TORTURED POET.

. . . opens, plots, opposites !

if her throwing rocks at the other's window wasn't a clear sign of her being drunk, the willingness to stay and mingle with the stranger from the third floor should be enough of an indicator. mckinley hears the voice shooting down at her, again, and hands immedaitely lift beside her as if to signal: i come in peace. “ you have my word that i am not a serial killer, ”  words slurring with a hint on amusement, “ besides ... do i even look like i'm capable of holding a deadly weapon ? or even being deadly ? i'm just here to make friends— ” a pause. “ actually, i was here to tell scarlett that i hate her fucking guts and i hope she rots in hell alongside that frat boy she thinks is so worth it, but ... you know, making friends was also on the to-do list. are you coming or what ? ”  

quinn just stared down at the girl ⸻ who, by all accounts, had the energy of a soggy firework and the audacity of someone who hadn’t cried behind a dumpster yet but absolutely would by sunrise. her lips pursed, brows furrowing like she was doing complex math. which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. there was a very real mental checklist happening in her head ⸻ something like pro: ( 1 ) i’m not doing anything fun. ( 2 ) if she does murder me, i won’t have to take my biology exam. con: ( 1 ) potential death. ( 2 ) she might puke on my shoes. she exhaled through her nose, one hand dragging down her face like it could somehow wipe off the last three days of no sleep and too much ramen noodles. “ fine, ” she muttered, mostly to herself. “ fuck it. ” her voice raised slightly as she spoke to her again. “ wait right there. ” then she shut the window and disappeared. three minutes later, she emerged from the dorm lobby wearing a hoodie that smelled faintly of coffee and car air freshener. she stopped in front of her and blinked, breathless, like she couldn’t believe her own decision - making either. the wind was biting, the streetlight above them flickered in a way that felt vaguely haunted, and this was technically how true crime episodes started. she shoved her hands in her hoodie’s pocket, shifting her weight. “ i have a gps tracker somewhere in my body, ” she blurted out. “ so if you murder me, my mom’ll know exactly where to find my corpse. ” still, she offered a tentative half - smile. like she was trying out the concept of trusting a stranger for the first time in, well… ever. and somehow, it didn’t feel like the worst idea she’d had this week. “ okay, ” she jerked her chin forward. “ what’s the plan? are we egging your ex’s car, making a voodoo doll, or just walking aimlessly until one of us sobers up or gets hit by a bike? ”

it's all very clear on her features, seeing the dark gaze that lingers on him and he can see it. not exactly anger because that's not her, but there's disappointment and he expects as much. truth is that he's disappointed in himself, but always really has been in the slightest. you should've told me. there's no denying she's right, but knows they can both admit the truth. "and what happens if i tell you?" slowly, the blues of his gaze lifts, hues settling on her to feel the heat from her gaze as much as the hurt. "i didn't expect this, elena. you and her? look – i had shit for parents." a father who left to start a new family when quentin was still a child and a mother who tried, but it was never really enough. then again, that's information he's shared with the woman before him, so she knows. "i know i'm not her dad, but i love her. if i tell you, then i lose you both." maybe it's selfish of him to want to cling to something good when it felt like he didn't have that and never really has. inhaling deeply, hands lift to rub roughly over his face before arms fall back at his sides. "i promise, i will never let anything happen to you or her. i just ... didn't know how to tell you. i'm sorry." it's not enough and he knows it, shoulders dropping with a sigh as he feels the air fade from his lungs. turning to look over his shoulder, eyes trail towards the direction of the little girl's room, knowing she's still sleeping peacefully. "i should go," he speaks, eyes trailing back to settle on elena once again. "for now. give you some space."

