rusted wheel, planted still.

Dusty made himself at home in a chair, still a shirt down but a poncho gained which was a win all round. He had to squint one eye to see properly, noticing the red haired friend that he owed a heartfelt apology to. Even though Rhys’ bees tried to kill him. “Hey-o.” he slurred and waved Rhys closer, because he didn’t have the sobriety to move from the seat. “Whys-thebees?” he added, thinking he made perfect sense. “Some home guard? Whys not a dog?” Dusty flipped the poncho like he was a wizard in a movie, sinking into the chair because he couldn’t keep himself up. “Hm? What…do.” A burp. “Do you have to say for yourself?”

☆

          oh, goddamn it. rhys has been having a good night so far, alright? he’s been dancing and drinking, mingling with new friends and old ones he hasn’t seen in ages. so you’ll have to forgive him if he heaves an exasperated breath at the sight of dusty sprawled in a chair not too far away, looking drunk as a skunk and just as grubby. and, look, dusty’s a lifelong friend. all the andersons are. they’re like brothers to rhys, and they always have been. but dusty ― damn if dusty ain’t just a thorn in his side sometimes all the same, plucking at his nerves just as well as if he’d been blood. and just because he’s told himself he’s harboring no hard feelings toward the other for the incident with his beehive doesn’t mean he’s out looking for any more of the anderson’s drunken shenanigans tonight. ❝ how you doin’, dusty? ❞ rhys sighs as he nears the man, brows lifting as he takes in the sight of him. clearly he’s been getting his worth at the open bar, as much is evidenced by his slurred words. ( the posture’s the first clue, and honestly, rhys isn’t sure how dusty is managing to stay in the chair. )

          ❝ why’s the bees? ❞ rhys repeats, blinking. ❝ well, not for home security, that’s for damn sure. and it’s a good thing, too, ‘cause you single-handedly gave me all the proof i need that shit wouldn’t work. ❞ rhys shrugs, shakes his head, but any attempt he plans to make at continuing is interrupted by a burp and, christ, you could light a fire with his breath right now. rhys wrinkles his nose, takes a swig of his own drink to try forget it. ❝ i don’t know, man, they’re just — they’re just my bees, ain’t no why about it, ‘cept that they make me happy. keep my garden nice too, i don’t fuckin’ know. and anyway, i really feel like i ain’t the one should really be defendin’ myself here. ❞ rhys leans a palm against the chair nearest him as he eyes dusty, tries to choose his next words carefully. because, yeah, he was a dumbass who’d wrecked rhys’ shit and lost him a whole colony, but it wasn’t like he’d meant to. there wasn’t anything malicious about it. ❝ look, i ain’t actually mad about it, alright? shit happens. usually more often when you’re involved, but that’s ― whatever. instant karma got you better than i could anyhow. ❞ and that much was entirely true ― if you asked rhys, those stings were definitely deserved.

“So you’re going to have to explain the bees.” Alex came up to Rhys, giving him a small one armed hug. She was beyond happy that Cora had finally found someone that she could completely gush about. She’d heard almost everything her older cousin had to tell her about their relationship, but she wanted to hear things from Rhys as well. He’d completely swept everyone off their feet at Christmas and the fact that Emma loved him, Alex did as well. 

☆ 

          brows lift in amused curiosity at the statement that accompanies alex upon her approach toward rhys and he can’t help but laugh as he reciprocates the younger stanley’s one-armed embrace. he’d gotten to know cora’s cousin a bit better at christmas — he can’t recall too much of the evening, he’d been such a bundle of nerves at the idea of being introduced to some of her closer friends and family, but he’d made sure to speak to everyone, alex included. he knew that she and cora were close, friends on top of family, and that meant he was just as invested in getting to know her. ❝ what d’you mean, explain the bees? ❞ he chuckles as he takes a step back and tilts his head. it’s an honest question ― she could be asking any number of things. was she asking him to explain his own bees, the hives in his backyard? or had she seen the charm on the delicate chain hanging around cora’s neck? his cuff-links, maybe? ❝ i’m not gonna lie, i’ve had a couple a’ drinks, so i might need y’to be a little more specific. ❞

*    ◟  closed event starter /  at their table , 10:40pm .  / @rhysles​​​

                            the whole night’s been going wonderfully, cora’s mind now finally at ease with the year coming to an end. after all, december’s always been the busiest month of the year not just for the bakery, but her social life as well. it’s nice to be able to finally relax ( being kid-free also serves as a good thing ) and enjoy the night with those closest to her, which now also includes her boyfriend ( still getting used to the word ) who just happens to be ( in her humble opinion ) the most dashing male there. well, she maybe biased but still, the second her ocean hues landed on him earlier in the evening when he picked her up from her home, she couldn’t of kept her eyes off him. but can anyone really blame her? the woman’s head over heels in love. returning from the bathroom where she fixed her makeup, cora joins him at the table, a smile instantly spreading across her beautiful features as she takes a seat before him. ❝ hope you haven’t gotten yourself into much trouble while i’ve been away, ❝  she teases, leaning forward almost instinctively at this point to press a soft kiss on his lips.  ​​​

❝ i know you prefer line dancin’ and shakin’ your cute little cabooty to rascal flatts, but would you like to dance with me now? ❝  she asks the following moment, motioning over to the dance floor while referring to the slow songs that have been currently playing. it’s been a while since she slow danced with anyone in a romantic way, and hell, she wants to take advantage of the opportunity like this. 

