your happy ending's up to you

i don’t like using the word “abandoned” to describe it, mostly because it makes me feel so sad, and also... oh lord it’s been six months? :x yikes... it hasn’t felt like that long?

but... i guess the truth is i don’t really know? the story has a set plot and an ending, i’ve always known how i want it to end, and what happens in the middle, i know how the conflicts are solved, i know how the main heist goes, it’s just... pulling myself back into a place where i can actually write it. so i guess we can call it a hiatus? 

i spoke a little bit about it on my private twitter but i guess it’s time to admit it here that i burnt myself out really bad on writing. i did a lot, surely not as much as some people do but i did a lot of writing on top of full time school and my theatre work and my full time job, and it really took it out of me. i kept trying to do it more, taking prompts and doing the cc secret santa, and every time i do i really do love it, but it’s just... so much for me lately. i haven’t written anything, not just in terms of cc but i haven’t written really anything other than my cc secret santa. 

i love searchlights, and i love the story, and i love that it resonates with people! i love that so many people wanted to follow along on this journey that i was plotting out, but every single time i open up the google doc i just feel... exhausted, i guess. exhausted by the idea of writing, exhausted by the concept of doing it. god, i want to write it so bad, guys. i really do. but i just... can’t? 

i’m sorry that i sort of left without a warning. cc was a complicated time in my life, very good but also very bad in a lot of ways, and i love those boys and girls but part of me really wants to move on? i’m not that interested in cc anymore unfortunately... but i want to finish searchlights, because that story is one i want to tell. i just have to figure out how to? i just need to find it in myself to sit down and write again. 

your message is really sweet. i’m forever thankful for all the love and feedback and kudos and messages, it was definitely one of the best times i’ve ever had in a fandom before. every time someone said my writing inspired them to write too, every time someone said dlmau made them cry in the best way, it all sticks with me. i still read those comments now and again when i’m feeling sad, and they never fail to perk me up again. 

i’m sorry i can’t give you guys more than that right now. i love yall, and there are so many other richly talented people in this fandom! fics and art and gifs, there are so many amazing people that i admire and respect here, and i really hope i can figure out where i stand so i can hopefully come back soon? 

“I know,” Aleks says, voice hoarse. He’s hesitant to peel the jacket away, afraid of what he’ll find underneath, so he continues to try and staunch the blood, hoping it’s not as serious as the visual his brain has decided to paint for him. “How’re you doing?”

James hums shakily, and it’s a long and angry sound that shivers with anxiety.

“I’m afraid to look,” he says, and peeks through his fingers to look down his body at where Aleks is still putting pressure on the wound. “Is it bad? It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude!” Aleks snaps, more out of his own fear than any real anger. He’d only gotten a quick look at the wound before he’d taken his jacket off and pressed it to where the blood was thickest — but he remembers torn denim and ragged skin, blood soaking into James’ jeans until the stain inched past Aleks’ jacket, and he has to calm himself down again. “Just — let me think, okay? Shit.”

James drops his head back down and makes another pained little sound, the heel of his palms pressing hard into his eyes. Aleks catches his lower lip trembling for a moment before he pulls it together, and Aleks hesitates before looking away, chooses instead to gauge their surroundings properly in the dark. He doesn’t know much about burners also serving as safehouses, since they’ve never needed them before.

It’s small, a little studio on the bad-ish side of town, but it’s better than it could be.. There’s a kitchen tucked away on one side, one of those nifty little bar-type kitchens with three stools tucked up against the counter itself. A small fridge, a couch pressed against the wall in the other corner, a tiny entertainment system. Aleks isn’t sure if the TV is hooked up to anything, which could be a major issue, but he’ll live. A bathroom door, presumably, and a mattress pressed up on the opposite wall with a duvet and a few thin looking pillows.

It’s better than it could’ve been. At least Kovic owed them a favor, or he’s not sure what they would’ve done.

“Shit,” Aleks repeats, more out of nerves than anything else, and looks back down at James’ leg. He knows he has to look, but the thought of it makes him queasy. He doesn’t want to look again, but he needs to if he’s going to gauge whether they need to call for help or not. There are still red and blue lights whipping around outside, and Aleks looks at where they bounce off against the wall, slatted shadows on white paint from the blinds. They’re not going to come in here — it looks more like a routine round than them going door-to-door — but it could make it hard for someone to come get them.

“Hey,” James says quietly, and there’s such a tremor in his voice that it snaps Aleks back to reality, and he looks down. James is still shaking a little, and he manages to move his hands far away enough that Aleks can see his face for the first time since they stumbled in here. He’s pale and sweaty and there are still tacky, half-dried tears on his face, but he looks more confident than he had earlier; his throat bobs as he swallows and then he nods his head down towards his leg. “How’s it look?”

