my leviticus post-leave hcs for the soul:
ryan watched one youtube tutorial on how to trim an undercut so he could do naim’s hair without spending money at the barber’s. naim was afraid he’d leave him bald when ryan first used their thrifted hair clipper. he almost did.
an obnoxious opinionated lesbian from naim’s class befriended him. his sad wet eyes and snark have captivated her.
the same lesbian friend introduced naim to weird cinema so she has someone to talk to about it. ryan watched exactly one film with naim and never dared do it again. it was a cronenberg or a lynch. naim is never in charge of films after that. (huge huge lie. ryan knows nothing about cinema. unless it’s a film naim watches for a friend, they end up making out heavily even if there’s literal gore on screen. that type of horror is boring after all that they survived, y’know? and they get to kiss. a win-win of the lifetime.)
they accumulate an impressive collection of reusable lighters over the years to the point their friends notice. they gift them a silver zippo with engraving that says “a fucking cunt” in fancy overexaggerated cursive because it’s what naim always says at every minor inconvenience. ryan can’t stop snickering every time naim pulls it out to light their cigarettes. naim shoots him A Look.
on that note, ryan is a roll-your-own type of guy. first, it starts with the work mates rolling him some during smokos and teaching him—it’s cheaper, mate—to roll his own. it is indeed cheeper and ryan gets really into rollies. naim eyes them scornfully and complains that ryan always rolls them too strong for him, “can’t we just get a normal fucking pack?” the answer is no. smoke your rollie. i’ve got you. ryan loves how it feels to make his own smokes and naim doesn’t admit that ryan looks hot doing that. (ryan knows. probably. he’s seen naim bite his lip when they locked eyes as he was wetting the adhesive line with his spit. or. well. naim’s eyes weren’t up there, really. semantics.)