☆ 

          as rhys swirls the last dregs of whiskey around the bottom of his glass with an absent hand and lets his gaze drift the room in wait of cora’s return, he can’t help but take a second to reflect on the year. tonight would be the night to think about those sorts of things, he figures, but it’s just ― well, damn if it isn’t hard to fathom how drastically the course of his life’s seemed to shift, even over just the last few months, to lead him to this very moment. at a massive new year’s eve party ( last year he’d been planted on his couch with a bottle of jack and a pair of sweats to watch the ball drop on cable tv ) with a drop-dead gorgeous woman on his arm who, in spite of being painfully out of his league, was happy to be there with him. his girlfriend. ( rhys can’t recall the last time he’d been able to say those words, the last time he’d wanted to before now. ) and rhys would argue there wasn’t a soul in bradford more beautiful, inside and out, than cora stanley. he’s reminded of just how lucky he is to be entering the new year with her as he spots her approaching the table; steely blues admire the elegant, fluid form of her silhouette in a black gown that nearly had his jaw on the same floor the fabric grazed the first time he saw her in it. and even now, fuck, he’s got to admit — he’s staring. all the way up until the moment she finds the seat opposite him, and even then, he’s got his eyes locked fondly on hers until the moment they close when she leans in for a kiss.

Bowie’s looking back as she walks, laughing with the new friend she’s made and completely unaware of the man she’s crossing paths with – until she’s physically running into him. Naturally, she gasps, whipping her attention around to face him and the drink that’s now on the ground “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. None of it got on you, did it? I got a Tide pen in my bag if you need it,” She says as she takes a step back, her hand resting on his arm as she looks him over. “I know it’s an open bar and I’m technically not paying, but let me get you another drink. It’s the least I can do. I insist,” Bowie offers with a genuinely apologetic smile.

☆ 

          look, he’s not out here trying to get sloppy or anything ― he knows his limits, okay? and unlike a handful of his friends from the southside, he does usually try to abide by them, at very least and especially in public ― but yeah, okay, rhys has had a couple of drinks. fuck it, it’s new year’s eve, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, he’s looking toward the start of the new year and its prospects, so he’s feeling pretty good. good enough, it would appear, that he’s not paying a lick of attention to where he’s going until his path collides with a stranger’s and suddenly there’s a damp patch soaking through the cotton of his shirt and his whiskey’s in a puddle on the floor between them. the moment his brain catches up to what happened, rhys is swift to dismiss the kind woman’s apology with a casual wave of his hand before it lands atop hers on his own arm, almost as if to reassure her with the gesture.

          ❝ you, ❞ he begins, and there’s a warm grin spreading onto his lips, ❝ are an absolute sweetheart, and don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. but! i promise you it ain’t worth all your trouble. ❞ and really, it wasn’t. he’d abandoned his suit jacket back at the table, and below it he wore a simple black t-shirt. ( albeit one of his nicer ones. ) ❝ it won’t stain. and even if it did, i’d still end up wearin’ it. ❞ he can’t help but laugh at her offer to make up for the incident, even if he still isn’t entirely sure he’s not just as guilty a party, and rhys nods. ❝ i’d gladly take another drink though. it ain’t about the money anyhow ― ‘s the thought that counts, right? ❞

.

“I’m just saying it so you don’t have to and can go on being your sugar sweet ol’ self.” Sofia laughed and waved off his playful retort. It was weird how old looked so much different as each year passed. At Tristin’s age she would have said thirty nine is ancient and now that she was there it felt like she still didn’t know what she was doing or how so many years had passed. “Well thank you, I’ll take the compliment as long as you admit you look just as good.” She grinned his way. Her looks never mattered much to her, it wasn’t a priority in her line of work both past and present. But, a compliment was nice to hear every now and again so she wasn’t going to completely wave it off.

Sofia hummed a sound of approval, happy he didn’t turn her down and moved to put the bake she had prepared earlier into the oven. “I miss you too, hon.” She made a sentimental ‘aww’ after. “You know,” she started and turned away from the oven to face him. “I know how it is. Do you know how many people I need to catch up with in this damn city?” Too many was the answer. “There is not enough time in the day. I got the ranch and Tristin and the family, plus whatever random thing comes up in between. Before you know it a whole year has passed and you don’t seem to remember the last time you went out or seen any of your closest friends.” 