elena could feel it coming before it hit her. that heat blooming in her chest, behind her eyes, in the hollow of her throat. a slow, bitter rise that crawled upward until the first tear broke free and trailed silently down her cheek. she didn’t wipe it right away. didn’t move. just stood there, letting herself feel it, until the second one followed. and that’s when her fingers twitched at her sides, her jaw clenched, and she blinked hard enough to try and hold the rest back. “ you think i wouldn’t have understood? or at least tried? ” her voice cracks through the words, soft and hoarse. “ you really think that little of me? ” her arms dropped to her sides like they’d given up, and she turned without looking at him. crossed the kitchen in a few uneven steps, grabbing the full plate she’d barely touched and dropped it into the sink with a dull, seething thud. the clatter echoed too loud in the quiet apartment, and she flinched, her knuckles whitening against the edge of the counter. she hated this. hated how calm she had to keep herself when all she wanted to do was scream. not because of what he was hiding, but because he’d chosen to hide it from her. the one person who’d never asked him for perfection. only honesty. she sniffed, breath hitching as she quickly wiped both cheeks with the back of her hand, hating how wet her skin felt. how small she suddenly felt. her eyes found his again, and though they were glassy, the look in them was clear. “ you keep doing that, ” she muttered. “ you keep making decisions for me, like i’m not standing right here. like i don’t get a say in any of this. ” hands braced themselves on the edge of the sink, and for a long second, she just stared down at the dull porcelain, the crack in the corner, the drops from the faucet that hadn’t stopped since last week. then she turned to him fully, and something in her posture straightened, steady. “ if you want to leave, fine. ” her hand lifted, gesturing loosely toward the door. “ but don’t you dare do it and say it’s for me. because i’m not the one pushing you away. you are. ”

santiago didn’t interrupt her, didn’t fill the silence with some throwaway joke or charming deflection — just let it sit between them like something sacred, watching her with the kind of quiet focus that didn’t demand answers but made it clear he was listening anyway. his fingers curled loosely around his glass, untouched save for the slow swirl of ice at the bottom, but his gaze stayed locked on her like the rest of the room didn’t exist. ❝ you shouldn’t have to get used to it. ❞ he said after a beat, voice low and even but tinged with something that felt like quiet frustration. not at her, but at the fact that she thought she had to accept this kind of invasion as normal. ❝ and yeah, i care. but not about the article. ❞ he shifted slightly, leaning in just enough to close the distance without crowding her, elbows propped on the polished wood of the bar, posture easy, open. ❝ they could post my face on a billboard mid sneeze, photoshop a tiara on me, call me your long lost fairytale fling, and i wouldn’t lose sleep over it. ❞ he paused, jaw ticking ever so slightly before he added, softer now, like he was speaking directly to whatever weight she carried just beneath the surface. ❝ what matters is you thinking this is your mess and i’m just collateral. ❞ a faint shrug lifted his shoulders, but it didn’t quite match the seriousness in his eyes. ❝ i’m a big boy, grace. if a few nosy strangers or a camera flash is enough to scare me off, then maybe i’m not the kind of company worth keeping anyway. ❞ he reached over then, slow and unassuming, tapping the edge of her glass with the tip of his finger — not forceful, not insistent, just a quiet acknowledgment that he saw her. ❝ you want space, i’ll give it. you want to vanish, i’ll pretend we never met. but if you’re asking whether i’m scared of a headline and a blurry shot of the back of my head ? not a chance ! ❞

for a moment, grace didn’t say anything. she just stared at him like she was trying to catch the lie ⸻ because there had to be one. people didn’t say things like that. not without strings or hidden agendas. and yet here he was, sitting beside her like the tabloids absolutely meant nothing, looking at her like she meant something ⸻ and that made her stomach twist. his words should’ve rolled right off her. that was the safest way to play it ; smile politely, deflect with a quip, file it under ‘ nice things people say before they fuck you over. ’ but they didn’t. they stuck. “ i don’t, ” she said ⸻ quickly, too quickly. too honest. she blinked once, almost startled at her own voice. “ want space, ” she finished, quieter now. less sure. like the words had snuck past her usual armor. the femme looked at him for a long beat, studying the soft angle of his jaw, the way his expression didn’t shift even under scrutiny. she felt something tighten in her chest. something that was not convenient. something she absolutely refused to name. so she looked away. cleared her throat. shoved every spiraling thought back down to wherever she kept all the things she didn’t have time to feel. then she pulled out her wallet and dropped enough cash on the counter to cover both of their drinks. “ that place you mentioned, ” she said, meeting his eyes again. “ i want to go. is your offer still on the table? ”

