* ʙɪɢ / 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕘!

        what always seemed to feel settled with shiloh–what always kept him from resorting instantly to walking away and not giving a shit about whether they moved in the roundabout manner in which they did–was that freya, like him, had fallen so weightlessly into a routine; something to hold onto and come back to. he could lose her in an instant, he knew. in the same way that it was entirely possible for her to lose him. but the likelihood of that ever happening was slim to none, if only due to the fact that they, like tightly stretched rubber bands, couldn’t help but crash back into each other once enough pressure had inevitably manifested between them. but the one thing that managed to always aggravate shiloh–what made him want to prolong the distance they mutually imposed between them, this time for his own good–was when freya pulled something reminiscent of this on him. when she’d give him some rendition of the silent treatment, or when she’d try ruthlessly to push him into this divot of recognizing that, for some reason, to her, he was an inconvenience unless she was ready to need him back–as though they had to be desperate to want each other. she had to try so hard to prolong pushing him away, and while he knew that the strength of her tide was something he was too dedicated to stop fighting against, feeling that idiotic at the mercy of her words always made his insides turn annoyedly. she put herself first, sure–and that’s what he hoped she’d do for the rest of her life. but it all urged shiloh wonder if he’d have to one day muster some semblance of strength to just call it quits for the both of them. of course, shiloh needed freya in the same way he needed something sturdy beneath him at all times. so losing her ‘for their own good’ wasn’t a thought he ever entertained for more than an angered millisecond. which is why, when he resorted to calling her a pet name, it was for the sake of getting something–anything vocal out of her yet. just prove that you both still care.

        he let her sharp sweetheart rebuttal go, knowing that he had accomplished something, at least; had gotten her to talk. on their own, her insults were rarely a legitimate topic of interest to him. it’s when she answered in quick, cold snaps, that his eyes began to narrow instinctively. then the content of her speech began to spill over, and shiloh almost forgot why he hadn’t just retired to his own apartment and saved her the apparent plight. “barged in here?” his voice reiterated the hostile nature of the words he knew–hoped–she couldn’t really mean. she just wanted a fight she knew she could get from him, right? the implication alone that they were some brand of estranged frenemies made his body tense. he wanted to laugh it off and take her veiled incentive to leave-but-stay-but-leave into his own hands all at once. but god save shiloh if he wasn’t the type to rely, always, on freya’s cue. “you know, i just fucking got here, freya. i could go back to my place and keep my shit to myself, no problem–” he almost choked on his words, then, shaking his head to keep them from finding an unwanted place in his chest. “so if you’re pissed and you want me to get the hell out, then just tell me you want me to get the hell out.” carefully, he pulled his hand back from where she had been cleaning it in front of her. “please, just–” he was newfoundedly exasperated, “–glue. i can do it myself, clean the carpet, and be on my way. i’m not asking to be some fucking inconvenient stray dog in your apartment.”

     ‘just in case’ seemed to be the common excuse shared silently between the two of them, spoken not with words but with non-verbal intentions behind their not-so-great actions towards the other. one last kiss, one last smirk, one last slap, one last snarled word.. it didn’t matter what it was, so long as they both were aware that it was given just in case. she knew it before she’d even responded to his wry compliment, heard it in the mocking lilt behind the word and she’d acknowledged it in giving him the response he’d been expecting. they’d mastered a rhythm of expectation, an endless give and take that kept them both from losing their minds completely. it was exhausting, though, this endless cycle of push and pull and ebb and flow between them — she thought the sea must feel similarly, to long for rest from the constant rise and crash of waves, waiting impatiently for some level of calm on its surface — and she’d become so well practiced in self-denial that it had become second nature to refuse them both happiness the moment she began to lose control of her emotions. she often wondered what it would be like if she didn’t actively go out of her way to try and make him hate her, but she’d always come up short, having only more of the same to compare it to. it wasn’t strength that urged her to keep him at a distance as much as possible — even she knew that, despite priding herself on her own self-sufficiency — but absolutely crippling terror that he’d leave her one day, not knowing what it was she did to make him not want her anymore. better to give him a reason, she figured, better to be the one to choose why he’d leave than be left wondering. so she’d continue to rage, to poke and prod and grind at his nerves whenever he got too close to the soft bits behind her ribs. it’s better this way, she thinks forcefully to herself as she tightens her hold on his hand, every part of her in disagreement with the notion. you’re both safer this way.

        it was the midnight between saturday and sunday, and floor f was quiet compared to the drunken rage shiloh had brought home clenched in two sturdy, warm fists. he had been out working all day–chains wrapped around wrists and ankles in a way that he didn’t mind most of the time. routine was his artifice of solace, being expected and therefore needed in a world that was insignificant to so many others was medicine for open wounds he would never admit existed. but at the end of it all tended to be the shakiness of his mother’s unpredictability more often than not. and, in shiloh’s defense, it wasn’t every day that he was robbed of the peace that accompanied his own personal concoction of chaos: robbed of everything freya brought to him. twenty-four hours without so much as a word from her. it wasn’t new, and he wasn’t bothered by it initially. they could do well with time apart, after all–especially since he was technically honoring the unspecified amount of time they’d give each other to breathe after a big fight. that is, he was fine with it all until he realized how he had foolishly let himself get out of hand without her voice in his ear to knock him down a few pegs and hold his head high all at once. she had a funny way of getting on his nerves enough to slow him down. 

