@kierankyleculkin
trent: yo iâm high af watching the news why they keep talking abt the straight of homos lol
kim: hey kim: did you text me accidentally?
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@kierankyleculkin
@kierankyleculkin
trent: yo iâm high af watching the news why they keep talking abt the straight of homos lol
kim: hey kim: did you text me accidentally?

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Item: A Thought Bubble Rarity: ⌠Uncommon
Has a game ever genuinely changed how you think about something?
Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.
yes it has and it's the sims. for a while i really wanted to become a video game designer between the age of 12 and 15 lol
Maybe he shouldn't have said that when he, just like everyone else in this room, knew January's story, and the last thing he would want was to sound like he was bragging. No, she knew him better than that; hard-working and ambitious as Eric was, he was a humble guy too. That's something his parents had made sure he would remember was a key to staying sane in the glamorous (yet rotten) world. His and January's experiences with it differed, to say the least, much.
A few things that happened next belonged to the same category as the kiss: she was an exception, and he felt perfectly comfortable with January being extra, so Eric wasn't looking for a polite way to get his personal space back. Figuratively, and maybe a little literally too, he leaned into that contact. "Yeah, it's been a while. Gotta work on that, or else people will only see me on their screens. But. Life's been bumpy, so I haven't had much time for socializing in general." Nor did he want to see anyone, but she probably read about it too, even though the divorce wasn't as messy as his marriage had been; luckily, they had managed to keep the messy part more or less between the two of them. "How... have you been, Jenny?"
Her lips curled into a smirk when he leaned in, it was almost comical how comfortable she was with him, as if it hasn't been years since the last time she's seen him.
âBumpy,â she repeated him with a chuckle, and didnât even pretend she hadnât heard the subtext. Divorce. Headlines. Everyoneâs favorite hobby: watching people fall apart tastefully. She tilted her head, taking a sip from her drink. âWell, at least you are here now,â January said with a smirk, her eyes flicking over his face.
âIâve been fine,â she said immediately. Too fast, almost like an instinct. âLike⌠fine-fine.â She nodded, trying to convince both of them. âStill partying,â she paused to take another sip, gesturing the glass she'd been holding. "Still drinking. Not much has changed." The more she spoke, the more she realized how pathetic she's just sounded. âNo drugs though. Thankfully,â she paused to correct herself. âWell. Not like⌠as often as I used to. My choice of poison is botox nowadays. A lot more socially acceptable, you know.â
She waved her hand dismissively, not wanting to talk about her sad life. It was quite pale and obviously boring compared to Eric's. She couldn't help but feel a little bit envious. âHow have you been, though? You know... with divorce and everything.â
"Yeah, well, you can always buy another car." And with the way he spent money, she wouldn't have been surprised if he had already found the time and energy to do so. "But it's not like you can buy another life. Unless you sold your soul to the devil or whatever, which I guess wouldn't be all that surprising."
Zoey let out an exasperated sigh. Now that the worry had subsided, anger settled in. Specifically, anger at his carelessness and lack of concern for himself. But she couldn't properly articulate what losing him permanently would have done to her, so she opted to care for him through his recovery. Actions spoke louder than words anyway.
"Have you even showered or, like, eaten anything besides takeout?" Judging from his appearance, she suspected the answer was no.
âYeah I guess I can,â he said, scratching Ferris behind the ears. âMaybe that would explain a few things. But I think even the devil wouldn't be interested in my soul.â A dry chuckle escaped from his lips before he glanced back at her, catching the look on her face. He knew that look. He had seen it enough times to know what she was about to do.
âDon't do that,â he said, his voice quiet. âTake care of me, I mean.â He looked away for a second, then back at her. âIâm not saying that to be a dick. I just...â He trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words. âI can't have you take care of me after everything I said.â His hand moved across the couch beside him, patting against the cushion.
âCan you come closer?â He waited a second before continuing, his eyes drifting back to Ferris. âIf youâre gonna stay, then Iâd rather we actually talk about what happened.â Another chuckle left his lips while Nick sighed at himself. âWe can't sit here and pretend like nothing happened.â
10 Things I Hate About You (1999) dir. Gil Junger

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Eric didn't have time or energy for parties like this one. They weren't as fun as they used to be years ago; he spent too much time away to keep up with how things changed between people, and he didn't want to listen about them. It used to be more fun when he wasn't constantly reminded about his reputation and how every drink and every snack mattered if someone caught him too drunk, or too cheat-day-mood, or literally too anything, and the media simply didn't like it. He couldn't even trust that someone wouldn't leak a random picture, so where's fun in attending a party like that?
His career was the only thing that Eric actually had going for him, a single thing he had managed to keep spotless, even if not everyone liked him, his portrayals, or movies. There would always be someone who didn't like something... But at least he was certain that people appreciated him as an artist. A hardworking, talented, bold artist.
So, Eric would never risk his career. That was clear.
He still attended the party.
Somewhere between his first drink and who-would-count-them finger foods, Eric spotted a familiar face making their way in his direction. Did he dare say the familiar face looked as stunning as the last time he saw her!
He barely stopped himself from "Yes way!" that he usually chose as a cheesy icebreaker. Who needed icebreakers when it was January? "I know I work a lot so you fear I might jump outta your fridge next time you open it, but I do have free time and sometimes I spend it like this." Eric chuckled and even though he wasn't the type to greet others with a kiss on the cheek, that's exactly how he greeted January. It was January! Of course, he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
Januaryâs smile stopped when he said âwork.â Her glory days flashed up, back when sheâd been on TV, and she laughed it off as if it didnât send her spiraling. Nothing came after the incident. Years later a reality pitch about a âwashed-up child starâ landed like a prank and vanished. She paid bills with tiny Netflix royalties and one polite hush check that she didn't even want to accept in the first place.
The cheek kiss landed and she was already laughing, already tipsy. She reached up and held his face with both hands like they were still the same two idiots from high school, her thumbs brushing his jaw. She let him go with another laugh, quickly realized she was being too much. But she was already a few drinks in, so she simply said fuck it and decided to double down instead of correcting it. She hooked her arm through his immediately, her other hand holding the wine glass. âI am glad you decided to show up. I havenât seen you in forever,â she said with a chuckle, eyes meeting with his. âExcept, on my screen but that doesn't count.â
@kierankyleculkin
âYou know, Iâm actually looking for someone to play a crucial role in my next productionââ He began, pompous and straight-faced as ever, âand I think youâd be perfect for it. Seriously. Youâve just got... that look.â For perhaps the first time ever, Eric looked at Valerie for longer than he usually deemed tolerable, as if he were genuinely contemplating putting her talentless, mediocre existence anywhere near the front of a camera. âThat creepy stalker girl look,â came the cutting punchline.
For a split second, Valerie let herself believe this might go differently. That maybe Eric was about to say something almost⌠nice. It was a stretch. A full fantasy, really. Still, she entertained the idea. It lasted about eight seconds. At this point, she wasnât even sure if it was a crush anymore or just pure fixation. Nothing she did seemed to land, and that alone made him impossible to ignore.
By the time Eric finished his sentence, she sighed softly, brushing her fingers along her chin before letting her hand drop.
âWow,â she said with a small, forced chuckle, as if she was actually intrigued. âI think this is the first time anyoneâs ever called me that,â she paused, lips pressing together. This was obviously a bit, and Valerie was more than willing to commit. âThank you, though,â she added, âBut I have a fear of cameras.â
A complete lie. And not even a good one.
She told herself sheâd just stay for twenty minutes.
Long enough to show her face, hug whoever needed hugging, disappear before anyone could ask anything that required a real answer. It sounded reasonable in the Uber. It sounded even better when she said it out loud to no one, digging through her bag for a lipgloss she already knew was there.
By the time she got inside, sheâd forgotten why sheâd bothered setting a limit at all.
Someone pulled her into a hug that lasted a second too long. Someone else handed her a drink like theyâd been waiting for her specifically, which felt unlikely but nice enough to accept. She drifted more than moved. From one group of people to another, having a mindless chatter, pretending to listen, laughing at things she only half heard. It wasnât the worst. The booze helped too.
She was in the middle of a conversation with an influencer that she didn't even remember meeting. That's when she saw Eric. Her eyes narrowed a little, taking a better look of him. She stilled for a second, her body needed to catch up with what her brain had already figured out. January didnât look away immediately. Just watched him for a moment, trying to place which version of him this was. He looked⌠good. A little tired, maybe. A little thinner around the edges. Or maybe that was just her projecting. She realized she was smiling and wasnât entirely sure why.
âI will be right back,â she said to the influencer, fully knowing she certainly wasn't going to be back. By the time he noticed her, she was already walking over.
âNo way!â January said, sounding a little bit too excited, as if no time had passed at all. @reevezs
trent: WTF trent: fr?????? trent: đ¤Żđ¤Żđ¤Ż trent: [after being left on read for several minutes] trent: VAL
valerie: calm down valerie: i was on a call with olaf valerie: yeah!! i dont know where he found my number because i told will not to give it to him valerie: oh well valerie: he asked about where you live lol so random
text: trent
valerie: ian just texted me valerie: and he asked about you omg

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"Okay," she responded with a curt nod. "I'll stay."
