N̶E̶W̶⠀⅁σ𝙱𝐋IN .ᐟ

sometimes a relationship with your father is like “my father is a malignant presence, a bully, and a liar” and “I’m better than you” and “let me out. I don’t want to be you” and “I just do what my dad tells me” and “I can see through you” and “why did you never ask me?” and “he sees everything” and “you have a hard time finding a happy medium between worshipping him and wanting to kill him” and “he loves me. he does. it’s just a wrong kind of love expression” and “fuck dad, he can kick me as many times as he wants” and “pass me the fucking shotgun” and “dad, please. /what have you got in your fucking hand?/ i don’t know, love?/ love? you come for me with love?” and “there’s nothing you could say to me now that I would ever believe” and “are you a cunt?” and “he never even liked me” and “I can’t forgive you … but it’s okay. I love you” and “it’s what dad would do” and “you hated him./ I loved him” and “maybe the poison drips through” and “he was so terrifying to us” and “when he let you in, when the sun shone … it was warm in the light” and most importantly, “he made me breathe funny”

margot sits perched on the edge of the rooftop ledge, legs crossed at the ankle, white coat wrinkled from a day too long in anatomy labs. the skyline glitters below like broken glass scattered across black velvet. she doesn’t look at harry right away; of course she doesn’t. she lets the silence drag, lets him wonder why she called him up here in the first place. finally, she tilts her head, eyes cutting sideways. ❝ funny, ❞ she says, voice dry as gin. ❝ you’ve got everything in this city, and yet you still look like you’re waiting for it all to collapse. ❞ her lips curve, not quite a smile. ❝ — are you looking for a diagnosis? i'm not a doctor yet, you know. ❞ | @osbornes

the city's skyline paints the distance , ⅋ harry is morose. his mood sinks with the sun, as the last rays douse his silhouette with watercolors of roses, oranges ⅋ violets. he's prickly as ever at the pointed jab of his despondency, cutting 𝖗oyal blues to her in an affronted scowl. ❛❛ MORE LIKE, ready for you to stop talking to me in riddles .ᐟ you're taking me as a 𝙟𝙤𝙠𝙚. ❜❜ the silence is weighed with 𝖛𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒎, that comes off him in waves of despairing frequency. a scoff between crystal teeth as 𝖍arry draws deeper into his stitched shell, shielding himself from the mockery of her voice. jerky motions of folding one arm over the other, clutched tight to his chest in riposte { he wishes she would TOPPLE from the rooftop, vanishing with the chill of autumn's breeze } ❛❛ what do you ᵂₐₙₜ ? did you just invite me up here to make fun of me .ᐟ ᴴᴬ - 𝐡𝐚. ❜❜

his skin is inflamed with nerves, itchy beneath the lining of his ℊior𝒈io armani overcoat. the heir brushes the consoling touch with angular shoulders, a hint of jerking hysteria in his voice, ❛❛ no, no, ⁿᵒⁿᵒⁿᵒ . . . ❜❜ what a sight to see .ᐟ OSBORN PRINCE STAMPED TO A HEADLINE — hunched over, panic etched into features that resemble so closely to his father's. sweat beads to the high expanse of harry's forehead as he dodges direct eye contact. ❛❛ I DON'T THINK I'M READY. i think i'm going to be 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤. ❜❜