me to the locker room, after that one. Couldn’t have picked a better send off, I don’t think.” Slipping up off the railing he was leaning on, Jude reached out to carefully tuck the cigarette Levi had gifted him back into the nearest visible pocket he had on offer. Then, once he was satisfied it was inside, he patted against the fabric and dropped his hand. “Didn’t really think it was that deep, honestly. Never had a problem or anything like that.” Taking a few steps away from him, he turned back to lift two fingers up and tap them lightly to his temple, executing a sarcastic salute as he began to speak again. “I do now, though. Think you’re a bit of a weird little man. Just a fuckin’... weird little man that loves to project his own shit. So... yeah. Thanks for the talk, Leaf Eye.”

“Beep beep, motherfucker!” Window rolled down in her red convertible, Astrid found herself missing the months she could drive it with the top down. Stretched out over the passenger seat to shout toward the sidewalk, she clicked opened the door with the tips of her fingers and shoved it open. “Get in. I’ll drive you to your destination. Consider me your Uber driver this evening. I’m bored, so I won’t take no for an answer.”

So insatiably lazy that he didn’t even bother to lift up a hand to discard his cigarette but, instead, opened his mouth and huffed out a sharp gust of air, Jude barely paid it a sideways glance as it skittered onto the pavement, already in the process of approaching the car. “Whoa. Fuckin’... out of body experience. Felt like Clint Eastwood spitting out one of those toothpicks he chews in a western,” he commented, leaning over to wrench the door shut behind him. Smelling faintly like a bottle of rum and a carton of king sized, Jude let his head lull back to rest against the seat. “Dunno where I’m even going, to be honest. Kind of just, uh... started walking.”

“Right…” he trailed off for a moment after Jude’s comment, sighing. “Did kind of lecture you there, didn’t I?” He was entirely right, Blake didn’t know what he was talking about at all. It was an unfortunate major character flaw of his to project on other people, to find things wrong with himself and appoint those things to those around him to hopefully free himself of all guilt. It never worked, but he still did it. Most of the time without even realizing it. “You’re right. I don’t know. That’s not really my fault though, is it?” he asked, tone less accusatory and more defeated. “I guess — I can see you’re visibly getting a little pissed off and I’m just not really understanding what’s so controversial about suggesting you be honest to one of your best friends, you know? It’s obvious to us you’re — there are times when you are going through shit and you shut down and it’s like,” Blake continued, barely conscious of the fact he was rocking back and forth rather subtly with his back against the railing. “You disappear like that, it’s only natural the worst possible scenarios would go through his head. No one’s trying to attack you, it’s just… fucking worry. What’s wrong with that? I don’t want to fucking go inside. Maybe I want to have a conversation with you for once that doesn’t end with like — Near violence.”