Maybe it was the alcohol impairing her judgment. Maybe she would regret this in the morning. But there wasn't a chance in hell that Zoey was going to leave him to fend for himself now that she could see the damage for herself. She wanted to ask him if the crash hadn't been less of an accident and more like poor impulse control, but she was afraid to hear the answer.
She was suddenly wishing that she had drunk something stronger than wine before she came over. Things weren't automatically back to normal because she had showed up for him. She wasn't even sure if they would ever be able to go back to the way things used to be. There was still a bitter taste left in her mouth. But it was hard to keep that animosity when she looked at him and remembered the good times they had together.
"I'm glad you're okay. You know, relatively speaking."
Nick nodded slowly, trying not to put too much meaning into her words. Yes, she was going to stay but it could be out of pity. He still didnât quite know what to do with the fact. He had wanted it, obviously. But now that it was actually happening, his brain had already skipped ahead. If he was lucky, maybe they would find their way back into some version of the routine they used to have. Sheâd stay over. Ferris would start following her around again. They would fall into the same rhythm and the last two months had just been a nasty detour.
Then what?
He loved her. She didnât love him the same way. Nothing about that had changed. They would just ruin each other all over again, only this time with the added humiliation of having seen it coming. He would let himself have that knowing all too well he was supposed to leave for rehab in a few months, move to Austin and start grad school. So, what was the point of letting her back in?
Unless he was stupid enough to think this time would end differently. Which, to be fair, he probably was.
âYeah,â he said. âRelatively speaking.â His eyes flickered between the sling and the bruising on his arm. It was hard to tell what looked worse, the visible injuries or the general state of him. He looked back at her, shrugging his one good shoulder. âIâm sure the car would disagree,â he added, forcing a chuckle.
The joke didnât land. It just sat there between them.
"I don't know how telling you that I hate you would make things any better," she mumbled. "You already look like shit; you shouldn't have to feel like shit on top of that."
Zoey didn't know what do. Apparently, whatever she had to say would just make things worse. It didn't help that he wasn't as defensive as he had been the last time they spoke. Like there was no fight left in him. Not that she wanted to fight, but she wanted something to know that he wouldn't put himself in that kind of situation again. Nick never did seem to care much about his own well-being. The longer she sat there listening to him, the more she believed that he had intentionally crashed his car.
"I don't know what you want me to say. Honestly, I'm surprised you even let me in. I thought you would shut the door in my face and tell me to fuck off." She tried to laugh, but it only sounded sad and pathetic. "I feel like I tried to spare your feelings by ending things, but it just made things worse."
She finally gave him a long and hard look over on the couch, really taking him in for the first time in months. If the sling, cuts, and bruises that were visible were any indication, the damage was probably worse under his clothes. She didn't know how he was managing by himself. It didn't feel right to be in the same room and have all this space between them. Like they were practically strangers. They hardly even felt like strangers that first night they met.
"Do you want me to stay?" She already knew the answer, but she felt compelled to ask anyway.
âYou probably did,â Nick said with a bitter chuckle. âTry to spare my feelings, I mean.â He swallowed. âI just wasnât exactly in a place to appreciate the gesture.â It wouldâve been easy to say she was wrong, or to make some bitter comment about how great that plan had turned out. A few weeks ago, maybe even a few days ago, he probably would have. But he was too tired now, and too aware of how much of this had happened because of his own talent for making everything worse than it already was.
âI do,â he said, smiling a little for the first time in a really long time. Although, his relief was quickly replaced with worry. Because staying for the night was one thing. Morning was another. So was tomorrow. And the day after that. He had no idea what this was supposed to mean now, if it meant anything at all. Whether this was just Zoey doing what Zoey always did, showing up when things got bad, or if he was stupid enough to read more into it just because he wanted to.
âYou know I do,â he added after a moment, a dry laugh left his lips.
"Well, mission accomplished," she commended, dryly. "You know what they say. Drunk words are just sober thoughts." His words had hurt more than she wanted to admit. It took a lot to cut her deep, and Nick just plunged the knife right in with ease. That was probably her own fault for giving him the proper ammunition. Another reminder why she never bothered to open up to people or get close to them in the first place.
Though she wasn't one to hold grudges, she wanted to hold onto that resentment to avoid falling into the same trap. The state that he was in was making that more difficult. Zoey already felt guilty for ending things the way that she did, but hearing just how badly it had affected Nick caused a lump to form in her throat. This was what she had been trying to avoid, sparing them from the inevitable pain when the relationship eventually imploded. But in doing so, she just caused more heartache, and now she was left wondering if she was the reason he was in this mess.