                             “     what     if     i     never     forget     you     ?     what     if,      all     my     life,      when     i     meet     someone     new      .     .     .     i     can     never     fall     for     them     because     they     aren’t     you     ?     ”

mere’s jaw tightened at the femme’s words, just slightly, the same way it did in the middle of a complicated procedure ⸻ right before she made the cut she didn’t want to make, but had to. “ you don’t have to forget me, ” she replied, calm and composed, though couldn’t seem to look at the other in the eye without something in her threatening to give. “ but one day, you’ll remember this and know it was the right thing. maybe not for us, but for you. ” because niamh still had time. time to believe in something real, something that didn’t come in the shape of a woman who wore her wedding ring like chains she couldn’t take off. “ you’re going to fall for someone who’s available. someone who doesn’t look at you and calculate every boundary they’re about to cross. ” she finally looked at her, a ghost of a smile forming on her lips. “ i wanted to be that person. but i’m not. and i won’t pretend otherwise just to keep you near. ”

❝it feels that way for me, too.❞ as if someone had ripped out several pages from their book without her knowledge. but the only minor detail was that she did know, because tawny had done it herself. ❝it's not like we can TURN BACK TIME and be like we were before, because frankly we can't.❞

valentina didn’t even know why she asked her here. maybe she thought closure would look cleaner. quieter. maybe she thought seeing tawny again would smooth over the ache that never really left. instead, they were seated across from each other in a painfully cheery little café, voices raised just enough to draw a few stares, and it all felt like a mistake. she pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing steady despite everything. she wasn’t flustered. she didn’t get flustered. not anymore. “ i didn’t come here to argue, ” she said, her voice cool and level ⸻ the kind of tone that always made people sit up straighter across an interrogation table. “ i asked you here because it’s been years, and i’m still trying to make sense of something that never should’ve gone unanswered. ” the words weren’t angry. they weren’t emotional. they were precise ⸻ cut clean, like everything she did. “ you don’t get to disappear and then sit across from me now, claiming that it was all inevitable. it wasn’t. ” she leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “ i’m not here because i want to rehash the past ⸻ i’ve moved forward. believe me. i’ve rebuilt, and then some. ” her jaw tightened, just briefly. “ but if someone asked me today why we stopped being friends, i still wouldn’t have an answer. ” and that, more than anything, is what pissed her off.

allowing the  beautiful  mystery  to  make  strides  by  him,  almost  as  if  she  owned  the  space.  in  his  mind,  at  this  moment,  she  did.  fingers  worked  to  secured  locks  before  turning  back  to  follow  in  the  same  steps  with  a  sense  of  silent  awe  and  a  warm  gravitational  pull  that  left  him  in  silent  awe.  truly  she  left  him  speechless.  as  she  came  into  view,  his  steps  slowed  when  she  pulled  the  layer  of  fabric  from  her  shoulders,  the body-guard  suspended  all  movement.  only allowing  his  surroundings  to  become  blurred  and  faded  and  succumbing  to  the  vision  of  her.  admiring  eyes  lowered  the  more  they  took  sips  of  curves,  the  swaying  ones  that  he's  seen  more  than  enough  for  him  to  not  be  shy  about  it.  still,  he  had  respect.  alternating  between  a  random  object  then  her  to  keep  himself  anchored,  but  the  numbing  effect  she  gave  him  turned  him  into  passionate  addict.  he  caught  the  sight  of  her  layered  gaze,  making  his  chin  tilt  upward  and  a  shimmer  of  mischief  filtered  sage.  offering  the  intoxicating  femme  a  proud  grin  —  letting  her  know  that  he  acknowledged  the  tone.  with  every  stop  eva  took  it  resembled  sparks  of  flint  being  struck,  aiming  for  the  tension  to  detonate  their  fusion.   "  don't  forget,  in  all  the  right  angles,  too.  "  mirroring  the  chime  in  her  velvet,  he  responded  in  a  form  of  thick  oak.  arms  folded  across  his  chest  when  the  memories  that  were  now  smeared  sent  his  blood  to  be  spread  hot  and  rushing.  dammit  —  she  had  him.  arms  dropping  when  entered  his  orbit  and  became  within  arms  reach,  making  broad  shoulders  relax  and  head  ducking  to  meet  her  halfway.  hands  calloused  from  years  of  experience  found  her  back  and  held  her  with  a  secure  grip  against  his  frame.  her  lips  ghosting  words  against  his  skin  made  his  eyes  close,  hands  now  sliding  to  her  sides,  fingers  curling  the  dress  as  his  lids  peeled  open.  "  yeah?  "  the  former  ranger  echoed.  soft  but  still  like  gravel,  "  [  .  .  .  ]  you're  all  i  fu.ckin'  think  about.  "  lip  jerked.  the  realization  of  his  confession  felt  juvenile,  but  it  was  the  truth.  "  how  about  i  meet  you  in  bed,  hm?  you  want  somethin'  to  drink?  "  he  lowly  inquired.  with  a  slow  painful  pull  way  from  eva,  topher  did  one  last  scan  down  the  sculpture  features,  tipsy  even  but  still  genuine.

