* 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 & ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒

the sun rang heavy in the sky, bleaching the world hot and pale. isla was still sluggish from the hike up to the site, took what remained of the high noon quiet with a mood stabilizer and unsugared tea. because of course even in the heat, she wanted to sip on something remnantly warm. they'd been perched on cabin steps — all rotten & sagging under their own disrepair. isla wore the heat like a hand to the back of the neck, bare knees drawn up to her chest, chin hugged to the crook of them. she ran a finger along a length of peeling paint, watched a beetle struggle in the dirt below, flailing for just about anything to invert its upside-downess. sweet, poor thing. isla felt a whole lot like she couldn't get up either, like maybe there hadn't been a reason to. " funny ain't it, " words draw flat in her mouth, smelling like chamomile. varnished nail flicks the beetle by the shell, its got enough sense to start treking across the length of her finger — raising her index so reeve could also bare witness to her naturalistic majesty. " some folks fall in the dirt and still come out of it lookin' like sunday morning. "

' yo , this party fucks ! '

' hell ya . shit's —— epic ! '

' luke , man , you're a legend . '

a thousand and one compliments rained down upon the golden boy , showering him in glory and feeding the perpetual hunger of a greedy ego . despite the darkness which fell outside , neon lights and the fractured reflection of copious amounts of glitter bounced off of ivory canines . the muscles in his jaw ached from hours of smiling .

a hand clapped against the back of his most recent admirer , followed by a casual shrug — as if to say ' its no big deal , really ' . a subtle act of humility to offset the growing pride swelled within a puffed chest . as the individual melted back into the shadow's and , luke twisted , his ice blue eyes falling to reeve . lips pressed together , offering a softer smile . one without fangs . a coy simper . " it is a great party . our best yet . "

really, the only actually surprising part of any of this was that reeve thought, if just for a moment, that this time might be different.

beside the golden boy, he does his best to drown out the gaggle of fans, fingers absently fiddling with the white gold hoop in his freshly pierced ear as his gaze stuck stubbornly on a fixed point on the opposite side of the room. it's only when a pair of baby blues come into view and a steady arm falls over his shoulders that he's pulled from his internalized spiral of self-pity. a blink-and-you-miss-it moment has him meeting luke's praise with a flash of ire, swiftly replaced by a grateful smile and a swell of pride in his chest. it was ultimately better for everyone that he just accept the situation as it was— as it always would be. besides, the unfortunate truth was that luke's praise meant more to reeve than the praise of half the people at that damn party combined.

( the doubly unfortunate truth was that he suspected luke knew that too, going so far as to wonder sometimes if that was partly why he took all the credit to begin with. to create an artificial scarcity that only he could fill. in the rare moments reeve decided to be honest with himself, he wondered if that was why he let him get away with it. )

milo sort of feels like they're holding reeve hostage, but at the very least, it's funny. he's roped plenty of people into conversation mid deal, but this one was something of an accomplishment. they didn't get off to the best start, and though many people disliked milo, reeve's was a faster onset than they would have expected. so, they take this chance, smile dumbly at his drunken geniality, lean against their car with a cigarette and just yap. it's only after a while that they feel that burning sensation on the side of their face, eyes on them. a pang of insecurity manages to claw through the layers of intoxication, and a hand goes to absently fidget with the metal in their ear "uh, i have something on my face?"

it goes quiet, and it takes reeve a moment to realize he's been caught. ❝ oh, uh, ❞ his own voice sounds odd, way too scratchy and nervous— insecure . he chalks it up to the drugs and clears his throat. ❝ no, i was just— did getting all that hurt, or ... ? ❞ he flicks his finger against his own earlobe, completely bare compared to the plethora of huggies and studs decorating milo's.

His social battery was running low. It really hadn't taken long, Marcus Kingston had never enjoyed parties the way his brother had. The novelty of big crowds and loud music was lost on him, the kind of guy who would rather be alone in his room with a book of Sudoku and dimmed lighting. But that wasn't the future he had signed up for, and it was a lifetime commitment now. Hiding out in the kitchen while everyone else seemed to be making out in the living room or laughing outside, weary eyes turned at the sound of footsteps, snapping back into his personality before Reeve could notice anything was off. He liked to think he'd gotten pretty good at it by now. ❝ Hey, man, ❞ he greeted him, taking a step backwards to grab a water bottle, holding it out to his . . . friend? ❝ Stay hydrated. I don't want to be carrying none of your asses back to your rooms tonight when y'all can't hang. ❞ But he would ; he knew what it was like when someone didn't get home safely.

maybe tonight would be the night that finally changed.

taking the bottle from kingston, reeve scoffed, ❝ please. from what i saw, you're going to be too busy to carry anyone anywhere. not unless that person happens to be isla wardwell. ❞ the moment he said isla's name, he reached up, tapping the cap of the bottle against kingston's forehead. while he hadn't seen most of their conversation on the couch, he'd seen enough. ❝ you can thank me for inviting her at any point by the way. ❞

" FUCK MAN , YOU ALMOST HAD IT !! " their opponent groans as their partner's ball bounces just off the rim of one of the red solo cups arranged on the table , ricocheting off plastic and landing somewhere amongst the small crowd that has gathered to watch the game and , impatiently , wait for their turn on the table . crouching down to scoop up the ball ( the room spinning as he did so , alcohol working overtime to ensure the world in which thomas existed was nothing short of a blur ) , the eldest ortesky grinned as he pressed the ball he had just gathered into his partner - reeve's - chest.