Aleks swallows.

“Haven’t looked yet.”

James thunks his head back.

“God,” he says, and sounds appropriately miserable. Aleks can’t even begin to blame him. “It’s not even a cool way to fuck my leg up, man! What if we gotta cut it off? How’m I gonna tell people?”

That actually gets Aleks to laugh, which isn’t something he thought he’d be doing anytime soon. He chuckles, albeit a bit manically, wishes he could run his hands through his hair in some shitty attempt to calm himself down. Instead he just stares down at where he’s still pressing his jacket hard against James’ leg.

“I dunno,” he says, and steels himself. “Make up something.”

“Yeah? Like what? What the fuck am I supposed to say, man?”

“I don’t know, dude, anything!” Aleks can feel his anxiety spiking, and he almost rubs at his face before he remembers his hands are covered in blood. Shit. “Just, like, say we got shot at running from the cops or something and you took a slug to the leg, that’s all I got for you, man!”

James lifts his head again, glowering at him with eyes that are just a little bloodshot before he makes an aggravated sound. Aleks can only watch him as he goes through the motions, gearing himself up for it as Aleks does the same. All he can do is just take another huge breath and then carefully pull his jacket away to get a closer look.

It’s not — well, it’s not great, is his initial thought, but it’s not as bad as he had thought it was. There’s a large gash running down the side of James’ calf, matting his leg hair with blood from a few inches under his knee to a little above his ankle. His jeans are shredded and damp with blood, but as Aleks swallows some of his anxiety, he can see that at most it probably needs a few stitches. Well, he can do that, at least.

“Am I dying?” James moans from above him, head thunking back down on the floor. “Does it hurt? Wait, fuck.”

“You’re an idiot,” Aleks says, relieved enough that he can sit back, his hands loose now where he’s pressed the jacket back up against James’ leg. He feels like he’s just run a mile, the adrenaline still thumping through his veins. “You’re so fucking stupid, dude. Holy shit. No, you’re not dying. I just gotta stitch up your leg is all.”

“Oh.” James sits up a little, pushing himself up on his arms until they’re extended behind himself. He’s looking pale, long strings of his hair falling down and framing his face as he tries to look at his leg. There’s sweat beading long his forehead, and there’s a bit of a shine to his eyes, but he looks lucid enough as Aleks peels away the jacket again and he can get a look. “Oh, that’s fucking sick, dude. Don’t show me that again.”

“You’re gonna be real grossed out when I gotta stitch it up,” Aleks mumbles, and slowly gets to his feet to look out the window as carefully as he can, sliding the blinds apart with two bloodstained fingers. It leaves a smear of scarlet on the soft white plastic, and he swears a little under his breath as he watches a cop car go by again. “Jesus, man… looks like we’re stuck here for the rest of the night at least. You think Kovic has a sewing kit here?”

“Looks like the kinda guy that would take up quilting or some shit,” James replies from the floor; Aleks had relinquished the jacket to him instead, and he’s holding it against his leg now. Aleks leaves the window, wiping his hands down on his ruined jeans as he walks back over to crouch next to him to press the back of his hand to his forehead. Burning up a little, but that’s the blood loss. Aleks needs to stop it before it gets too bad.

“Don’t put your gross ass bloody hands on my face,” James complains without moving, staring up at Aleks while Aleks takes his hand away and scoffs. “Don’t you fuckin’ make that face, dude. That’s gross.” He pauses though, looks thoughtful. “You’re awfully calm now.”

“And you’ve got a fever, fucker,” Aleks replies, standing up so he can start rifling through the kitchen drawers after he washes his hands in the sink. There aren’t a lot of drawers, as small as the apartment is, so it doesn’t take him very long. “So it looks like I gotta be the one in charge this time around.”

James hums softly, laying slowly back down on the floor and covering his eyes with a forearm as Aleks procures a small, travel-sized sewing kit. There’s a lighter and a bottle of rubbing alcohol next to it, so he figures that in addition to possibly being into some weird quilting, Kovic’s also a guy who absolutely comes well-prepared. He’s going to have to shoot him another thank you text later.

“How mad do you think Kovic will be if we get blood on the sheets,” he says, heart still pounding, unwinding some of the black thread from inside the kit. It’s slightly thicker thread, so Aleks is definitely using it for its intended purpose. “Think if we tell him you got shot in the leg, he won’t be mad about it?”

