ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪsᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ!

       it’s not often that neither of them are working, even more rare that they allow themselves a day in an ignorant but blissful reverie. lazing on the bed, a laptop haphazardly strewn across the covers with a random episode of the office on pause. he revels in the normalcy of it all, how if he takes the scene at face value, they’re a couple in love and this, well this is a very good day. he knows it’s harmful, even dangerous to live in dreamland, but reality can come knocking for it’s due tomorrow. she returns from the kitchen, two mugs of tea in hand and adorning a white collared shirt that she’s claimed as her own. his smile holds no reluctance, besotted and full. though he adopts an air of cool, clearing his throat for dramatic effect. “ you know it suits you. ” he begins, anticipation rising. “ but it would look better on my bedroom floor. ” a singular brow quirks, because he’s absolutely nailed it. “ please tell me that line hasn’t been used on you before. or if it has at least tell me i’m your most very favourite-est person to have ever used it on you, and the pure confidence in my delivery has never turned you on more. ” 

      he has a fair bit of expertise in this, what with all the times wes bypasses the hospital in favour of bobby’s quick & dirty macgyver-esque style of treatment. though with wes, he doesn’t care for delicacy, he’ll thread a needle through him like he’s a piece of fabric. with ro, he cautions himself to be a bit, a lot more careful. he even goes as far as to use a numbing cream on her knee. “ we ain’t gonna get in the habit of doing this alright ? ” it’s just that it’s late, she’s tired, he’s tired and his civic responsibility as the older adult in this situation wanes in favour of a quick fix that’ll tie them through until morning. “ and i drive you to the medics right in the morning. ” he pours her a drink ( which is the equivalent of several drinks ), and pushes the glass towards her. “ to ease the pain, it might sting a little. but i know you ain’t a pussy. ”  

     she thinks long & hard on the question, and she becomes fraught with intense concentration. brows pulled together, and teeth sinking into her bottom lip, thankfully with not enough force to draw blood. she has no authority on the matter, most, if not all of her worst decisions were made without a shadow of doubt. “ if you’re having doubts … ” she begins, “ you should trust them. ” which is to say, no amount of doubt is unreasonable. she offers a look which anticipates a reaction, of validation or further inquiry - she doesn’t mind, it’s quite likely she’ll be pondering about it for the rest of the night now.

     “ i hope they do. believe it. ” there’s a horrible thought that prods at him, the idea that if motive were taken away altogether, the same acts would still occur. valdez, it seems, has an unnerving ability to put his own conceptions of human nature under interrogation, dismantling them further with every bullet he removes and gash he staples back together again. so it’s a potential act of cowardice that he gives himself entirely to her question, amusement peeking from his features. “ a few. well, maybe a bit more - just to play it safe. little things mostly, to myself, to cope. ” he feels a touch discontented with his answer, as if she were looking for something specific and he completely underperformed. “ you ? ”

      their simplicity had been mercilessly taken for granted and now they’re left with jagged shards that long to be put back together. her pleas are dull to a buzzing mind that lingers on her words, but leaving her ? that was just never in the cards. his grip is vice-like, the curve of a hook, lodged and unforgiving. so it should seem that the pair would be complementary, she wants him to stay and he won’t leave, but it’s all just a bit ... messy. their chaos isn’t burgeoning flames and destruction, it’s muted, stilted. he doesn’t like this type of chaos, it makes him feel bad. “ zazie. ” he says, contemplative - an air of calm residing over the shock he feels. to claim the feeling altogether is it’s own form of masquerade, because maybe he’s known, here and there. the inflections of harboured feelings that dance in the space he and zazie occupy. her attentions warm him, and her love for him is the only one believes. he won’t give it up, selfishly, even if it takes and takes. he turns away from camilla, forearms resting against the wall to prop his wearing body up. he’s certain that all he needs is a moment, he has an uncanny ability to snap out of sadness if he really tries. eyes squeeze shut, and a hand that’s curled into a fist thuds slowly against the wall. “ zazie & i, s’hard to explain you know ? ” it’s a muddled response, presented to the wall. he could talk endlessly about the brown eyed girl, how his love for her could move universes, but it could only be explained in comparison to his feelings for the girl that stands behind him, emotions that he doesn’t know how to verbalize ( or rather, in the realm of three little words that he’ll never say ). no revelations come to him, stuck in a limbo of heaviness, hushed murmurs and flutes of champagne. so he turns back around, surrender on his features and he wishes he were all sharp edges and biting quips in times like these. instead, his lips tug, ever so slightly and without his consent because he’s plainly head over heels. he hates it. “ pretty fucking terrible. ” he agrees, before eyes catch sight of an open door. “ join me for a smoke ? ” he asks, with a disparate gaze that tries in spite of an unyielding discomfort. he blatantly misses the opportunity to just leave, letting his craving for slivers of attention pave the way instead.