☆

          when sofia swings the compliment back around onto him, rhys can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head at her words. ❝ yeah, alright, ❞ he concedes with a wave of his hand and a smile that’s almost bashful ― he’s never been the best at receiving a compliment, but he does appreciate her kindness. even after all these years, there was something about sofia that still felt like a second home to rhys. she felt like family, and her words were sincere. besides, even rhys had to concede he looked decent enough for thirty-five ( and stressed ) to pull a woman so far out of his league the thought of it made him dizzy. leaving his boots in the mud room, socked feet shuffle back into her kitchen and he returns to the crate he’s left on her counter, straightening jars for little reason other than something to do with his hands as he concentrates on her words.

          and she speaks a truth that’s far too relatable, one that has rhys shaking his head for all that he can commiserate with the sentiment. there’s not enough time in the day. and there never really is, is there? his gaze remains on hers as she speaks of the ranch and her family, and he can recall an era of his life where this very same ranch was where much of the time in his day went, where her family were frequent fixtures in the young ranch hand’s life. ❝ well, ❞ he says, resting an arm against the edge of the crate as he flashes her a grin, ❝ ‘least we’ll have plenty of time for catchin’ up over dinner tonight before we go another year. so what’s on the menu, sof?  ❞

          he should’ve said. yeah, maybe. probably. if he’d said something sooner, maybe rhys wouldn’t have backed himself into the corner he’s in now, with only a few weeks to go until he’s supposed to take this damn test and losing more and more sleep every night over the fact that he’s still not even close to feeling prepared for it. ( how many nights has he had to talk himself down from a panic attack this week alone? fuck. five things you can see, four things you can feel… he feels tired, okay? and maybe a little frustrated, too. ) but maybe he didn’t want to say. maybe ― shit, maybe he wanted to believe that he could do this own, too, that he could just fucking figure it out, the way he’d just figured out how to raise an infant or help his dad keep a roof over their head and cps off his ass at the same time. compared to that, this should’ve been easy. it was high school math, social studies. he expected it to be easy. easier, at least. but he was wrong, and maybe this whole time he’s just been too embarrassed to admit it.

          but rhys isn’t about to own up to any of this. oh, fuck, no. one confession’s enough for the night, he thinks, so all he musters in return is a half-shrug and a simple, ❝ yeah… yeah, i know. ❞ rhys glances down at the book in his lap, flips it open and absently turns a few pages. ❝ well, there’s a test comin’ up near the end of january. that’s, uh ― that’s the big one, ❞ he explains, ❝ but i signed up for this class on the internet through the, uh, the community college? and it’s supposed help you get prepared or whatever ― i don’t fuckin’ know, the lady who helped me when i went in suggested it ― but the thing is, it’s just makin’ me realize i have no idea what the hell i’m doing, or ― or where to even begin. ❞ rhys goans as he looks back up toward his brother. ❝ i never did my homework, i was always too busy tryin’ to get you to do yours. ❞ he means it entirely teasing, no guilt or perceived remorse intended. because it doesn’t bother him that he had to wait this long to do it, that there were just other things he had to take care of first. truly. what bothers him is that after all this time, he still doesn’t get it.

          elliot’s hesitations distract him from this, though, give him pause. steely gaze narrows on his brother, melancholy masked behind a sharper curiosity. ❝ you won’t. ❞ it’s not presented to him as opinion, but fact. did he really think that he’d trip him up? that he even could? the dunsmore brothers shared a close bond, thrust into the harsh reality of the world from a young age and left with no other option than to carry each other, arm in arm, through the thick of it all. and when it all became too much, when elliot would trip up and stumble himself, rhys’ stride never faltered and his hold on his brother never wavered. because no matter what happened, they’d get through it. together. only it’s not elliot stumbling now but rhys, and he’s dumbfounded that his brother could see anything in his potential downfall other than rhys’ own two feet. ❝ makes you feel any better, i don’t got a clue where to start either. fuckin’… flash cards, maybe? i dunno, ❞ rhys admits, and then more casually, as if to lighten the weight of the words,  ❝ and anyhow, from where i’m sittin’, i don’t see anything wrong with where you’re at right now. ❞

          as if to drive that point even further home, rhys nods as his brother continues to press him, offering him every out to change his mind and rescind his request. but rhys can’t. ❝ you gonna make me beg you? ❞ he chuckles at that, holds the textbook out to elliot in an offer. so he can at least see where they’re starting. ❝ yeah, i’m sure. and i promise you it ain’t a decision i made on a whim. ❞

•

Elliot listens intently to Rhys – to his admission. The guilt isn’t easy to swallow but this isn’t about him. This is about his brother needing help and coming to him. It’s rare that Elliot can provide support to Rhys, his older brother always being the shoulder he leaned on growing up. During his lowest lows, Rhys was there, keeping his head above water. And at the peak of his highest highs, Rhyse was there, anchoring him. Throughout all of his life, Elliot has leaned on his brother and this once, it feels terrifying to have Rhys lean on him. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. “Shit. Okay. So you got a few weeks right? We can work with that,” he says, agreeing to help without saying as much. “School is stupid but…I only got through it because of you.” His natural intellect could only go so far when he’d been determined to fail.

He picks up two of the books and furrows a brow at the number of topics they cover. “What’re you struggling most with now?” Elliot flips through a few pages and glances over at Rhys, sincerity in his expression. “Let’s start there. And then we can figure out the…uh…best way to help you learn it. I’m not a great teacher,” he warns before setting the books down, rubbing palms on his thighs, almost like he’s nervous. Elliot shrugs. “But I’ll do my best. We’ll make sure you pass, Rhys.” It’s a promise, one he’s determined to keep to himself but, more important, to his brother.