" they're fuckin' garbage , dude . they haven't even gotten a cup yet , " spoken low , an eager and competitive purr wrapping around his words as he moved behind reeve , clasping both of his shoulders , and giving him an encouraging shake . lowering his voice to a whisper , thomas leaned in closer ; like they were sharing some kind of secret . " you got this . we each get a ball in then we can ask for a new formation and we'll fuckin' smoke 'em . " a coach , revving up a player he was counting on . releasing reeve , scooping up his own ball from the table , thomas grinned as he moved back beside his teammate .

" first shots all yours . "

with every sweet syllable of encouragement, the bounce in reeve's step grew. between the alcohol in his system and the high of competition, his whole body thrummed with electric energy. under thomas' hands, he practically vibrated. ❝ jesus, ortesky, why aren't you like this all the time ? ❞ he teased, shaking the other off before throwing him a grin. maybe if he were, reeve would finally understand why luke insisted on dragging him around everywhere.

setting himself up at the table, he eyed the other end. only a few more cups and they'd have the cleanest win of the night so far— impressive, really, considering reeve's track record. he had to wonder if maybe thomas was just some freakish good luck charm. with that in mind, he stepped back, lining up to target a cup in the back row. he knows he's overshot before the ball even fully leaves his fingertips.

airball. a complete whiff. it soars past their opponents heads and lands, unceremoniously, at the feet of the crowd, never so much as skimming the table.

reeve's cheeks go hot immediately, lips pressing into a thin line as their opponents burst into thunderous, targeted laughter and buffoon-like hollers. a sharp, ruinous glare is turned their way, enough to shut up some of the snickers from the crowd at least, but not their opponents. they're young— sophomores maybe, don't know better. not yet, anyway.

— ELIZA WAS A PARTICLE of dust , floating through the atmosphere aimlessly . without purpose . she'd slowly conceded to the rattling marbles that had replaced her brain — hopeless at holding on to a thought longer than three purposeful steps & two blinks of her long lashes before it was lost to the wind . even now , as she ambled through the winding trees , eliza was without a clue as to why she continued to follow invisible bread crumbs . then , a soft sound ( a hushed whimper , the cry of a pup ) fluttered through her ears , leading the woman further into the dense foliage with fresh intent .

a simper , dark & wicked against her pale , porcelain face , painted kittenish lips as she moved out from the shadows . her arms crossed over her chest , watching the scene silently — a sick sort of delight swimming in the depths of her large pupils .

" sounds like it hurts , " she hummed , a finger lazily pointing to his shoulder before folding back against her arms . " what ? did you try to fistfight our little ghost friend or something ? "

even her featherlight touch was enough to send his nerves on end again. razor sharp pain raced from his deltoid to his clavicle, forcing an unwanted show of vulnerability through his teeth. in a flash, his left hand gripped the wrist of her right, hard enough for the tips of his fingernails to press into her skin. ❝ need i remind you that you would have died in that cabin if not for me, ❞ he hissed, not even a little bit surprised she had yet to say thank you. were the roles reversed, he wouldn't say it either.

the river gurgled , bubbling on the bank harmoniously , its waters an almost glimmering onyx under the endless blanket of nightfall . it had not taken him long to sense reeve , finding him too quickly amidst the dense forests that covered monte cristo's mountain . after all , luke had been keeping an eye on him . reeve . his dear friend , one of his favorite's . . . at least , that's what he had thought the man to be . until reeve struck him , left him , stole his life — piece by piece . stole--

ï̶̪f̸̈́͂ ̴̞̔y̴͋̒o̵̓̌ú̷̩ ̶̓want to know what's on ̷̘͌m̸̦͘y̶̆ phone ͚s̴̛o bad̈̄,̸ you̴̡̇ ̵̺́cou̸͝ld've jus̨̒t̵̢̍ ̴͘asked

it could have been anyone. maybe one of the others found out and was fucking with him, or maybe somebody outside the group was onto them. there was any number of reasons more plausible for those messages than the one that had first come to mind : that the vengeful spirit of luke sinclair was here, really here, and he knew what reeve had done.

he didn't know how he got to the river. one second he was looking at the group chat with shaking hands and a deathlike pallor, the next he was at the water's edge tossing the slick black casing of luke's phone between sweaty palms. there was intent somewhere, lingering in the back of his mind behind words spelled out on a ouiji board and spoken in isla's tongue, that he should throw it. be done with it. that it was more trouble than holding onto it was worth. occasionally, he would pause, clench his jaw, reel back his only good arm, phone in hand... and inevitably let it drop back to his side. again and again he tried and failed, growing increasingly more agitated with every attempt— every reason why not. if he threw that phone in the river, another part of luke would disappear. if he threw that phone in the river, his secrets would be lost. if he threw that phone in the river, reeve would no longer have a way of seeing what it was like to be so sorely missed.

pathetic, that's what he was. pathetic and sentimental and, as ever, a sore loser. no matter how hard he tried to reinvent himself and be someone worth noticing, these were things inescapable. stains on his very soul.

once more, reeve raised his arm, but instead of stopping the throw of his own volition, it was something else that kept him : a familiar voice. he spun quick on his heel, the force of the motion knocking him off-kilter and causing him to stumble slightly back on the rocky bank, closer to the water. ❝ what— ❞ he tried to speak, but the sound was little more than a choked wheeze in the face of a corporeal luke sinclair. he tried to shake his head, but the image didn't go away. without fail, luke's too-sharp, too-bright smile still beamed back at him every time he closed and opened his eyes, leaving him with the childish urge to hide the phone behind his back, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.