#boxofmuses

I’m sorry about the other night. I wasn’t making much sense, and it’s not making much more to me sober. Yet, I’ll try to explain myself as best as I can--in order as best as I can remember. There was a lot of alcohol involved, but I think I owe you a better explanation than whatever that was.

So, let’s start with the kiss--the first one. I was feeling affectionate, I think; I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea, but I’d meant to kiss you on the cheek or forehead--somewhere friendly--and I missed. And then you kissed me. I shouldn’t have laughed, but... after everyone always accused me of having feelings, there was Seto Kaiba kissing me and what appeared to be very seriously at the time. I suppose it just struck me as some kind of vindicating irony for all those years of harassment. I didn’t, but you did.

That sounds even more awful in text, I’m sorry. Still, despite that, I meant what I said when I don’t know how I feel. Granted, I really was trying to flirt with you then, because--like I said--I’d gotten the idea in my head that you had feelings for me and I really didn’t mind being kissed by you. At this point, I’m much less sure of anything, but I was so stubborn. I’m an idiot sometimes; I’ll admit it, but I thought if I accepted those feelings I’d make you happy. We’d figure something out (and have a very nice Valentine’s). Yet, I really just made things worse, didn’t I?

I thought I was considering how you felt, but really I was just a pushy drunk jumping to conclusions. Which, I think, leaves the question of what I really want. I tried answering that a few times, but I never did a very good job. So, what I want, as clearly as I can word it: if you have feelings for me and want to date, then I’d like to try. If not for your sake, then because “I don’t know how I feel” doesn’t mean that I never will. I think I could be happy with you, if that’s how things turn out.

Although, If you don’t, then I’m happy with things as they are. Because, above all else, I value you as a friend. I bought those rings to prove that to you, albeit I think I forgot that I’m the only one who’s that embarrassingly sentimental. I digress. You don’t have to answer this right away--if there is an answer, at all. I expect I was mostly making an ass of myself. I care about you, which will have to be a separate letter unto itself at this point. Alas.

I hope you can forgive how obnoxious I was, and that the day finds you well.

With regards,

        + @box-of-muses 

Imnah liked a drink every now and then, but she mostly just kept it to a few glasses, nothing too big. However, it was weekend, and the workweek was done. So she had treated herself to a nice bottle of rum and some icecream.

It was currently 11pm, and the bottle was empty, and the brunette was bored, laying down on her couch as she scrolled through her phone contacts. Her fingers stopped at a certain name, and she frowned as she realized she hadn’t spoken to this individual in a while. With a hum, she pushed the dial button.

meme. / accepting!

❝ I---  Hey !! ❞  Pouting, he pulls his hand back, leveling the man with a disappointed  glare  before he realizes the look on his face. Seven looks, actually... Upset with him ??  He pauses, rubbing his hand, and an unknown...  tingle  rushes down his spine. Was Seven... Angry ??  

meme. / accepting!

❝ Seven !! ❞

Disobedient, the man is  quick  to reach out for him--- hands grab  FAST  to the other’s hoodie sleeve, holding it in one hand as he scrambles out to follow him.  Not  listening, which comes as no surprise;  he may be reserved, may be  spineless,  according to what some might say, but he’s not letting Seven run off on his own.

@box-of-muses

He’d lucked out, at least three of his targets had been in one place that night- a high-end lounge in the upper part of the city. It hadn’t been hard to get in, the band playing there had nearly begged him to join after hearing him play outside, and he’d graciously accepted. A fatal mistake on their part.

The music was lovely that night, amidst the agonized screams of the audience- screams that never made it outside that room.

Corpses filled the lounge, laying slumped in their seats, over their tables. They hadn’t even had time to rise before their brains ruptured from the piercing sound waves that had filled the room, blood spilling from their eyes, ears, noses. Some had suffered mass organ hemorrhaging as well, leaving an even bigger mess as blood poured from their mouths as well. Even the other band members lay dead. An unfortunate sacrifice, they really were talented musicians.

Only one man remained standing, lowering the saxophone from his lips to survey the damage. He’d scanned the room before playing- no security cameras. The bouncer was dead. The patrons were dead. The band was dead. His targets were dead.

No survivors. No witnesses. No evidence.

Satisfied, the horn player exited the lounge through the back, careful not to step in any of the blood slowly pooling on the floor.

While the man’s glare was certainly impressive; most of the staff had been scared away from trying to get him to rest, Wolfwood had faced far worse before. Vengeful murder machines, psychotic cannibals, and an angry Meryl Stryfe to say a few. Not to mention, the coughing fit had certainly ruined the effect, further decreasing the chance of him being swayed- especially not when Mokuba was so worried.