☆ CHRISTMAS 2022 ― gifts from rhys.

“ well , how can i resist some free smokes ?? you’re on , dunsmore . “ his finger clicked against his knuckle as he pointed back at his friend . his favourite hobby , other than drinking to excess and driving at top speed with eric clapton blasting from the speakers of his pickup , was fucking with animals that he had no chance against . there was a very real chance that the mindless dare would end in a hospital visit or much , much worse . glancing over one shoulder as the stetson-wearing boy wrestled with the bull , he called : “ did’ya know these things can run at thirty-five miles per hour ?? that’s like bein’ hit by a car full-speed . “ and he truly thought he stood a chance . as instructed , mr. mean burst his way through the cracked open fence , and without wasting any time striker leapt back onto the gate , using it as a leg-up to launch himself at the hind quarters of the animal , throwing thighs either side of jet fur to keep him as stable as humanly possible . one hand reached to clasp at a shimmering ivory horn , refracting the winter sunlight as grunts and bellows huffed from the enraged creature . without a red glowing timer it was difficult to pinpoint exactly how long striker was on the back of the bull . it bucked and kicked to throw the male off , yet his grip remained unrelenting and threatened only by wild , pitchy laughter , the unmistakable mark of the eldest cannon . 

☆ 

          rhys wonders sometimes if it’s shit like this that’s gonna land him in hell one day. he knows damn well that he shouldn’t have even said anything, that this is dangerous. but he knows he doesn’t stand a chance at trying to change striker’s mind now because he’s already giving the kid the go-ahead to release the bull and hopping up onto the gate like the dumbass that he is. ( this is gonna end in a hospital visit, rhys knows it. he deserves it. this is karma for even encouraging the eldest cannon to begin with, and the price he’s going to pay is a night spent in the emergency room with striker. it wouldn’t be the first time. ) the factoid called with far too much vigor for the circumstances does not go unnoticed by the dunsmore, and he shakes his head as he takes a nervous pull from his cigarette, trying to decide if the whole ordeal is even worth watching. ❝ you’re outta your damn mind, you know that? ❞ rhys shouts as striker mounts the bull, disbelief evident in his tone as the older male actually manages to hang on in spite of the chaotic spontaneity of it all. he’s not counting, but he’s sure that striker’s gotta be close to eight seconds. ❝ get off’a him before you get your ass thrown off! ❞ but rhys is laughing, each chuckle tumbling forth in a cloudy puff of smoke and condensation. shit, he’s starting to think maybe they’ll both need a drink after this.

WHO: dusty ( @dusty-anderson​ )

WHERE: southside, somewhere on the sidewalk

☆

          ❝ hey! merry christmas, asshole! ❞ rhys shouts as his walk back from his pops’ house lands him in a path adjacent to the eldest anderson sibling, the very same who’d decided to black out and wreak absolute havoc on his backyard only a few days prior. the second he spots dusty on the sidewalk, rhys is digging in his pockets, looking for the gift he’d been carrying around on his person in the hopes of happening upon this exact moment. fingers curl around a small plastic device latched to a key ring and tug it from his coat, and he hollers a quick ❛ catch! ❜ in dusty’s direction before lobbing the keychain right at him. he half-expects it to land in the murky snow-slush that litters the sidewalks, and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t take everything in him not to aim for the taller man’s head. he wouldn’t. he’s mature enough. ( they’re not boys anymore, anyway. ) ❝ hope you didn’t mind i didn’t wrap it. it’s a breathalyzer, so next time you decide to get trashed, you can give it a puff and remember to keep your drunk ass outta my yard. ❞

Angel always imagines the bond she has with Rhys is the one she’s supposed to have with Finn. Her brother who shares the same poison that is O’Connor blood is a man she’d set the world on fire for, but they never stood a chance. Normalcy is far gone and absent from the foundation their relationship is built upon. Her brother who took beating after beating after beating at the hands of their father while her and her half sisters would try to drown it out one room over. Her brother who went to prison for trying to kill their father. Her brother who, for all intents and purposes, became a single dad to a wayward teenage girl when so much of his youth had been stolen from him. Her brother who keeps so much of it to himself, just like her. She knows the Dunsmore’s situation growing up wasn’t perfect, far from it, but when she looks at Rhys, she sees who Finn could’ve been if he’d been given a fighting chance. Maybe that’s why she’s always been more receptive to Jack’s oldest son. He was softer, level headed, patient. It took some time, but before she knew it, the weight of his words mattered to her, his thoughts, his opinions. And so she’s waiting, bracing herself for his justified disappointment, knowing hearing it come from Rhys specifically will hurt. 

“Yeah, okay,” Angel cracks into a smile, laughing and easing up a bit. It’s a mind trick he’s playing on her by starting off with a little joke, but it works. It soothes her some as she slides the menu closer to her. “You do make a pretty mean easy mac. Straight out of the pot gives it more flavor. If you went to Neue or some shit, and they brought your mac and cheese out in a pot for dinner, there would be articles and shit written about it,” She teases, pulling her legs up to her chest in the booth. Might as well make herself comfortable. “What’re you getting?” Angel asks, bringing her focus down to the menu pages sticking together as if she doesn’t have all of what Little Goat has to offer virtually memorized by now.