Growing more agitated by the second -- for what reason, he honestly wasn’t sure -- Jude did his best to shift his weight from foot to foot, to avert his focus into something else other than the militant thump of his heart in his chest. He hated this. It made him feel like an autopsy frog from a biology class, high school student slicing him down the sternum with a shakily grasped scalpel. “It’s just not--... It’s--...” he attempted to start twice, frustration only growing at the fact that he couldn’t seem to order his thoughts enough to form a single sentence. Falling silent in momentary defeat, he picked roughly at the nail of his thumb that he’d already been gnawing over the course of the evening, muted tap sounding with every attempted break. It’s obvious to us you’re -- there are times when you are going through shit. Eyes intent on his fingers still, he yanked off a small corner piece until the white was left oddly lopsided. And you shut down. Still, he continued. Picking. Picking. Picking. Maybe I want to have a conversation with you for once that doesn’t end with-- “Fuck. Jesus... Fuck,” Jude grit out once he’d zoned in enough that he was actually conscious of his actions, having torn his nail so short to the cuticle that the bed had started to gleam, raw and pink. “Fucking... Christ, Blake, what the fuck do you want me to say?” Eyes shooting back to find Blake’s face as his tone snapped, an odd expression had fallen over his within the past five seconds like a theatre curtain pulling back to finally reveal the scene on stage. He looked angry -- in that desperate, snarling kind of way an animal does when it’s injured and backed up against a wall. “What’d you want to hear? What is it? That I’m fucking... That I almost did something? Is that it? Want me to fucking shout it from the rooftops or something? Tweet it at you with a stupid fucking smiley face?” Black of the night around them deafening in the following silence, Jude slowly shook his head to dismiss it once he’d drawn back slightly. “It’s not even--...” trailed off into exasperated silence, start of a laugh scratching the back of his throat for how hoarsely he delivered it. “I don’t even--... Jesus, I just had shit, okay? I had to go home. I had to fucking... go to a funeral,” slipped out before his throat forced him to roughly swallow, unsure whether it could cope with pronouncing the words out loud. In fact, he suddenly felt slightly nauseous. “I just... I had shit.” Hand cropping up to pointlessly rake through his dishevelled head of hair, he resisted the urge to furl a fist and tug on the root of a handful at the left side, a subconscious habit he’d developed young in times of high stress. “I had shit,” he repeated again, more quietly this time, arm forced down so that he could rub over his mouth and take a few steps further across the porch, faking a wander just so he didn’t have to face him. Grating at the inside of his cheeks with his molars, a quick swallow and clear of the throat saw him tilting his head slightly, barely just glancing at Blake over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. “Just--... It’s fine, so... Can you just give me a cigarette? Air’s fuckin’... clean, out here. Tastes like trees. It’s... disgusting.”

        not quite right. the thought conjured in her mind as he stood before her, the inside of her cheek bitten as she grappled with exactly what had thrown him off. he seemed to have the nerves of a wild animal that stumbled on the edge of town, unsure of whether to remain or bolt with so much as a lift in the breeze; it was better to calm than scare him. ivy offered a shrug. ‘ i looked it up. there’s lots of meanings. it’s a fear of becoming unattractive. that, or i just need to go to the dentist. both are sensible. ’

        ‘ smokes are better when you sit, i think. ’ she moved to place her book on the ground by her feet, chin jerking briefly at the empty space beside her. ‘ maggots symbolise unfinished business and you saw jimi hendrix. got a bone to pick with someone who’s good at playing guitar? ’

“The dentist? Sensible? In this economy? I don’t fuckin’... think so,” Jude dismissed, cheeks hollowing subtly with the delivery of his next drag. “Dentists are evil. Fact.” Stare flitting back to her face, he found himself briefly stuck thinking about one of those miniature Russian dolls with the pink blush blotted on their white cheeks in perfect circles, eyes unblinking. He probably would’ve been apprehensive to even boop her on the nose, for fear of the porcelain cracking. Clearing his throat at the realisation that thinking about how delicate her features were was probably far beyond creepy, even if he didn’t mean it that way, Jude complied and took the seat besides her, kicking out his battered Dr. Martens in front of him. Struts of the bench behind biting against his spine, he returned his cigarette to his lips. “Nah, just been watching a lot of horror lately, I think. Dead bodies and shit. Brain’s probably close to an aneurysm. Begging for me to, uh... just once put on a Disney film. Won’t surrender, though. Committed to the cause.” Lifting the cigarette her way in offering should she smoke herself, Jude squinted slightly in thought. “I can play alright. Maybe that’s the, uh... plot twist. You’ll find me in a Denny’s parking lot later, aggressively hoofing my own ankle.”

