THE MOUNTAIN TOP

‘ don’t be a stranger. ’

‘ i don’t think i can. ’ 

‘ don’t say that. ’

‘ you don’t have to go. ’

‘ don’t be what they made you. ’

‘ you don’t have to be anyone’s hero. ’

‘ why don’t you stay right here? ’ 

‘ don’t you trust me? ’

‘ you don’t have to be on your own. ’

‘ i don’t like to think about it. ’

‘ you don’t get to make that call. ’

‘ don’t act like you care. ’

‘ we don’t think alike. ’

‘ you don’t need to worry about that. ’

‘ i don’t know why. ’ 

‘ you don’t mean that. ’

‘ you don’t have to tell me. ’

‘ i don’t trust many people. ’

‘ i don’t have a family anymore. ’

‘ you don’t care what they think. ’

Finally, she straightens, giving him a once-over of her own; slower almost deliberate. “Heal up,” she says, not unkindly. “RAW’s duller without you stirring the pot.” A pause, then that familiar edge returns. “Just don’t get comfortable watching from the sidelines. I’d hate to think you forgot how much better it feels when people are actually at your throat.” A beat as she hesitates like the thought catches her off guard, then tilts her head, studying him more clinically now. Not a rival, not a thorn, but a competitor who hates not knowing the finish line.

" i don't know, " shocking honesty, it doesn't suit him, but he speaks it nevertheless. sits in the shadow of it and huffs his way back towards the light. to where her appraising eyes have something more ready to pick apart. lacking the weight of his tired disappointment, all that's left is this ; a bitter, starving man. hungry beyond the aforementioned attention he's always, always craved. " that tickle your pickle ? " slouched, his lean sinks generous, head lulling back to stare at the figure she carves, inverted and judgmental. " i don't have a damn clue when they're gonna pull the red tape. " let him back in without a leashed collar and stipulations.

hunter protects his investments no matter how loud they argued.

that's something he ought've learned another life ago. when the limb in question wasn't the wing trapped in its bend and an aching knee reminds him how long that had taken him to bounce back from. she wouldn't understand — only.. she would. in the here and now, his shoulder tingling from disuse and fingers wiggling their way into a loose fist, she was the only one who could understand.

The stitching holding the Carhartt logo onto that fanny pack is coming undone. There's a patch that will soon be a hole. As always, he wears his clothes down to nothing before he retires them. The only thing he never skimps on is shoes. A hurt foot? That's the last thing you want fucked up, and he's not keen to deal with it.

"You're a little overdressed for today," he needles, a fond rasp. "But that's never stopped you before, so the hell am I even saying?"

The occasion? A minor league baseball game. The reason? Hell if he knows, publicity stunt?

He just wants a hot dog. Or three.

There aren't any fancy boxes at this stadium, but there's a nice private level with an outdoor patio, and in this beautiful weather, that can't be beaten.

that arm retreats and, as if to regain his own footing, he's shaking his head. looses that curl again, out of spite. or maybe, if he's honest for once, it's a test to see if mox'll reach back in and do it again.

seth doesn't care for baseball. it's tedious and slow, the action coming in spurts where the trill of some pig skin keeps the adrenaline pumping. but his phone is at eighty percent, wide brim of a dark hat working to shield the screen he abuses with tapping thumbs and one doom-scrolling slide after another.

" if they get distracted enough to make this interesting, you owe me a trip to the nearest waffle house. " he won't look too closely at the fact that he'd never enjoyed the food there but knew that jon did. under a tower of pancakes and half a pot of black coffee, it was a good look for him. better than this one. that battered pack wouldn't make it another summer. a sharp pair of scissors and the guy's best interest in mind, seth would make sure of it.

hhe was laid back, and relaxed. the viper made a small laugh. “ i am not here for that.” randy said, he was just wanting to have conversation. the viper wondered where did his retirement thing is coming from? gunther? maybe. randy sits down on the chair and he was keeping a respectful distance.

right ; not buying it.

" sure you're not, " tries to come with a laugh. it tries to turn itself into anything other than skepticism, but chuckles fail to stick the landing and soles are left in a quiet, hapless shuffle underneath. where skin feels tight and working his jaw only manages to put a timebomb of a pulse ticking at his temple. " and i was totally serious about retirement. " sarcasm, rich and fruitful, rises with his chin.

" the battery isn't even at fifty yet, man, " his body, however.. reality is a stiff shoulder and knees that click in the early morning hours when he walks. both things randy doesn't need to know about. so it's good seth's always been a skilled liar. cloaked in an illusion of acceptance doesn't a fool make him. that wide berth between them could grow a couple more paces, if anyone bothered to ask his opinion.