☆ 

          her smile is reassuring, her laughter even more so as she seems to relax a little at his coaxing. rhys doesn’t want her to be upset. he’s not here to yell at her, to shame her or accuse her of anything. he just wants to have a conversation, to figure out where her head’s at. what’s going on. and honestly, more than anything, if he can help. angel may not be blood to rhys or any of the dunsmores, but she’s just as good as. a little sister he hadn’t asked for, but one he was glad to take on all the same, and now there’s no question whether he’d look after her like she was one of his own. because she is. her praise of his instant macaroni is enough to have rhys chuckling too, and he can’t help but shake his head at the defense she proposes for his frequent decision to serve it straight out of the pot when it’s just angel that he’s feeding. ❝ thank you. but i tell you what, if i go somewhere like neue and order their mac and cheese for, what? probably somethin’ close to twenty bucks, i’d bet, that’s some fancy shit. if i order that, and they bring it to the table in the pot they cooked it in? ❞ rhys lets out a low whistle. ❝ fuckin’ speechless. ❞

         her question has him grinning as he leans back in the booth, reaching for the cup of coffee he’d ordered while he was waiting for her to get there. ❝ pancakes, duh, ❞ rhys replies easily, and repeats as much when their server arrives ( minus the dramatic addendum at the end ) before turns his gaze to angel when it’s her turn to order. he waits until it’s just the two of them at the table again to speak up. ❝ so, ❞ he says slowly, careful, as he returns his mug to the table and crosses his arm atop it in a casual lean. ❝ you wanna tell me how you been or what? clue me in on what’s been goin’ on in the world of angel lately? ❞ are there things rhys wants to talk about? absolutely. but he’s not going to guide her, at least not at first. in his opinion, it’s just as important to check in on how she feels about where she’s at before he goes poking around for what he wants to know. and clearly there’s something going on ― there’s got to be, rhys thinks ― but the question is whether she wants to talk about it. ( he wonders, too, if she already knows that he does. ) ❝ ain’t really had the chance to sit down with you and really just talk in a minute, so let’s shoot the shit, huh? ❞

When their mom left, it always felt like it was the two of them keeping the boat afloat. Their dad was consumed with making ends meet, with making sure there was a roof over their head. And Elliot had always felt like he and Rhys were doing the rest. What he’s realized as he’s gotten older is that Rhys had shouldered more than he’d understood at the time, and that when Elliot was kicking water into their life boat, chaos and ruin following him throughout his youth, Rhys was there, bucketing it out. Making sure that the three of them stayed above water.

Elliot feels selfish now thinking about it. How much had his brother given up because he couldn’t get his own head straight? Because Rhys was bailing him out of trouble, or getting him out of detention or paying for snacks he stole from the gas station or cleaning up his bloody nose after a stupid fight. How much time had he stolen from his brother that all he wants is his GED? It’s an ugly feeling, twisting in his gut as Rhys admits that he’s considered it for a few months. “You should’ve said, Rhys,” Elliot chides gently, raking a hand through his hair as he lets out a puff of breath. “What do ya gotta do for it?” He asks, resting elbows on knees and propping his face on a hand, glancing at Rhys. “Like…just take a bunch of tests or take classes or what?”

He already knows what his answer will be, but finds he it hard to believe that he’s Rhys’ best option. “I’ll do whatever I can I just…I wouldn’t know where to start,” he sighs, “I don’t want…I don’t want to trip you up is all.” Elliot shrugs, falling back into the couch once more. “Look where it’s gotten me, though.” No where. “It’s not…it’s not a sure fix. I just…yeah.” He breathes, a slight chuckle escaping as he casts a sidelong glance at his brother. “You sure? Like really sure? I don’t wanna fuck this up for you.”

☆ 

          he should’ve said. yeah, maybe. probably. if he’d said something sooner, maybe rhys wouldn’t have backed himself into the corner he’s in now, with only a few weeks to go until he’s supposed to take this damn test and losing more and more sleep every night over the fact that he’s still not even close to feeling prepared for it. ( how many nights has he had to talk himself down from a panic attack this week alone? fuck. five things you can see, four things you can feel... he feels tired, okay? and maybe a little frustrated, too. ) but maybe he didn’t want to say. maybe ― shit, maybe he wanted to believe that he could do this own, too, that he could just fucking figure it out, the way he’d just figured out how to raise an infant or help his dad keep a roof over their head and cps off his ass at the same time. compared to that, this should’ve been easy. it was high school math, social studies. he expected it to be easy. easier, at least. but he was wrong, and maybe this whole time he’s just been too embarrassed to admit it.

          but rhys isn’t about to own up to any of this. oh, fuck, no. one confession’s enough for the night, he thinks, so all he musters in return is a half-shrug and a simple, ❝ yeah... yeah, i know. ❞ rhys glances down at the book in his lap, flips it open and absently turns a few pages. ❝ well, there’s a test comin’ up near the end of january. that’s, uh ― that’s the big one, ❞ he explains, ❝ but i signed up for this class on the internet through the, uh, the community college? and it’s supposed help you get prepared or whatever ― i don’t fuckin’ know, the lady who helped me when i went in suggested it ― but the thing is, it’s just makin’ me realize i have no idea what the hell i’m doing, or ― or where to even begin. ❞ rhys goans as he looks back up toward his brother. ❝ i never did my homework, i was always too busy tryin’ to get you to do yours. ❞ he means it entirely teasing, no guilt or perceived remorse intended. because it doesn’t bother him that he had to wait this long to do it, that there were just other things he had to take care of first. truly. what bothers him is that after all this time, he still doesn’t get it.