Teddy and Jude didn’t really do the whole ‘serious talk’ thing. It was probably why their friendship worked so well, there was a back and forth, tit for tat banter that they had down to what Teddy would proudly call a professional level of understanding, that when it began to go down a serious path, the other would cut in with some trashy joke. It was probably the reason why Teddy cut in with a monotone, “This song sucks ass,” as Selena Gomez crooned poorly in the background, used to needing to jump in and stop Jude when he got to the mindset that had him rambling in flustered hesitance. But it seemed to fly over Jude’s head as he continued to stutter out his garbled sentences, so Teddy ducked his head once more as he listened. The momentary eye contact felt a bit much, and even if he was upset with Jude it felt like Teddy was the one undeserving of the intimate moment, like he’d guilted it out of his friend. Teddy was used to people leaving him at this point, and he knew how to handle it as if it were a fine art critics longed to see and applaud. It’d been his life up until a certain age, but somewhere along the line he’d grown soft once he’d been introduced to the ideal lifestyle of a permanent family and a set of friends that actually cared. Maybe that’s what it came down to after the first week of hearing nothing from Jude that had Teddy sitting cross legged on his bed at 3 AM, staring at his phone and praying it’d light up the dark room he was alone in. He’d never admit it out of fear of sounding too clingy, but a large part of him had worried that Jude and Blake had run off and transferred - to NYU or god knows where else - and had left Teddy in the dust. Too much drama, too much energy, too much, too much, too much. As upset as he had been, as he was, there was a large relief that washed over him, a tension that dropped from his shoulders when he heard Jude apologize and admit that Teddy was his best friend and he wanted to make it up to him. “Yeah,” he mumbled, nodding solemnly at Jude’s declaration. Usually, Teddy would’ve insisted the opposite, or at least thrown the cunt title on himself as well to make his friend feel better, but it felt kinda good to just poke at Jude a bit. That was kinda cunty. “I’m still really upset at you,” Teddy announced, before taking another step forward and pulling Jude into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that’d left Teddy breathless the first time someone loved him enough to hold him so carefully while simultaneously holding him close. It kinda felt like maybe Jude needed that right then and there. Jude could’ve destroyed the world and Teddy would’ve still gone to the ends of the earth to heal a papercut his friend received during the process, “but I still really missed you.” As close as Teddy and Jude were, he couldn’t even remember the last time the two had hugged each other like this. If ever. Or in general. Teddy wondered how often Jude received any sort of platonic intimacy all in all, and it only made him squeeze the other tighter, just for a moment before pulling back, hands still grasping Jude’s biceps, “Whatever happened must’ve… been rough, so I’m sorry that happened to you. But you’d been gone so long I was getting used to the idea that I’d never see you again, so… yeah. You do have to make it up to me.” Bringing his hand up to his lips to take a drag, Teddy realized the spliff he’d snatched from Jude in cold blood had apparently slipped from his grip. It wasn’t all that surprising, he had just been holding onto Jude like he was the last water bottle in the Sahara desert, and his fingers were frozen to the point of being numb from the cold New York Winter air, “Oh. I lost your joint. Sorry,” he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Come inside with me. We’re gonna take a shot.”

Shoulders drooping slightly when Teddy only agreed with his self deprecating statement, Jude silently stared into space, beginning to become convinced that he’d actually managed to fuck everything up for good. He had a habit of that, so it wouldn’t be all that surprising. “He’s always getting in the way, Jack.” Of holidays. Of orgies on the rug in the front room. Of the man with the waxed moustache that would squat on top of the coffee table just to make his thigh muscles bulge, erecting a Bic lighter beneath a carefully positioned tablespoon. His parent’s loft had always been something more worthy of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline -- furnished with angular faces and dark, dusty corners -- than a home for a child to grow up in. Maybe that was why he was like this, he decided. Maybe he’d never actually be able to maintain anything normal because he wasn’t normal, because he couldn’t be. About to nod in quiet defeat as Teddy repeated that he was upset with him, what came next was almost enough to wind him. He’d been expecting a lot of things -- a shove, maybe, which he agreed he deserved, or a wordless exit so he’d be left out there again, alone in the cold. Not this, though. Not a hug. Frozen in place like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands, Jude only realised he’d started holding his breath when a slight throb began in his temple, dizziness pickling his brain like a vat of hastily dumped vinegar. Letting out an awkward breath of laughter in the face of such unfamiliar affection, it took another five seconds before he hesitantly returned the gesture, entire nervous system pinging with a constant influx of fresh alerts. The last time he’d been this close to anyone, it was Saskia. He’d tried to brush some of her hair out of her eyes only for her to roll them skyward and shove his hand back. He would never admit it out loud, but it was actually kind of nice -- hugging Teddy, like this. Like a physical acknowledgement that somebody cared about him. He’d never really gotten any of those, before. “Yeah,” he mumbled in return, his own shoddy way of telling Teddy that he missed him, too, without actually having to say it out loud. Somewhat annoyed with himself for the small knot he’d grown in his throat within the past minute or so, Jude awkwardly bowed his head down once Teddy pulled away, not sure whether he was prepared to look at him yet. He couldn’t even bring himself to comment when Teddy mentioned back home, so focused on maintaining his cool that to speak would’ve shattered it completely. Lopsided smile tugged into place when Teddy suggested a drink, a limp nod of his head saw him clearing his throat. “Good thing you, uh... Good thing you stopped hugging me when you did,” he began, ignoring the subtle strain in his voice and praying that Teddy would, too, until it wasn’t noticeable any more. “Fuckin’... three more seconds and I might’ve popped a boner. Would’ve really complicated things, I think. It’s just this lighting. Looking very... Hugh Grant, tonight.” First glimmer of genuine amusement creeping in in what felt like months at the reference, Jude tossed him a glance before he clapped a hand down gently onto his shoulder, nodding inside and pushing off to begin the walk. “Better hit the fuckin’ road before I start snarling on all fours. Just... rabid. All eyes on the prize.”

