HIGHS & LOWS

                       ❛       yo,   douchebag.   high school   counts   for   JACK SHIT.       ❜  

@ripknuckle   //   canon dialogue starter !!

                secret ink,     it’s location was discreet enough to keep it a secret from most people in his life.    he was still hesitant to tell him,   for not even his older sister knew,   and if anyone was going to approve of it it’d likely be her.    ‘  it doesn’t matter… ‘     yet alexander sees effort,    a subtle change of heart,     an inkling of interest lining mickey’s voice.  he grabs for it,    after a few hesitant seconds of inner debate not to.  he,   himself,    had his loneliness drive him.   ‘  a violet. ‘   it’s quiet,   mumbled,     but still clear enough to register.      ‘  my mother…  passed. ‘      not necessarily true,     but easier to explain.     ‘  violets stand for remembrance. i got it for her. ‘     hazels flicker over to mickey to try and examine his reaction,    the way his body spoke for him.   live in silence and you gain a talent for noticing such things.    ‘  i get it’s…    silly,     but i’d appreciate if you didn’t make fun of it.    it’s…    you know,    sensitive. ‘ 

    ❝ dude, i’m just waiting for someone and it’s hot as shit outside, can’t cut me some slack? ❞

             his words    cause arched brows to furrow inwards,    part confused and part hurt.    it’s a subtle reminder—————     boys like him did not befriend guys like mickey,    hands torn apart in bruises and scars and a face as black and blue to match the whole ensemble.      ‘   sorry.   ‘     apologizes immediately,    hazels looking at him for only a moment before pulling away to his own lap.     ‘  it’s not like that.   i’m not… ‘    he just stops,   tongue slipping on the words.   sexuality was a greater mystery than anything else alexander’s tried to solve,    any puzzle or any crime log.   he didn’t really think about it.   he didn’t have much of the experience  to  think about it.    alexander was a drifter,    a loner,    a boy lost among the tragedy of his own life,   the disappearance of his own mother.  not only did he not have many friends,    but he didn’t particularly have many people he was interested in romantically either.   ‘  sorry.    i just wanted to…     talk.    is it not polite to do that  ? ‘ 

     JESUS, it’d be so easy just to kick the shit outta this guy. swaggering into a place he knows jack about, worrying about things like MANNERS and making friends. he’d have no clue that connections are built over shared drinks and deals, barter’s for grams when the money’s tight. friendships are forged out of mutual hatred for a third party, and realizing you could learn a thing or two about the other dude’s right hook. bonds are made, more than anything, from blood, and blood alone. not from striking up a chit-chat about some stick-n-poke tattoos lacing his knuckles. kid would be better off not saying anything at all.

     ( but he’s LONELY. god, he would never admit it aloud, or even consciously think it, but that’s what it has to be. those weights, sitting in his stomach every time he catches a glimpse of familiar faces at the subway or the convenience store. it aches with every movement, and fuck does it make him feel desperate. )

     worst comes to worst, he’ll take his watch and leave.