          elliot’s hesitations distract him from this, though, give him pause. steely gaze narrows on his brother, melancholy masked behind a sharper curiosity. ❝ you won’t. ❞ it’s not presented to him as opinion, but fact. did he really think that he’d trip him up? that he even could? the dunsmore brothers shared a close bond, thrust into the harsh reality of the world from a young age and left with no other option than to carry each other, arm in arm, through the thick of it all. and when it all became too much, when elliot would trip up and stumble himself, rhys’ stride never faltered and his hold on his brother never wavered. because no matter what happened, they’d get through it. together. only it’s not elliot stumbling now but rhys, and he’s dumbfounded that his brother could see anything in his potential downfall other than rhys’ own two feet. ❝ makes you feel any better, i don’t got a clue where to start either. fuckin’... flash cards, maybe? i dunno, ❞ rhys admits, and then more casually, as if to lighten the weight of the words,  ❝ and anyhow, from where i’m sittin’, i don’t see anything wrong with where you’re at right now. ❞

          as if to drive that point even further home, rhys nods as his brother continues to press him, offering him every out to change his mind and rescind his request. but rhys can’t. ❝ you gonna make me beg you? ❞ he chuckles at that, holds the textbook out to elliot in an offer. so he can at least see where they’re starting. ❝ yeah, i’m sure. and i promise you it ain’t a decision i made on a whim. ❞

“I’m going to have to talk to whomever put the idea in peoples heads that I was bad with tools. I’d be so good with a chainsaw, would break things up so quickly, and a sledgehammer? Demo day would be over so quickly.” Dylan pauses to think before her face scrunches up into a frown “it was Finn wasn’t it? I go to the junkyard and pick up a drill one time!” She huffs, ready to start pouting over this injustice that she is facing but then Rhys calls her a brat and she is determined not to give him more fuel. Except that determination lasts all of two seconds when he starts whining about her inability to stay still.

“It’s not my fault you got a stupid big tree. It’s heavier than plastic. You know what I was doing before this? I was on my bed, enjoying my day off. No one yelling at me, no one making me hold trees.” Dylan huffs in defence as she struggles to keep it in one place. She is already breaking a sweat, wondering if Rhys was using this as a form of torture for something she’d previously done to him. All of a sudden she feels Rhys beside her but there’s no time to look at him when she gets a face full of branch. “Rhys!” If her hands weren’t full of tree she might reach over to whack him. She’s contemplating a blind kick when he drops a bomb she’d practically forgotten about in her attempt to survive being crushed by a Christmas tree.

Despite asking the question Dylan did not expect Rhys to give her an actual answer. His usual avoidance of such serious questions was not unfamiliar, when things got uncomfortable for her brothers it was much easier for the pair to deflect. She’d learned from the very best after all. Finally, the tree is held still as Dylan pauses, letting his words sink in. Carefully she stretches her arms to make room between her and leaf to see her brothers face. “That’s wonderful, Rhys, truly,” she speaks in a softened voice, no more yelling at him. To hear her brother thought himself in love soaked her in joy - it was quite possibly the first time she’d ever heard him say it. Cora was different than the few ex-girlfriends her brother had, for starters Rhys had been pulling Cora into his life rather than hiding what his reality was. The dance, the rodeo, thanksgivings; all moments he’d wanted to share with her rather than tell her about. Those were just the ones Dylan had witnessed, she knew he’d been spending a lot more time alone with Cora too. So long Dylan had watched her brother stick at it alone, play his role but never quite have someone to share with. Heck, the role he’d played wasn’t even suppose to be his. He’d given up so much, time and time again, feeling as if he had to be alone to get through it. Maybe he was finally seeing that he didn’t have to, he never had to. Cora was lovely, though from a world so different than their own. She came with her own reality though, a child in tow. Dylan feels a protective pull in her belly to make sure Rhys does not get hurt after finally opening up, along with a twang that so much was changing for both of them and maybe they wouldn’t always have each other to go on the journey with. “Tell me about it. How do you feel about it? Happy? Scared? How does it feel? Like… how do you know it’s love?”