She didn't know how to react to his casual confession. Her mouth opened but no words came out. Part of her knew how she felt and how she should respond, but the other, more sensible, part of her knew it was best to keep quiet. She could only release a shaky sigh and sink further into her chair.
"Like I said, we don't have to talk about it. That's not why I came over. Your sister called, told me what happened, and I think I just sort of blacked out after that. She wanted me to check on you, obviously, but I think I would've done that anyway. Old habits die hard, I guess," she said with a shrug. "And I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could."
âYeah,â he said, looking down for a second. âApparently.â He didnât argue with the drunk words line, he didnât have much ground to stand on there. The worst part was that she wasnât entirely wrong. Those texts hadnât come out of nowhere. They had come from an ugly place, from the part of him that knew exactly where to aim when he wanted to cause damage. Being drunk had just made it easier to pull the trigger.
He just sat there, staring at the wooden floor, suddenly noticing a tiny crack. It would have been easier if she hated him. He had already said that much. This was worse in a different way. It felt less deserved.
âThatâs kind of the problem, though, isnât it?â he said finally, voice quieter now. âYou always know how to say something that should make me feel better, and somehow it just makes me feel worse.â He glanced up at her, but not holding her gaze for long. âHearing that from you doesnât exactly make me feel less like a piece of shit.â He shifted slightly against the couch, but quickly stopped when his shoulder reminded him not to push it.
âIâm not saying that to make this your problem,â he added. âOr to do that thing where I act like showing up means everythingâs magically fine. It doesnât.â He shook his head, glancing away once again. âI justâŚâ He exhaled, still avoiding her gaze. âIâm glad youâre here, even though I know I donât deserve it.â
She was a little surprised by how easily he surrendered instead of picking another fight, but it was clear that neither of them had the energy for it. Still, she didn't make the effort to move close and comfort him. It was an instinctive response that she was suppressing because it had been two months with no communication, and they hadn't exactly ended on a cordial note. But now that he was in front of her, it felt like no time had passed at all. It would have been a lie to say that she didn't miss him â not just sleeping with him but actually being with him.
Zoey avoided his gaze, choosing to focus on her hands in her lap. Her intention had been to make sure he was okay and to see him for herself. It felt like the only way to relieve herself of the anxiety of worrying about him, but she didn't consider having to address the elephant in the room.
"It's not about whether or not I owe you anything," she remarked, shifting in her seat. "Look, it's fine. We don't have to talk about it. I figured you were probably on something when you sent those texts anyway. For what it's worth, you didn't say anything I didn't already think myself."
He swallowed hard as she spoke, grimacing at the memory. If she had thrown the whole thing back in his face, maybe he could have hidden behind the usual defenses and acted like he deserved it, which he did. But hearing her say it like that only made his guilt worse. âDonât,â he said, shaking his head slowly.
âI didn't mean any of that. I was fucked up and trying to hurt you. I picked the worst things I could think of and sent them anyway because I wanted them to hurt.â He looked away, his attention drifting somewhere past the coffee table, past Ferris, anywhere but her face. âYou were so good at acting like I didnât exist,â he said after a moment. âMaybe that wasnât even an act. Maybe you really were fine. I donât know. But I wasnât.â
He cleared his throat, his voice cracking a little.
âI couldnât do it. I couldnât stop thinking about you. I tried to ignore you, obviously. For the sake of my dignity. It just... didnât take.â He let out a dry laugh. âEvery time my phone went off, I looked. Every time it didnât, I still looked. Which was pathetic, but I was so desperate to get a reaction. I wanted you to text me back and call me a fucking asshole or tell me to go to hell. Just something. Anything, really. Because the silence was worse. If you were angry, I could tell myself you still felt something.â
He fell quiet for a moment before continuing. âMaybe some part of me thought it would be easier if you hated me. It wouldâve been something. I couldâve worked with that.â He looked at her finally, tightening his jaw. âBecause it was getting pretty obvious you were never gonna love me the way I loved you.â
Zoey noticeably rolled her eyes. She could only keep her composure for so long; she just didn't think they would devolve into this so quickly. The wine she had earlier in the night certainly wasn't helping with that. To actually hear him say that he thought she wanted him to die caused her chest to ache. It hurt that he thought so little of her, regardless of how they had ended things.
"Were you even listening to me during our conversation? I never said I didn't care about you, and even if I did, I wouldn't want you to fucking die. Jesus, Nick." She noticed Ferris, sitting next to Nick on the couch, perk up as he sensed the heightened emotions. It gave her time to pause instead of pushing. Those text messages had hurt, as was the intention, but she didn't actually believe that he meant it. He had clearly been on something and hurting.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't care," she admitted.