it was always vaguely awkward between them, and levi hadn’t ever quite bothered to make an effort to overcome that, but it felt like it might be worth it. partly it was because it intrigued him how jude fit into the blake and teddy system, and maybe a tiny bit of it was just because it didn’t seem like it’d be a bad idea to be on more positive terms with at least one of blake’s best friends, given the state of things. still, it didn’t seem easy, the differences between them glaringly obvious. “yeah, sure, decent sounds like the right way to describe it,” he replied, taking a drag of his cigarette as the wheels of his brain sped up trying to find common ground for small talk. “it’s been… just as dramatic as this place’s ever been, don’t think anyone’s ever been to class. i mean, i go to class and it takes me forever to catch up with things, so i assume most people are just here for the drama, you know?” he trailed off, realizing he was just talking to fill the silence without really saying anything. “heard homeless kenny got rid of another raccoon in a fist fight and like, saved some girl’s life or something, so that’s probably the most important thing you missed out on. and it snowed super bad, like, twice that i can recall.”

Watching with the baited breath of a child with its face pushed up against the glass of a fish tank, Jude monitored Levi’s expression with a hint of amusement hiding in his own. He supposed it wasn’t funny, really, the fact that Levi had always seemed about as keen on Jude as a professional chef with a microwave dinner, but the lack of a reason why always roused some form of awkward laughter from the back of his throat. Or it would have, at least, if he’d been in any condition to laugh, recently. Sitting his spliff between his subtly chapped lips, the cherry winked amber towards the conclusion of Levi’s rambling. “Homeless Kenny’s a veteran. I reckon we should erect a statue, in his honour. Or a plaque, maybe. Either, or.” Reaching up with the hand still gently clamping the free cigarette between two fingers, he thumbed at his tear duct to dispel an itch, other eye scrunched in subconscious reflex. “You don’t, uh... like me very much, do you?” Far too high to fret over the fact that it might not have necessarily been appropriate to bring it up point blank, Jude flicked the stub of his spliff down to the floorboards, Dr. Marten grinding it afterwards. “Is it...” trailed off as he slipped into thought, eyebrows furrowing slightly in concentration. He’d tried racking his brain over the topic in the past, conscious that Blake might secretly share the same opinion, but had given up rather fast when he got tired of searching. “Dunno. Is it 'cause I’m close with Teddy, or...? Never really fuckin’... got it, to be honest. Have I said something shitty?”