☆ 

         ❝ 'course it’s heavier than plastic, it’s a goddamn tree. it’s made outta wood, for christ’s sake. but it ain’t that bad, y’can manage, ❞ rhys replies easily, unfazed by his sister’s rather vocal struggle with the tree. she’d always had a flair for the dramatics, and though he’d be a liar to say he’s not endeared to it, he has gotten used to it. when he needs to, it’s not hard to tune it out. ❝ oh, don’t act like you didn’t miss me, ❞ he adds as he finally tugs the blade through the last of the netting and frees the ( admittedly decent sized, rhys has to say, it looked a hell of a lot smaller out in the snow than it does in her apartment ) tree. ❝ besides, little bit of movin’ around on your day off ain’t gonna kill ya. what, were you gonna spend the whole day hangin’ out in bed? ❞

         once the branches have settled, rhys kneels back down on the floor, rolling his shoulders back as he prepares to duck his head under the tree so he can try and tighten the base again. icy blues flicker up toward his sister before he can help it when her voice softens, surprised by the abrupt shift in tone. he shouldn’t be. not after the heaping pile of truth he’d just dumped on her in only a few simple words. to describe rhys as emotionally available in any capacity was laughable, but he’s sure there’s not a single soul on this earth that knows more of his secrets than his baby sister. maybe it was because he’d all but fucking raised her, or maybe it was the countless traumas they’d bonded through, but if there’s anyone who can get him to open up, it’s dylan. but there’s something in the way she’s looking at him through the parted pine needles that has rhys suddenly flustered about his decision to confess, and he uses it as an excuse to focus his attention on the task at hand, diving face-first back into the branches the moment she begins to question him further. he can answer her question ― maybe, maybe ― if she can’t watch him try and spit out the words.

         ❝ how do i feel? i don’t ― i mean, yes, to all a’ that, ❞ rhys admits as he pushes past sharp, bushy branches to reach the stand at the base of the trunk, struggling to keep the pine needles out of his mouth as he speaks. ❝ i can tell ya i’m fuckin’ terrified, for one. it’s been ― fuck, feels like it’s been forever since i’ve felt any kinda way about anybody, and here she comes, waltzin’ into my life all of a sudden and makin’ me feel like i’d be out here tryin’ to give her the whole damn world if she’d let me. ❞ hands blindly find the first steel screw and start tightening it before reaching for the next. ❝ and i don’t know what’s scarier ― wonderin’ if she actually will let me, or knowin’ how badly i want her to. and shit, dylan, i really do. ❞ rhys pauses, fingertips stilling briefly on cool metal as he tries to navigate his answer. his feelings. fuck. ❝ she just ― she’s got me grinnin’ like a goddamn fool every time she’s around, like i can’t even help it, and i find myself thinkin’ about her more often than i’m not. i’ve started callin’ her during my breaks at work just ‘cause hearin’ her laugh makes my day that little bit brighter, and i actually look forward to my days off now, ‘cause i know it means i’ll get to see her, and maybe even emma too. ❞ he’s almost finished with the stand now, and he makes a point to get around to his own point before he’s done. ❝ christ knows i ain’t an expert on love, but i feel like that’s only got me more convinced that must be what this is, because i never felt nothing like it before. ❞

          rhys disentangles himself from the branches once he’s fully tightened the stand, pushing himself out from beneath the tree and straightening up on his knees to look up at it ( and at dylan ) before rising to his feet. head falls into a gentle tilt and brows twitch inquisitively, and fuck, okay, he does feel a little bit better now that he’s gotten that off his chest. lighter, even. ❝ why you askin’ me so much about it anyway? you ain’t goin’ to threaten her about it, are you? ❞ it’s mostly a joke, but rhys still eyes his baby sister as he waits for an answer.

                            just like every other ( traditional )  woman in bradford springs, cora appreciated the small, romantic gestures such like flowers on dates. hell, he could’ve handpicked them from a field and she wouldn’t of mind, because it’s him. once the compliment came shortly after, cora could feel her heart skip a beat and cheeks change color but luckily before she could’ve said a word, she was already sitting at the passenger’s seat of his truck, with both doors closed shut. in truth, there was always something about corny pickup lines and compliments in general that cora fancied from a young age. 

                 to be perfectly honest, the only reason cora even brought up neon boots was because she really wanted to go. after all, they’ve been talking about their line dancing skills ever since they met back at the bar in phoenix. well, that and the fact it’s been ages since she had an actual dance parter that wasn’t her brother or one of her friends. a moment later, he snorted out a laugh that caused her to smile even wider, the sole fact that she was the one responsible for it spreading warmth around her  (  already beating a bit faster )  heart.  christ, even his laugh was endearing.  her smile grew even wider as he began talking, their eyes connecting for a moment that she hoped would last longer  (  but alas, he was driving after all ) as he elaborately explained the details of their date.  ❝ i will never reveal my source, ❝  cora replied, chin raising a bit stubbornly up in the air  ( no question where emma got it from )  before grinning right back at him.  ❝ listen, if it will make you feel better, i’ll pretend to be completely surprised and in shock when you take us to the shop later in the evenin’, ❝  she continued on, before starting to chuckle a little more.  

         soon enough, they reach the large parking lot cora instantly recognized as the one before the town’s honky tonk, practically beaming in happiness that they were actually going to dance the night away just like she hoped.  ❝ good, because i really wanted to go, ❝  she admitted, and besides, if there was one thing cora stanley liked, it was being told she’s in the right. call it a stanley stubbornness, considering all the women in her family had it. quickly unbuckling her seatbelt, she turned to face him as as they stopped in front of the neon sign, pearly whites digging into her glossed bottom lip.  ❝ i’m more than ready, ❝  she announced, already feeling far too much excited and happy  ( which showed )  before they even stepped inside the dance hall. because once they were in and her jacket was off, cora had no hesitation to slip her hand into his as she motioned towards the dance floor, ❝ i just hope you’re able to keep up, because y’know there’s one thing to brag about line dancin’ in a crowded bar and a whole other to actually be here, ❝ she teased. 

