shift.
— moving into a new apartment, evening, with @idmilo in tow.
moving is never fun, but at least he has enough money where the whole process is filled with ease. the truck had rumbled up, loaded everything out, deposited it into his new place. he’s been waiting a long time for this level of privacy. there was something to 99′s decision. even being placed in the middle of that situation, rogun was never blind. a lot of his group tended to outpace them with how far they were comfortable with testing the lines of rebellion.Â
rogun went through phases. but he was raised to keep everything hidden in closets. let skeletons pile up there, out of sight. keep on that smile. a blinding distracting. let people call you perfect. let them believe it. appearances are everything. if you maintain them well enough, then they can become a new sort of reality.Â
his parents aren’t good people. but they’ve deluded themselves into thinking they deserve that pathway to heaven. a collection of money stolen from pockets, a faith that’s been rearranged to fit needs. but the world works much the same. the idol world exists in a similar paradigm. everything is made up in expected appearances, rituals. if you betray the expectations to your followers, you’re cast aside. it had been funny when rogun made that revelation one day. he thought he’d escaped that life, but landed in a near carbon copy. a few details changed like a half-assed college essay.
he’s happy that milo had volunteered to help though, when rogun had mentioned through phone messages that he was moving. the only family left that will talk to him in a way that doesn’t feel like it comes with ulterior motives. he missed him, when he’d been away. they’re symbiotic in nature, the two of them. milo’s been a point of good in rogun’s life for a long time now, even if he’d sort of been to blame for dragging milo into this mess of a lifestyle in the first place. his parents still blame him. but rogun hasn’t talked to that half of the family in a while now. he’s not so sure milo has, either.
it’s depressing. the kid doesn’t deserve it.
“tell me what i missed.” rogun talks above the music they have playing, ruffles a hand through milo’s hair as he passes him, fitting some books onto a shelf ( half of them ones that milo had bought or suggested to him over the years ) toward the glasses he has lined across the counter, waiting to be tucked inside of cabinets. he displaces two, pours them both whiskey. “about you.” rogun adds on, like he expects milo to slip the question. hands him a glass while he’s at it.
