#avxia

@avxia

ultimately, it’s a success and she’s going to write it down in her not-a-feelings-but-a-good-way-to-remember journal as such. sure, she had to sit with her back to the wall and clear sightlines to every exit and sure, she assessed the threat level of every thing with a heartbeat, but she did it. she drank the coffee, she talked to xia, she existed. 

“is tomato a fruit?” she asks, because there’s the memory of arguing about it, buried deep. she doesn’t pull the thread but that doesn’t make her less curious, “since when?” 

mindless banter, mindless saturdays. 

the sun shines and the mountain air makes it colder than it really is, but temperature’s never bothered her. a side effect, maybe, or maybe she was always like this. music plays in the distance, soft and gentle. it can’t be from this decade, she thinks, everything that plays now is so aggressive and loud and metal going through a threshing machine. 

she wouldn’t even have heard it if it weren’t for her fucked up hearing. 

the melody takes shape in the air and she stops. her body freezes up, preparing for— what? what happens when the song plays? it’s hazy with pain and there’s the sound of screaming. she’s the one screaming, she thinks, the memory is her screaming. 

the music playing, cacophonies of sound, the thin sound of leather in the air. it smells like burning rubber. 

her mouth swallows down copper. 

this isn’t jeno’s dorm.

this isn’t even jeno’s building-- which he realizes belatedly, once he’s already inside and leaning against one of the pristine walls. his feet are taking him instinctively on a familiar path-- one he’s avoided for quite a while now, but he supposes his sub-conscious just really didn’t want him to be alone.

stupid sub-conscious.

he moves up the floors slowly, taking the stairs instead of the elevator for fear of motion sickness after at the club. he’s sobered up a considerable amount already, just wandering around campus ( accidentally blowing up fire hydrants and bending lamp posts over will have that effect, normally ). even still, the hallway still swims and the screen of his phone is mocking him as he tries to text kan to see if he’s even awake-- to see if he’ll keep him company.

he’s standing outside the door, mouth pulled down into a soft pout when he gets no response. as his fingers tug at the collar of his damp, soft black button up shirt, trail through sweat soaked ( and then rain drenched ) hair-- he debates whether or not to knock. there’s a small, nagging voice that tells him that’s a bad idea-- but in his current euphoric state, high off of the adrenaline of dancing away his stress, he ignores it and lightly raps on the door.

“psst.... ge-- ge, you in there? help.”

his long limbs are particularly heavy-- and he leans his head on the door as his knocks get weaker-- before he’s suddenly falling forward, head snapping up, eyes blinking rapidly.

“ge-- oh.”

black panther — describe your superhero outfit.

“hmm... have you ever seen asgardian armour? overlapping metal, shining in glittering silvers and reds and golds. helmets carved to resemble the wings of the valkyrie or the teeth of a lion - bravery, and strength. there is nothing else quite like it, especially not on midgard.”