Blake nodded as Jude handed him a cigarette after some time, placing it between his lips and keeping his eyes on the other as he lit it with his Zippo. Flicking the lighter shut rather obnoxiously and pocketing it, he barely reacted to the unfortunate situation that took place right in front of him. “Shit. You been listening to Gloomy Sunday on repeat or something? Getting some serious Bird Box vibes,” he mumbled, gesturing toward Jude rather dramatically. The lines he had earlier in one of the designated rooms had made him rather jittery and uncharacteristically talkative, so he quickly inhaled smoke in order to shut himself up, blowing it into the air after a long pause. “You look like shit,” he said quietly. “I’m not gonna lecture you. Sure you got enough of that from Teddy. He seemed rather distraught about your disappearance,” Blake mumbled. “Was doing my own thing and couldn’t keep in touch with anyone, so didn’t know you were gone until I got back a few weeks ago. I have no intention on holding a grudge over something that didn’t really affect me.” Clearing his throat, eyes narrowing slightly at the other. “But like — I mean, I’m not gonna tell you what to do or whatever, but Teddy’s not mad at you because of selfish reasons, like you left him out on some… interesting gossip or something. He was really fucking worried about you, so the least you can do is offer him an explanation beyond whatever the fuck you went with. What was it? Family stuff?” Eyes darting all over the other’s face like he couldn’t find a place to steel his gaze, he finally settled on a spot between his brows, shaky hand flicking invisible ash from the end of his cigarette. “Life fucking sucks, Jude. It really does. Don’t fuck up the good in it, you know? That’s all.”

Still staring off into space after his lost comrade in arms, Jude clenched his back molars together slightly once Blake noted his appearance, tension becoming more evident in his jaw. It was the only flicker of life he’d given anyone since he, in much simpler terms, ‘went overboard’ back at home, and even just the realisation of that was enough to have him fidgeting uncomfortably against the railing. Blake had a way of getting under his skin like not many did. “Alright,” he landed on, too exhausted to muster up the effort to throw shit back. Lifting his eyebrows slightly as Blake unravelled his extravagant take on the matter, Jude imagined a short pointer stick in his hand and a whiteboard hanging behind him, front porch transformed into his very own lecture theatre. Because he was, after all, lecturing him, even when he’d just specifically stated that he wouldn’t. “Contrary fuckin’ Mary,” slipped out below his breath, hand briefly cropping up to tiredly massage his eyes with his thumb and finger before he blinked a few times, re-acquainting himself with the image of Blake ranting his cheeks blue before him. “Look, I know th--” he attempted to cut in somewhere before the ‘he was really fucking worried about you’, although all he managed to do was drown out the sentence and further highlight the one after that would’ve already packed a punch as it was. It sounded louder, somehow -- like Blake had funnelled his hands around his mouth to say it, echoing out with all the bravado of an amphitheatre. What was it? Family stuff? Stare immediately shooting up to meet his, Jude set his jaw. “Look, Blake, no offence, but you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Alright? So let’s just... go inside,” he suggested, already beginning to straighten out his shoulders so that he could properly stand and hopefully begin to manoeuvre them in. “Cold out here, anyway. My nipples are erect. Starting to look like Monica Geller.”

        ‘ just stop a minute. ’ not a request but a command, punctuated by the raise of ivy’s hand into the midday air. legs stretched out catlike from the bench. her eyes darted back only a moment to shut the book in her lap. capital, volume iii. not much of a read, it was dry enough to make her weep. when her eyes came to meet the passerby’s again it remained on their features, studying them. ‘ sit. tell me, what’d you dream of last night? i dreamed that my teeth fell out again. ’

Thumbing along his tear duct to quell an itch that wasn’t there, Jude loitered before her like he wasn’t quite sure if he was planning on staying or running for the hills. There was something off about him, something on edge -- he’d blame the hangover, if anyone asked. “Your teeth? Sounds, uh... Sounds more like a prophecy than a dream, to me. Treasure those pearlies while you still can, I guess.” Eyeing the spot on the bench next to her, Jude slowly worked to produce a cigarette rather than taking a seat -- it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just that the mere thought of taking a step to accomplish it felt like too much of an exertion of effort. “Maggots,” he mumbled eventually, freshly lit cigarette bobbing between his lips with the weight of the syllables. “And Jimi Hendrix, actually.”