“Is that the official cover story?” James asks, rather than answering Aleks’ question. “Is that what we’re going to start telling people? Because that shit doesn’t look like a bullet wound, dude.”

“I mean, you’re more than welcome to tell everyone you cut yourself on a fence. I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life.”

“You tell me how to live my life every goddamned day, fucker.”

It’s Aleks’ turn to hum thoughtfully as he dips the thread into the rubbing alcohol. He goes to wash his hands again, trying to remember the steps that Brett had talked him through more than once. They’re not as new to this as they used to be, and it’s still a much larger gash than Aleks is used to — but it’s better than the alternative, which is James dying on the floor of an apartment on the bad side of Los Santos that doesn’t even belong to them.

The lighter reflects in James eyes as he watches Aleks go through the motions. Aleks can’t pretend that he’s not as nervous as James looks, but while the needle slowly blackens from the heat, he keeps up a steady train of nonsense, talking about the looks on the people’s faces as they aimed their guns into the building, and how pissed Lindsey is going to be when she finds out that James damn near snapped his own neck toppling off a fence after practically ripping his leg open on the top of it.

“Hey,” James says quietly, when the needle’s ready, “don’t make fun of me, okay?”

“Why?” Aleks asks, watching his own hands shake a little. Shit. The gravity of the situation starts to hit him then, the weight of what could’ve happened tonight. One wrong move, one wrong twist at his waist, and James could’ve landed on his neck, or his back, rather than just landing hard and pitching forward onto his knees and yowling like he’d just been shot in the ass. Always just one wrong move that keeps the two of them between life or death, and Aleks never sees it with such a clarity as he does when they just barely made the right move.

He looks up at James, pale and sweaty in the moonlight, staring down at him with his eyebrows furrowed and his hair half-out of its bun and even if he’s the most beautiful thing that Aleks has ever seen, it’s the fact that he’s alive that makes it real.

“Just,” James says, and Aleks remembers that James had planned to say something. “It’s just — I’m just glad you’re here, okay?” He pauses, and then his expression twists a little, like he’s got to cover the Real Emotions up. “Even if your face is stupid.”

“Whatever,” Aleks mutters, and pulls at the rip in James’ jeans so it tears further and gives him more room to work with. James squawks angrily about it, because of course he does, but Aleks just sneers without feeling at him and steels himself for the second time that night as he grabs a hand towel from the handle of the oven, mutters an apology to Kovic, and douses it in about a third of the bottle of rubbing alcohol before he gets to work.

It’s not the first time he’s stitched someone up — hell, it’s not even the first time he’s stitched up James — but there’s something different about it tonight than it was other nights, other days, other heists. The police lights are gone, and now there’s just the occasional flash of headlights from outside that cast more shadows against the simple cream walls of the apartment. There’s not a lot of light to work with, and it’s certainly not the most sterile environment. James hisses and swears and at one point he actually grabs Aleks’ wrist to make him stop for a moment, even if they both know it’s better for Aleks to keep going and get it over with.

And then it’s done, and they’re both left panting in the aftermath like a race, or sex, or some stupid shit they both get themselves into way too often.

“Jesus, that sucked,” James whines hoarsely, and Aleks sits back on the floor and almost mildly contemplates his life for a moment. “Oh, shit, dude. Wow. That was fucking awful.”

“Sorry,” Aleks says, and means it. His hands are clean now, so he runs one through his hair at last. It’s matted down with sweat, sticking together in hanks that part the blond strands almost like hair gel. He probably looks like a complete tool. “Let’s get you in the shower next, dude. You reek.”

“Shut up,” James says, and reaches for him with a weak grin. “I got shot, you asshole.”

That makes Aleks laugh out loud, and he takes James’ hand in his own.

“Yeah, whatever. We’ll go with that.”

After that it’s mostly a matter of going through the motions again, just a different set than the last. Aleks has to haul James up to his feet and throw one of James’ arms over his shoulders, give him a solid weight to rest against while bearing most of it himself. James is limping bad, and his face screws up with pain as he finds his center of balance, but then they’re both steadily hobbling towards the little bathroom, and the shower that’s never looked more beautiful than in this moment.

“Man,” James mumbles, clutching at the towel rod while Aleks undoes his jeans, “usually when you’re taking off my pants, we’re in for a good time.”

Aleks snorts as he drags James’ pants and briefs down in one go.

“I’m not exactly happy about it either, dude.”

He wiggles out of his own clothes after that while James waits for him, bad leg lifted just so on his toes, and they both manage to clamber in the tiny shower with James leaning up against Aleks, back to chest. They both yelp wildly at the sharp spray of cold before the water starts to warm up, and the blood swirls down the drain, thick at first before it starts to run pink, and then clear.

