𝕘𝗎𝓲𝐓𝐚я𝚒🅝𝑔 ₛ†𝖆૨𝙫𝐢รt

@oeuvrage

Nadine did like to fuck around, quite a bit. What did not help that they had been drinking, and everyone was laughing at their shenanigans. One step too far, and suddenly they’re about to get their shit kicked in. Or at least, Nadine is assuming. It’s hard to read his mind, their own head is swimming a little.

In lieu of an answer sucks down a long inhale and blows it without care of where the direction of the wind will take it. He absolutely does. Though he does cough a little and need a sip before he actually speaks. "You don't need to finish it. I'll take that shit back no problem if you don't want it."

Though he takes another hit, so Gary settles in a little bit. Tucks his lighter into one of many pockets, since he'd already been in head to toe sweats when Ryan showed up, and hadn't done much more than put on shoes. The question makes him shrug a little bit, and while he's pondering how exactly to answer such an abreact idea Ryan expands on what he means, making Gary sputter a little bit while swallowing a bit. "Christ," he murmurs. Gary lets out a big sigh and moves to lay back against the angled shingles beside him. "Not really." Gary confesses. "Kinda hopin' someone else will figure it out for me, 'nd just tell me how to do it."

familiar  comforts  have  a  way  of  taking  the  edge  off.  it's  not  the  beer  or  the  cigarettes,  it's  just  not  BEING  ALONE.  watching  gary's  straight  face  fall  away  into  laughter  might  be  a  cheap  blow  to  his  ego,  but  there's  a  strange,  stubborn  satisfaction  in  being  the  one  to  put  that  look  on  his  face.  it's  fuel  to  flame,  enough  to  get  ryan  to  SNEER  back  at  him. 

❛❛  oh,  what?  you  trying  to  QUIT  for  me?  ❜❜  he's  full  of  shit,  and  he  knows  it.  halfway  through  his  beer  already  and  a  chugger  of  drinks  regardless  of  the  fizz,  he  tips  his  head  back  to  FINISH  off  the  rest  of  the  can,  the  cold  liquid  burning  his  throat  just  enough  to  quiet  the  static  in  his  head.

he  wipes  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  forearm  and  crushes  the  aluminum  in  his  fist,  the  METAL  crunching  loudly  in  the  quiet  night  air.  busies  himself  plunging  his  arm  into  the  cardboard  box  between  them  to  fish  out  another  cold  one.  pop-tab  GIVING  way  with  a  sharp,  satisfying  snap,  he  takes  a  quick  gulp  before  resting  the  fresh  can  against  his  knee.

❛❛  man,  i  WISH  someone  would  come  fix  my  shit  for  me.  ❜❜  words  slurred  around  the  can  as  he  slinks  down  beside  gary,  hair  splayed  out  against  the  sun-warm  roof.  eyes  NARROW  at  the  sky  out  around  them,  searching  for  constellations,  although  he  only  ever  remembered  the  big  dipper.  min  always  knew  the  rest. 

Send me…

⚔️ for an enemies ship (not romantic)

💜 platonic ship

❤️ sexual ship (not romantic)

💖 romantic ship

⭐️ (something) ship

the tv flickers in the background, but heather isn't watching it (it's a rerun, anyway). she's watching ryan instead, watching him make himself comfortable on the couch, a lazy smirk on his face and a soft, sleepy gaze. he annoys her, sure — he's got terrible taste in music and his van is always a mess, and he's always coming up with some stupid comment to volley at her, like this is some game the two of them play. somewhere along the line, though, it had become something softer, the edges filed down, a cat that had been declawed.

not that she'd ever tell him, but she kind of likes having him around sometimes.

she sticks her tongue out at him playfully. “what, so you can tell everybody i kicked you out and i'm a terrible host? never.” she doesn't want ryan to leave. she hadn't thought about him leaving before, but now that the possibility has been raised, she doesn't want it to happen. her parents are out of town — some weekend trip for their anniversary — which means heather is all by her lonesome until they get back, and suddenly, the house feels too big for her, as though she's a small speck in a vast, unending space.

his  parents,  when  they  remembered  their  middle  child,  liked  to  call  him  a  free  spirit,  untethered  to  real  world  problems.  it  was  a  BEAUTIFUL  LIE  they  told  to  absolve  themselves  of  the  empty  bedroom  and  the  quiet  phone.  he  knew  they  loved  him  and  he  loved  them,  but  they  had  stopped  speaking  the  same  language  when  ryan  hit  high  school  and  family  dinner  had  become  optional.  they  called  when  they  could  and  when  ryan  chose  to  stop  pretending  he  was  busy  in  order  to  soothe  the  THINLY  VEILED  WORRY  that  breathed  down  the  phone  at  him  every  time  he  picked  up. 

right  now,  the  closest  thing  to  home  is  heather's  couch.  a  place  to  rest  his  head  and  kick  his  feet  up,  even  temporary,  reminds  him  why  leaving  home  in  the  first  place  was  worth  it. 

that  ever-permanent  smirk  breaks  itself  into  a  full  grin.  he  can  feel  heather's  laser-pointer  stare,  her  eyes  BURNING  HOLES  into  his  skull.  the  weed  makes  everything  a  little  more  hazy,  a  little  more  heavy.  he  can't  tell  what  she's  thinking,  but  he  can't  confront  that  right  now.  a  foreign  feeling  pricks  at  his  chest,  sticking  in  his  throat.  ryan  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

❛❛  yeah,  so  i  can  tell  everyone  that  you  made  me  sleep  out  on  the  porch,  ❜❜  there's  a  huff  of  a  laugh  somewhere  in  there,  a  short  burst  of  REASSURANCE  that  they  still  couldn't  stand  each  other.  FOR  THE  MOST  PART.  even  though  she's  on  the  other  side  of  the  couch  and  they  might  as  well  be  on  separate  planets  and  asking  her  to  move  closer  would  be  like  willingly  asking  a  hungry  lion  to  bite  your  hand  off. 

the  television  flickers  over  his  face,  a  genuine  lightness  to  his  sleep-edged  voice.  ❛❛  you're  so  american.  i  gotta  put  you  on  a  mr.  big  bar.  life-changing  stuff,  SERIOUSLY.  ❜❜

conrad  was  a  FINE  enough  person  to  work  with.  could  man  the  registers  without  asking  too  many  stupid  questions,  could  keep  his  head  above  water  when  it  came  to  customer  recommendations,  and  usually  carried  all  the  heavy  stock  into  the  back  room  without  so  much  of  a  MUMBLE  of  misery.  hell,  he  was  even  tall  enough  that  he  could  reach  for  top  shelf  exclusives  when  all  5’11”  of  ryan  struggled  to.  it  was  an  annoying  convenience.

still,  boredom  was  a  BITCH.  he  could  hardly  stand  the  sound  of  whirring  fan  blades  and  tinny  70s  bleeding-heart  love  ballads  any  longer.  and  ryan,  always  a  talker,  could  find  a  way  to  make  a  conversation  out  of  ANYTHING.  it  was  easy  for  his  voice  to  carry  across  the  empty  store,  a  teasing  jab  thrown  at  conrad  from  where  he  stood  behind  the  counter.

❛❛  dude,  calm  down,  ❜❜  a  laugh  bubbles  from  his  throat,  an  amused,  unrestrained  noise.  hands  raise  in  mock  defense,  washcloth  waving  in  hand  like  a  WHITE  FLAG.  ❛❛  i  was  just  gonna  ask  you  if  i  look  like  an  idiot  cleaning  down  the  catalogues  for  the  fourth  time  this  hour.  ❜❜