Nick fell silent after her words, chewing the inside of his cheek. He felt Ferris shifting a little, getting even closer to him. He looked down at his dog before dragging a hand over his face and exhaled hard.
âI know,â he said finally. The fight went out of his voice, being replaced with something he couldn't exactly pinpoint. Shame? Exhaustion? Maybe a little bit of both. His eyes lifted back to hers, and that did it, his expression softened almost immediately. âI justâŚâ He shook his head, voice low. âItâs easier to believe you showed up because you felt obligated than because you actually still give a shit.â He cleared his throat, trying to regain some sort of composure.
âThatâs not me saying you owe me anything,â he added, rougher now. âItâs me saying I know exactly why you shouldnât.â

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Zoey did the math in her head; it was hard to forget. Two weeks ago he had sent her those text messages. Her best guess was that he had sent them before his accident since there wasn't a chance in hell he sent those when he was sober. Nick probably went on a binge until the inevitable happened. Fortunately, it was just the accident and not anything worse.
She didn't say anything, just let him explain. It was best to tread lightly. She didn't want to bring up the text messages and turn this already uncomfortable interaction into something more volatile. The entire purpose of the visit was to make sure he was okay.
But then he offered her an out and his words â intentionally or not â launched a tidal wave of guilt and anger that washed over her.
"Wow," she scoffed in disbelief. Zoey felt like she had been punched in the stomach and it probably showed on her face. Still, she kept a tame temperament. At least, she tried. She didn't raise her voice, but there was definitely a hint of venom. "Did the crash give you brain damage too? You seriously think I want you dead? Oh, well, I guess I am a sociopath, right?"
His jaw tightened as he listened to her, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. He looked away for a second, exhaling hard through his nose, trying not to say anything without thinking. "You made it pretty clear before that you didnât care about me." His eyes flicked back to hers, then away again just as quickly.
âAnd after what I saidâŚâ He paused, swallowing hard. âI wouldnât exactly blame you if that still hadnât changed.â He let out a dry laugh, mostly at the absurdity of their situation. The fact she was actually here, after everything they went through and somehow Nick was supposed to believe they were nothing more than just friends. âWhen you show up here acting like you still give a shit, I donât really know what Iâm supposed to do with that.â
By sitting down, Zoey knew she was committing herself to staying longer than a quick check-in required, and maybe that was really what she wanted. A reason to stay. She wasn't a complete monster; she still cared about him regardless of the things he had said to her. The invitation in his house was enough for her to assume that he wanted her there as well.
She opted to sit in a chair instead of joining him on the couch, but she still felt too unsure to make herself comfortable. She still couldn't shake the anxiety that came with that phone call. Seeing him didn't do much to quell that concern. For as long as she had known him, Nick had a tendency to be reckless and a penchant for destruction. Sometimes it was like holding up a mirror to herself. But when they were together, those behaviors seemed to subside for both of them.
"Emily didn't tell me much. She mentioned something about a car accident but made it seem pretty serious. I think she probably thought I already knew." It was a bit surprising that Richie hadn't spilled the details to the rest of their siblings about the argument and subsequent break up between Nick and Zoey. Maybe it wasn't that important. Maybe they wouldn't have cared either way, knowing how uninvolved they were with his life. "When did this even happen?"
Nick watched her as she sat down on the chair instead of the couch, which wasn't really surprising, after everything he doubted she would want to be anywhere near him. Two months ago they were sitting on this exact couch together, he was distracting her with his impatient kisses. Now it felt like a distant memory.
âTwo weeks ago,â he said. âGive or take.â Right after the texts I sent you. He couldn't bring himself to remind her, not that he thought she forgot but he still couldn't say it. âNot serious enough to kill me, obviously.â The line came out drier than he intended. Or maybe exactly as dry as he intended. Hard to tell anymore. âIt was late. I was high and drunk. I was speeding,â he said with a bitter chuckle.
That wasnât the whole story, obviously. They both knew that. Or at least he assumed she did. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, already irritated with himself for saying even that much. âEmily probably thought you knew because I haven't talked to her a for a while,â he muttered. âOr maybe she thought dragging you into it is somehow gonna fix me.â That one came out sharper than he meant it to. He felt guilty immediately after, irritating in its predictability. He exhaled and looked back at her, quieter this time.
âIâm not saying I didnât want you here. But Iâd understand if you wanted to go. You probably hate me. Maybe youâre even disappointed to see that Iâm still alive.â