the femme had always been told that she has a silver tongue that could charm its way past cia and interpol. but lately? the lies were getting harder to keep track of. the fake last name she gave him on their second night. the vague mention of the company she claimed she worked at that totally doesn’t exist. every truth she told him was carefully packaged, edited, redacted. just enough to make her seem real, never enough to get caught. but right now? god, her head was empty. not just because of the six shots of tequila she downed before coming up here, but also because of him. topher, with his southern accent and even more southern manners, with his vague stories that only scratch the surface of the kind of person he is. everything about him was the opposite of what she should want. and still, she wanted him. bad. “ red wine, if you have some, ” she called softly over her shoulder, slipping deeper into his space like she pays rent ⸻ like his sheets were already etched with her name. “ or one of those beers you like so much. either’s good. ” the words floated out casually, but her nerves were fraying fast. every step closer to his bedroom felt like one more crack in her armor. inside, the room was dim, soft - lit, warm. her heels came off with a quiet thud, one after the other, and she let her hair down, fingers combing through the strands. she sat on the edge of his bed, back straight, legs crossed, trying to act like this wasn’t dangerous. like she wasn’t on the edge of a knife. because this? this was reckless. and valentina did not do reckless. except, apparently, when it came to him. a minute later, her phone buzzed. she sighed before even reading it, tugging it from the pocket of her dress. ( director ➢ 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢. 𝚠𝚎’𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚎. ) her jaw clenched. of course. the high - profile drug case and its even more high - profile ‘ alleged ’ criminals. all of it waiting just outside this warm, stupid, magnetic bubble she’d wandered back into. she rolled her eyes at the screen and quickly turned the device off, dropping it face - down on the bedside table like it was someone else’s problem. “ hey, babe, ” she called, louder this time. “ i can’t sleep here tonight. ” a pause. “ work thing. early meeting. one of those can’t-miss-or-people-might-die type. ” she smiled faintly at her own joke, because she’s unironically telling the truth this time.

"don't worry. i'll be here." pausing for a second, a sigh slips out. "is everything okay? you sound ... off."

elena grips the phone tighter as she descends the last flight of stairs, keys cold in her hand, breath catching from both the pace and the remnants of the conversation still echoing in her chest. it’s not like they yelled at each other ⸻ it wasn’t even a full - on fight. not really. but whatever it was, it left a weight behind. one she didn’t want to carry alone tonight. “ to be honest? i don’t know, ” she says after a beat, sliding through the front door of her building and into the warm night air. “ quentin and i just had this… thing. a conversation. or an argument ⸻ sort of. i don’t know. it just got weird. ” she exhales, unlocking the car with a quick flick and gets into the driver’s seat. she tossed her keys on the passenger side before leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. it’s silent for a moment on the line, and she fills it with a faint, bitter laugh. “ your brother can be so frustrating when he wants to be, you know that? like really, infuriatingly good at saying just enough to make me second - guess everything. ”