        regardless, he had driven home tonight like a reckless idiot, leaving the black tar tread of tires in his loud wake as he pulled into the medina parking lot, and was now heading up to his room, until he realized that he was letting his injured hand fall to his side, blood dripping from a decent gash between two of his knuckles, as he his free hand to turn the knob of freya’s constantly unlocked door located directly across from his own constantly locked one.  

        when the door swung open and then closed behind him, he was still looking down in lieu of some apology they too often read in each other’s body language rather than listened fall from each other’s lips. maybe that meant that they were abusing each other’s presence; maybe that meant that they mirrored each other too well to dabble in niceties neither of them believed in. either way, when she opened the door he was already surrendering, his clenched jaw keeping him steady as he leaned against the frame of her closed door and took a deep breath, his eyes still down, “i’m dripping on the goddamn carpet–” his words were full of unintended malice despite the fact that they read, at face value, as apologetic; malice that was clearly not directed at her, but even so. accompanying it all, though, was desperation that only seemed to arise in his tone when it came to two people in particular: one of which was in front of him. he laughed then, a cruel tinge to the sound as he let memories of the evening flood his thickened mind once more. “she kicked me out of the fucking bar, freya–” he could have done something bold like translate his desperation into a physical reaction just then, but instead he just squeezed his fist once again and took in a shaky breath until his eyes landed on freya. he wanted, suddenly, to forget; to feel better; to let her in. “i socked some guy for… for tryin’ to grab her wrist and pull her to him at the bar–i can’t let some fucking lowlife rando touch her like that when i’m right there–” he was chuckling again, every breath short and every fist clench causing more blood to drip, “how was i supposed to know that it was some new fuckin’ man of the week?” shiloh shook his head then, closing his eyes and using his clean hand to pinch between his furrowed brows. his voice lowered and his tone evened out as he tried to shake the anger building up between his shoulder blades. “you got any glue i can use for this, beautiful?”

closed starter for @mcsochists.

     freya had learned early on that, should she continue her cycle of isolation, the throbbing of a metronome would accompany her every waking moment.. but it didn’t mean she had to like it. even as the garbled words of a news anchor reported from the corner of the room, she couldn’t help but feel as if the pounding in her head would happily drown it out should she give it the chance. trapped in a cage of her own making, she found herself shackled to the unsteady reliability of each passing fix, wrists and ankles tired and raw with the effort to pull herself free ( maybe things would be simpler if she simply gave in ). it wasn’t loneliness closing in on her — at least, she didn’t think it was, considering she’d been on her own so long it was strange not to be alone — but still, the walls seemed to pulse and bleed, swallowing sound, light and even the air in the room around her. pressing her knuckles into her eyes, she frowned, wishing shiloh didn’t work so goddamn much. though she’d deny it ( to him, to herself ), the rest of the world seemed to b l u r as if trapped on the other side of a foggy window pane whenever he was within view.

     it was disgusting, she knew, to think such ridiculous things about someone she’d often fantasized about strangling in his sleep, but he had always stood in sharp, clear focus in the middle of a cross-faded haze. her fingers, always cold to the touch as if irony hadn’t had enough fun at her expense, always seemed to ache the longer she went without seeing him ( leaving her in varying positions of restraint, hands tucked and clenched and forced into immobility to keep the shaking at bay ). she was a masochist to the very marrow of her bones, knowing she needed him, knowing she’d lose her mind without him, but refusing to own up to the weakness. self preservation had been her priority for so long, it felt wrong to admit that she wasn’t enough on her own anymore.

     anger, though, was a decent distraction, she’d found. it came easily and festered and rotted into something horrible and ugly and she relished in its release. so often it was aimed in shiloh’s direction that it became the easiest way to force some semblance of false distance between them, satisfying her desperation for solitude in a flash, but fading like a match in the wind. arguments and shouted words weren’t enough anymore ( hadn’t been for years ), so she’d resorted to shoves and slaps and heavy objects directed at his head — which, incidentally had been exactly why she hadn’t seen him for just over a day.

*record scratch* *freeze frame* yep, that’s me. VJNOKM i’m noelle, i’m twenty1, my timezone is est, i use she/her pronouns & small disclaimer: i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing, okay!! just keep that in mind when you .. read this .. “ intro ” i whipped up in half an hour. anywhen! if u wanna plot, feel free to hmu on discord at [mournful bagpipe music]#2581 or yk use the lil chat thing on tumblr if u aint got discord NVJOF. MOVING ON.. 

freya’s pinterest board(s): here!

content warning: neglect, alcohol, drugs

freya lockhart has been a medina complex resident for seven years, now. they’re twenty-two years old, and they tend to find a way to turn every conversation into an argument. sometimes when i walk by F24, i hear suncity by khalid playing. lately, i’d say they’re pretty magnetic, but sometimes that’s overwhelmed by the fact that they’re callous. i mean, they usually pay their rent on time, though, and that’s most important fact here. the distorted and desaturated world on the other side of a rainy window pane, detatched glances cast from bleary and bloodshot eyes & fuzzy and distorted recollections of the night before.