tried to kill myself at least a dozen times

Reunited nd it feeeelz sew gud|| Knowa and Brad

Mm, the idea of sleep is tempting, too tempting, but Knowa doesn't want to. Brad is one of the first people he realised helped him sleep, made it possible, but he doesn't want to spend the first few hours of their time together passed the fuck out in his apartment because he's too much of a brat to admit that he needs help when he spends all of his time in the attic. Instead, he lays on the couch, feet on the arm of it and his head in Brad's lap. He smiles up at him, eyes warm and features soft, because he finally feels proper again. He feels less like a fraction and more like an actual human being. It's refreshing, like opening a window after a storm and sucking in the rain-heavy air. Brad is his rain, washing him clean, covering him, protecting him from the lightning that shatters the sky into a million pieces, threatening to do the same with Knowa. He finally feels safe. He reaches up, long fingers curling gently around the under side of Brad's jaw, thumb on his chin. He wipes the sharp stubble there, listening to the scritchscritchscritch of it, and his full mouth curls upwards into a smile once more. "I feel proper when I'm with you," he tells him. "Like I'm me again."

Reunited nd it feeeelz sew gud|| Knowa and Brad

Knowa is fully aware of the state of Brad's apartment; he's not sure that he's ever seen it clean, but it doesn't bother him. It's Brad's room, and it suits him - even if the syringes and pills laying around make him sad upon occasion, makes him wonder. It would have been much easier to properly kill himself in this day-and-age rather than living forever with the bitter taste of a failed attempt in the back of his throat. He can't help a raspy giggle when Brad says, 'Nope' in response to his question. He feels like a child but perhaps that's what he needs; to be babied, just for a little while. He won't complain if Brad is the one to do the babying. He rests his cheek on Brad's bony shoulder, watching the hallways flicker passed through lidded eyes. He's so tired. He hasn't been able to sleep since he disappeared, and sleeping was so nice. So nice. They reach Brad's floor and Knowa's been lulled into something calm by Brad's easy, rhythmic gait. His fingers are laced on Brad's shoulder so that he doesn't fall, legs crossed at Brad's back, bare feet moving slightly as Brad does. "I'm tired," he says softly, more of a comment to hear his own voice rather than alert Brad to it. He wants to sleep, desperately, but he also wants to spend time with Brad. Will coffee work? Probably not. Worth a shot. "But I missed you, so I don't want to sleep. Or try to sleep. Okay?"

Reunited nd it feeeelz sew gud|| Knowa and Brad

Knowa takes a deep breath, like he's breathing in the scent of Brad's skin, memorising him - not like he already hadn't, though. Brad asks if they should move out of the hallway and he nods, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Can we go to yours please?" he whispers, looking down at their chests, lashes fanned across his cheeks. He doesn't feel comfortable being in his room, both because it once held Charlie, and secondly because it's filthy. "Mine's too dirty." Surely, Brad's isn't much cleaner but it doesn't have memories there. It doesn't have memories of watching Charlie wake up, slow and sleepy, or the soft, warm, clothed kisses through Charlie's mask. He rests his head on Brad's shoulder for a few seconds, fingers playing idly with his friends hair, before he makes moves to try and get down from Brad's arms. "You can let me go now," he murmurs, loosening his legs. He likes being held by Brad, likes it a lot, but he feels guilty making Brad carry him to his apartment. "We can walk together?" Knowa decides that, when they walk, he will hold Brad's hand, lace their fingers together. Let him know that he's really not going to leave again to the best of his abilities.

.

ooc. flaps hand around kess will para with u <8

ooc: shall I start?

ooc. it'd be gr8 if you could (this is kess' writer jsyk)

Reunited nd it feeeelz sew gud|| Knowa and Brad

Reunited nd it feeeelz sew gud|| Knowa and Brad

Brad's greeting is somewhere in the expected-and-unexpected reaction. He'd expected excitement, yes, but to be snatched from the ground like a tiny sparrow and all the air huffed out of him, that's a different story. Not that he's complaining. Instinctively, he wraps his arms around Brad's neck, giggling huskily into his hair and squeezing his friend equally as tight, bringing his legs up around Brad's waist and holding on like a bear cub. It feels right to be in Brad's arms, in his company. To hear his voice. He regrets leaving, regrets it so much as he buries his face into Brad's neck like a kitten greeting its counterpart. He feels a lump forming in his throat and makes a low, low noise to ease it away. He will not cry. He won't allow it. He's not been this happy in a long, long time and he won't ruin it by being an overemotional girl. Victoria and Adrian chatter quietly in the back of his skull but he's gained control now; he's finally figured out how to keep them from getting out, from taking his body. They were as depressed as he was during the past summer months. "I missed you," he says, and his voice still sounds foreign even to himself. "I missed you, I missed you, I missed you." It becomes a chant as the tears build in his throat again, as he kisses across Brad's face like a mother welcoming home a child who was gone for a very long time. He kisses Brad's forehead, leaves his lips there, "I missed you so much."

I love cake!

Me too. Well, I did. I don’t eat much cake these days. I’m Sera, by the way.

He hasn't heard his name in eons, it feels. Not since Charlie left. When Charlie went away, Knowa's world became void. He melted into the background and retreated to the eaves in the attic, where he spent the majority of his time sulking and brooding. He's not sure why he came down to his old room today, of all days. It still hurts to be here. Still feels like Charlie is lingering in the walls. Everything is dusty as he meanders through the apartment, an invisible apparition. The only sign that he's there is the soft marks his bare feet leave in the grime on the floorboards. But then, there it is. His name. A question. Words on a familiar voice, from a well-known mouth and perhaps one of his favourite people. Brad. He's here. He slithers through a wall because he doesn't have the will-power to walk slowly, calmly around the apartment to the front door - which is where he feels like Brad is, unless he's already left. His stomach drops with the thought but as he crosses through another wall he sees him. Long, stringy hair, worn, tired face. The scruff around his chin. He smiles, flickers into something solid, and hopes that he doesn't look as bad as he feels. "I'm here," he says, and his voice is harsh from disuse and smoking whenever he finds a pack someone left carelessly on their dining table. He feels real again, alive almost. He's not let himself be visible in months. "I'm here," he says again, and this time it's more to himself. He's real. He's Knowa. He exists.

I love cake!