               brooks straightens his posture, bracing himself as he waits for the genesis of a fight. his mind’s eye was already watching them scream at each other outside this stupid club, making a mess of a scene. but the exhale of relief when she clarifies that no, this wasn’t her boyfriend, is so noticeable that brooks feels his face turn hot. his mouth parted in protest—ready to speak on her dignity—but emilia had already turned the page, already moved on. all of his arguments withered inside his mouth, lips closing. he was looking at her now as if she were the back of his own hand. there’s no question in his mind, remembering exactly who emilia was, that she had more dignity than the best of them. “ he’s an idiot, you know. ” it's a thought vocalized. accidental, but not any less true. not that brooks had came out looking much better, even without their history considered. “ you deserve a better first date than this, ” the slightest slur of his speech on certain consonants, “ without a fuckin’ entourage. ” ‘thank you’ from her mouth strikes right through him. he had to get it together. brooks worked to remind himself that emilia following him out here meant nothing. any company was better than the imitation scott disick she’d left inside. another exhale when she clarifies what he could never ask—that she hadn’t dated since. something inside his chest loosens, a knot he didn’t know he had been carrying. their breakup had triggered a sequence of unfollowing, deleting, and archiving. digital absence didn't make letting go any easier, but it gave the illusion of finality. still, it came with consequences. it left brooks with no window into her life, much less her love life. “ i haven’t really either. ” there was one girl, a fleeting flare, but it had always flickered in and out. a few matchbox lovers was far from a relationship, not when he had the blazing inferno of emilia to compare it to. “ dating … ” he trails off, knowing nothing he was about to say was revolutionary, “ i don't know, it’s hard. ” the biting cold had begun to seep into his bones, stutter his thoughts. and while the last twenty minutes had done a lot to peel back the layer of fog from his mind, brooks knew he had a long way to go. he looks down the main drag, four streetlights away was the yellowed-awning 24-hour diner brooks had come to haunt when he came back home. " look—i'm headed down to bernie's, if you want to come. ” the question feels like he just laid his heart on the table, but he fought tooth and nail for a tone of nonchalance. “ but i get it if you need to get back, ” he looks behind her, pointing at the club entrance, “ ... to finish the night up. ”

she just watched him. watched the way he tried to keep it cool, tried to tuck the weight of whatever he was feeling behind the seams of casual conversation. she knew that tone. knew the way brooks deflected when something got too close to his home. he was always like that, before ⸻ when they were just two people orbiting each other, pretending the gravity didn’t pull. she used to find it frustrating, the way he would never say what he meant unless she dragged it out of him. but tonight, she didn’t need him to say it. she could already tell in the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes for too long. still, when he says he hasn’t really dated either, something settles in her chest. not relief exactly, but something adjacent. something like she wasn’t the only one still carrying the ghost of what they had. “ yeah, ” the femme murmured after a beat. “ it’s hard. ” not in the small - talk kind of way. not like she was trying to relate or be polite. there was weight to it ⸻ shared experience. failed expectations. burnt out attempts at starting over. she breathed into her hands, warming her fingers as she added, “ i hate the getting to know each other part the most. the surface stuff. where you’re just two people pretending not to be strangers, trying to act like it’s all effortless when really you’re doing mental gymnastics just to seem interesting or likable or whatever. ” her throat tightened slightly, but she continued. “ i don’t want to explain myself to someone new. i want someone who already knows me. ” she lets the words hang, hazel hues seemingly locked on his blue ones, like she’s expecting him to understand. taking a page out of his playbook and not saying what she meant, secretly hoping that even after five years, he can still see right through her. there’s a beat of silence, and then he’s offering her a way out. she turns slightly to glance back at the club, at the door that just swung open. her ‘ date ’ is standing there, arms stretched like he’s expecting her to run back, to forget everything and fall at his feet because he’s got a jawline and a pack of wingmen. she can’t help but roll her eyes. no thanks. “ i think i’m done here, ” her fingers tug her coat tighter around her frame as she stepped closer to brooks without thinking. not close enough to touch. just enough to let the space between them shift. “ besides, ” her voice lifts just a little, a quiet playfulness tucked inside, “ i’m suddenly craving some burger and fries. you paying? ”