Another time, long before this one, James would’ve bitched and complained about Aleks getting in the shower with him, swore up and down until he was blue in the face that he could handle himself, and not to make it gay, dude, and frankly Aleks would’ve agreed with him. But right now he just takes the tie out of James hair and presses his nose against the curls while the water runs down their skin, takes in the smell of it like it’s the last time he ever will.

“You’re getting awfully into that back there,” James muses, sounding tired. “You getting a hard on for my hair again?”

“Fuck off, asshole,” Aleks says, emerging from James hair with heat blooming across his cheeks, but he doesn’t have a good response to that so he just shoves James away a little bit. James cackles, albeit tiredly, and pushes himself off Aleks’ chest to turn the water off.

“I didn’t even use soap,” Aleks complains.

“Fucker, I don't even fucking care right now. I’m exhausted, and I’m injured.” As if to prove his point, James yawns hugely. “Let’s go to bed.”

It’s hard to argue with James on a good day, so Aleks just grumbles and opens the door to the shower, and from there it’s mostly a minor struggle to get toweled off, to get their underwear back on, and then to hobble off towards the bed in the corner. Aleks leaves their clothes in a bloody pile on the bathroom floor, figures he’ll clean it when he gets the chance. Kovic owes them one, yeah, but he’s not enough of an asshole to not pick up after themselves before they leave.

He helps James hop back to the bed and then watches as he flops onto the mattress with a whooshing sound, like all the air from the last few hours is finally leaving his lungs in a relieved huff. It looks like it hurts his leg a little, because he winces a little before looking up at Aleks a bit expectantly. Aleks just goes back to the kitchen, types a quick recap to Brett so he knows they’re alive, if nothing else.

“You sending texts?”

“Yeah,” Aleks mumbles, pressing send and waiting for Brett’s reply. It’s simple — glad youre okay, i’ll swing by in the morning when the heat dies down, don’t do anything stupid, which in Aleks’ personal opinion is a bold statement to make — before he, too, flops down onto the mattress and stares up at the popcorn ceiling. James is warm next to him, warm from the shower and a bit of fever, and Aleks can’t help but roll into it. James already has his eyes closed, his face half-buried in the pillow, and he already looks like he’s dozing off, and Aleks grumbles halfheartedly when James reaches for him.

“My leg hurts,” James mumbles, wrapping his arms around Aleks’ waist and tugging him closer. “C’mere.”

“An hour ago you were sure you were gonna die,” Aleks says, disgruntled and already pressing into the touch, “and now you wanna fuckin’ cuddle, dude?”

“Yeah.”

Aleks sighs loudly, with a great amount of show, and almost tangles their legs together before thinking better of it. It would hurt James’ bad leg, so instead he just lets James settle his arms around him, the two of them in boxers and nothing else, still just a little damp from the shower. It’s much like the usual, even if the circumstances are wildly, enormously different.

It stings the back of his mind, how close he came to losing James. They spend too much of their time riding the high of what they do to truly think about the consequences, but hauling James’ ass through the worst part of town to shut him in the closest apartment only because they happened to know the guy who rented it out — it came close, this time. It always feels close, but this time may have been too much.

“You’re thinking too loud,” James says softly, yawning again. And yeah, Aleks knows he is, but it still aches somewhere in his chest to know that in a different world, it isn’t like this. It isn’t hostile, and cruel, and drenched in blood. But he doesn’t have to think about those things right now. Instead he watches James open his eyes, see the lights from the street reflected in his dark eyes through the slats of the blinds.

“Shut up,” Aleks says, without meaning it, and just briefly presses his lips against the side of James’ mouth. “Just fuckin’ go to sleep already, you wuss.”

“Aleksandr,” James declares, yawning again, but he smiles into the not-quite-kiss, “you’re my favorite guy. But you’re kind of an asshole.”

“Oh, okay. I’m an asshole. The asshole that stitched up your stupid ass.”

“Mmm.” James presses his face a little more into the pillow before reaching down, twining their fingers together. They won’t stay like that when they fall asleep, because they’ll get uncomfortable, or sweaty, or both, but for now Aleks can feel the beat of James’ heart in the tightness of that hold, and he can even pretend their lives are normal for just a moment. He can pretend circumstances have led them elsewhere in life, and he strokes his thumb down the back of James’ hand. “Yeah. I know.”

It’s the closest to I love you either of them ever really get, this moment of tenderness, and Aleks will tuck it away for the next time.