☆

          the grin that tugs at the dimples above a scruff-lined jaw is enough to give away the truth he’s trying ( and failing ) to hide: as much as he tries to appear the opposite, he is positively endeared by the entire interaction. her playful defiance is enough to coax another chuckle out of him and he glances away from the road long enough to catch sight of a smirk on her lips and the slight jut of her chin.  ❝ you don’t gotta say a word, ❞ he assures her with a shake of his head, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, ❝ i already know it was one of ‘em. just a matter of process of elimination now to figure out who spilled. ❞ a brief pause punctuates his words before he’s laughing again, and when he looks back at her, it’s with a cheeky grin. ❝ matter of fact, that would make me feel better. very thoughtful of you. hey, you don’t get nervous ‘round needles, do you? ❞

          a wink is enough to let her know the question’s rhetorical as they pull in, and there’s enough confidence in the gesture to distract from his relief that she did actually seem happy about him taking her to neon boots, even if it was predictable enough she was able to call his bluff and guess it with ease. ❝ me too, ❞ he admits earnestly. ❝ been thinkin’ about takin’ you here since the first night we danced together at the phoenix. ❞ and, fuck, was that too corny to admit? he doesn’t know. it’s the truth, though, as evidenced by the color that dusts cheekbones in the low light of the parked truck. rhys reaches for his door, hops out and starts around the side of the truck. she’s already out before he can help her down, but he locks up the truck once her door’s shut and lingers for a second beneath the dance hall’s illuminated sign, admiring just how fucking stunning she is under the flickering neon glow. ( the boys are right, he’s punching above his weight big time here. cora stanley is so far out of his league it’s almost laughable, but here he is. here he fuckin’ is. ) her enthusiasm’s infectious, and all she gets from him is a ❝ good ❞ before he’s leading her toward the door.

          he’d be a liar to say his heart doesn’t skip a beat when her hand seems to find his the moment they’re inside, and his gaze is warm when it meets hers, crinkled at the corners in curiosity at the challenging tone of her words. ❝ oh, you don’t gotta worry ‘bout that, darlin’, ❞ rhys assures her as his eyes search the dance floor; there’s a fairly decent crowd tonight, but unlike at the phoenix, neon boots is designed to better accommodate more folks really dancing, and as it stands, they’ve got plenty of room. with her hand in his, rhys is quick to start leading her through the crowd to find a good spot, spinning her ‘round so they’re facing each other once they stumble upon a clear spot toward the center of the floor. only then does he let go of her hand, flashing her a bright grin as he finds her ocean blues under pulsing neon lights. ❛ time t’put your money where your mouth is―❜ if eyes flicker briefly toward her lips, no they don’t, and then he’s jumping into line with the folks around him, quickly slipping into the dance they’ve found themselves in the middle of, ❛ we doin’ this or what? ❜

HAND-ROLLED CIGARETTES  / a rhys dunsmore playlist

satan, settle down! keep your trousers on. you can warm the globe, but leave my wretched soul alone. i don't know you, and i don't owe you a thing, but the children lose their minds in such uncertain times.              a children’s crusade on acid // margot and the nuclear so & sos.

Status: closed @rhysles​

Location: Little Goat Diner 

Showing up to the diner might’ve been a bad idea. Showing up a little stoned might’ve been an even worse one, but there’s nothing she can do about that now. She’s here, like she agreed to be. Though the thought even makes her scoff. When has she ever been the type of person to keep her word. Angel has a trail of broken promises a mile long, always replenishing the road without consideration or second thought. Then again, she knows there’s no point in delaying this one. This conversation is going to happen whether she wants it to or not. Might as well get it over with, even if the anxiety of what might be said starts to consume her whole. “Did we have to meet at the diner?” Angel asks as she slides into the booth across from Rhys. “I’m not gonna like kick and scream or anything.” It’s meant to be a joke, but the desire to be literally anywhere else keeps it from landing.

☆

         when searching for the right words to describe his relationship with angel o’connor, rhys is prone to coming up short. complicated might be a good one. he’s sure that at least a few of the gray strands that litter his dark copper curls can be attributed to the young woman sitting opposite him, just as many as his younger siblings. ( if not more, although elliot could likely give her a run for her money. ) he leans back against the stiff vinyl cushion of the booth  — it’s his favorite table in the diner, the front corner with the best window view to watch the comings and goings just outside  —  and lets his gaze wander a menu he’s probably got committed to memory at this point, if for no other reason than to give him a moment to prepare for the inevitability of the conversation they’re about to have. her question has him peering over plastic pages and rhys shrugs as he closes the menu and lets it flop onto the table. there’s a familiar glassiness to her gaze that’s not difficult to notice when he really takes a second to look at her, and he does well enough to keep the disappointment from edging onto his expression. it doesn’t help, and he doesn’t want to start this off on the wrong foot. so he decides he’s not going to. not for now, anyway.